It’s time for us to jump back in time! Harry decides we really need the backstory to the fun present events.

Even days that culminate in a grand battle against an insane ghost and a trip across the border between this world and the spirit realm usually start out pretty normally. This one, for example, started off with breakfast and then work at the office.

Admittedly I’m way more sick of anyone thinking they need to start the story with breakfast than usual, but I don’t think anyone really wanted to stop and hear about what Harry’s office looks like instead of him following the ghost. Even if I accept this is basically necessary, I think a better point would’ve been to resolve the ghost thing then have an exhausted Harry quip about how this wasn’t how he expected things to go today, cue flashback.

But about that office: It’s an older building, and not in the best of shape, especially since there was that problem with the elevator last year. I don’t care what anyone says, that wasn’t my fault. When a giant scorpion the size of an Irish wolfhound is tearing its way through the roof of your elevator car, you get real willing to take desperate measures.

You’d think that Harry wrecking half the place would mean repairs, which would mean there are now good chunks that are brand-new and in perfectly good shape.

Plus it’d be funny if the new elevator meant it was no longer temperamental but flat out dies every time Harry tried to use it, so now it’s stairs forever for him.

We’re reminded that he has WIZARD on his door and he’s got pamphlets.

with titles like: Magic and You, and Why Witches Don’t Sink Any Faster Than Anyone Else— a Wizard’s Perspective.

What a subtle reminder that Harry, despite how he tries to present himself, is not so secretly a self-absorbed asshole who makes everything about himself.

I think it’s important for we practitioners of the Art to keep up a good public image. Anything to avoid another Inquisition.

Anyway, this gives us a more likely reason for why ghost murders are “carbon monoxide” – like in Harry Potter, everyone not this idiot understands the best way to avoid another Inquisition is to make sure there’s no public image at all. Maybe what he’s been mistaking for reality blindness is a ton of layered spells to make people mishear/misinterpret events, and it’s just the spells don’t work on anyone directly impacted which is why we don’t see any reality blindness happening as soon as someone’s personally threatened.

And maybe this wasn’t put in place because of the Inquisition, maybe Inquisitions are what you get when enough magical stuff runs rampant that too many people are getting directly impacted, realize magic is real, then start lynching people because it’s probably their fault.

We continue our recap to have Harry explaining he just got paid by the police for his work.

That had been a nasty case, all in all. Demon summoning, human sacrifice, black magic—the works.

While I respect the idea of having stuff going on that we don’t see, there’s a delicate balance where it shouldn’t sound too interesting or there’s the question of why we’re just dealing with delusional ghosts rather than black magic demon summoning human sacrifice.

I got my coffee and resolved to call Michael to offer to split my earnings with him—even though the legwork had been all mine, he and Amoracchius had come in on the finale. I’d handled the sorcerer, he’d dealt with the demon, and the good guys won the day. I’d turned in my logs and at fifty bucks an hour had netted myself a neat two grand. Michael would refuse the money (he always did) but it seemed polite to make the offer

Is it really polite when you know you’re not actually sacrificing anything? (And I’d really like to know what on earth Harry’s pay is officially logged under.)

Also – how exactly did Harry deal with that sorcerer? We know how he “dealt” with the heartsplosion guy.

At the end of the last book, I ended up suspicious that Harry’s not-cat is manipulating him into evil, because he sure seemed to have suffered a moral decline between books. In the first book, Harry had a lot of problems but seemed like he was honestly trying to be good. The idea of killing with magic horrified him. In the second, despite being in a better position and having much less reason to be bitter and hateful, he was far worse of a person, and he also spent the entire book gloating about how technically he was allowed to magically kill some of the people involved if he felt like it. This book, apparently he’s let go of even the excuse that he doesn’t kill other humans.

And then his girlfriend calls so he can remind us all of her job and such, and how keeping personal appointments is hard for Harry because like Spider-man, he’s sometimes called away at the last minute, and how she cares most about hearing such details because again, job.

I could almost see the way she arched one eyebrow. “Mr. Dresden. I don’t want to threaten you. But you must understand that I am well acquainted with a certain young lady of your company—and that I could see to it that things became very awkward between you.”
“I see. But if I shared the story with you—”
“Gave me an exclusive, Mr. Dresden.”
“An exclusive,” I amended, “then you might see your way clear to avoiding causing problems for me?”
“I’d even put in a good word with her,” Susan said, her voice cheerful, then dropping into a lower, smokier register. “Who knows. You might get lucky.”

See, that’s why they’re good with each other. A lot of Harry’s interactions either have obvious power imbalances or involve him dealing with people who are, at the least, uncomfortable with him and not willing to push back. Not only are his interactions with her free of this, but also they help make him come off as oblivious to the problem rather than sadistic.

Anyway, so apparently last night, there was some sort of “bestial” ghost at the University of Chicago’s library. Can animals produce ghosts? And Harry repeats that there’s some mysterious reason the ghosts are all getting cranky suddenly. Harry adds that his pet rapist skull is currently helping –I’ve got Bob working overtime to keep an eye on the spirit world for any more activity. Not sure if that’s a passive ability of the rapist skull or if it means he let the thing out.

He then talks about his more mundane work, finding a wedding ring and refusing to make a love potion. God that would be such a good running joke if we hadn’t seen one in action back in the first book. Also met with a fledgling pyromancer in an attempt to teach him to stop igniting his cat accidentally. AAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH WHY WOULD YOU KEEP THE CAT AFTER THE FIRST TIME

And then the dame walks over.

I was just closing down the office when I heard someone come out of the elevator and start walking down the hallway toward me. The steps were heavy, as though from boots, and rushed.
“Mr. Dresden?” asked a young woman’s voice. “Are you Harry Dresden?”
“Yes,” I said, locking the office door. “But I’m just leaving. Maybe we can set up an appointment for tomorrow.”
The footsteps stopped a few feet away from me. “Please, Mr. Dresden. I’ve got to talk to you. Only you can help me.”
I sighed, without looking at her. She’d said the exact words she needed to in order to kick off my protective streak. But I could still walk away. Lots of people got to thinking that magic could dig them out of their troubles, once they realized they couldn’t escape. “I’ll be glad to, Ma’am. First thing in the morning.” I locked the door and started to turn away.

Oh boy.

We’re now back to that shitty thing where Harry insists the last desperate gasps of his conscience managing to make him feel scraps of guilt are described by Harry as him being exceptionally kind to women. It’s not just that protecting the innocent who have nowhere else to turn is supposedly Harry’s thing that makes him better than everyone else, but also specifically, the last time a woman said only he could help her and he turned her down, she died a gruesome death trying to save everyone followed by a lot of other people dying because she failed at it. You’d think after that happens, you’d at least ask a few follow-up questions before deciding it could wait until tomorrow.

She grabs him and he jerks away, realizing she’s got some sort of magic herself. She confirms. Instead of directly asking what her problem is, he decides to assume she’s here for lessons on controlling herself and asks if that’s it.

“I want your protection.” She lifted a shaking hand, fidgeting with her dark hair. “And if I don’t have it… I’m not sure I’ll live through the night.”

Okay though – Harry does complain lots about dumb customers, so maybe, despite how very very very badly ignoring a woman went before, he’s already jumped at women asking for help for months and it’s always been stuff like being upset they lost their necklaces or they want a hex put on their PTA rival or whatever. And true, someone who actually needed that help wouldn’t be put off by his refusal while maybe it’s the only way to get other people off his back.

Maybe this is a chance for Harry to atone for the last time.

On to the next chapter! Let’s see that character development in action!

I drew out a seat in front of my desk for the young woman. She blinked at me in confusion for a second before she said, “Oh,” and sat. I walked around the desk, leaving my duster on, and sat down. “All right,” I said. “If you want my protection, I want a few things from you first.”

JESUS CHRIST HARRY I TRIED TO BE NICE

She pushed back her asphalt-colored hair with one hand and gave me a look of pure calculation. Then she simply crossed her legs, so that the cut of her dress left one pale leg bare to mid-thigh. A subtle motion of her back thrust out her young, firm breasts, so that their tips pressed visibly against the fabric. “Of course, Mr. Dresden. I’m sure we can do business.”

WHY IS IT GETTING WORSE

WHY IS THIS HAPPENING

The look she gave me was direct, sensual, and willing. Nipple erection on command—now that’s method acting.

The way male writers obsess about nipples is really weird. “Nipple erections” are not analogous to a dick. Cold, uncomfortable fabric, anxiety…I get that they’re more noticeable when pointy, so if you’re staring at boobs already now you can see the exact location of the nipple and evidently this matters a lot, but they don’t actually say much of anything about if a girl is into you. This seems kind of like the idea tampons are SUPER FUN and SO SEXY. Just because it’s a part you associate with sex doesn’t mean absolutely everything that happens comes back to that.

The “on command” bit seems like someone told him to stop saying girls cry to manipulate you so he’s trying to say they can fake emotions but using a different thing for it.

Oh, she was pretty enough, I suppose. Any adolescent male would have been drooling and hurling himself at her, but I’d seen acts a lot better. I rolled my eyes. “That’s not what I meant.”

But yeah, once again Harry isn’t into those sluts who are aware they’re attractive. He wants girls who don’t know they’re pretty! Not manipulative bitches offering to have sex with you just because they think they have no other choice if they don’t want to die horribly.

The fact that she didn’t open with this gambit and only offered herself when she thought he was asking is irrelevant, because that might suggest something is going on here beyond just that women use sex on men to get things.

You haven’t even told me your name, but you’re willing to spread your legs for me? No thanks. Hell’s Bells, haven’t you ever heard of AIDS? Herpes?”

Just in case you weren’t aware that whores get STDs and are gross and stupid and you should never ever touch them. Roofie a shy girl instead!

He clarifies he wants answers and tells her not to lie, acting as if she was trying to lie originally when actually he first tried to blow her off then said he wanted something from her.

She licked her lips, a nervous gesture, not a sexy one.

Now Harry’s getting what he wants.

“Your name, for starters.”
She let out a harsh laugh. “You think I’m going to give you that, wizard?”
Point. Serious spell-slingers like me could do an awful lot with a person’s name, given by their own lips.

Harry’s acting like this is some minor trivia he wasn’t thinking about, as opposed to the only fucking reason he would ask – especially right on the heels of doing his best to intimidate her and insist she’d better answer his questions.

She picks Lydia as a name and he begins to grill her about what her magic is and she says that’s really not the point, and it’s almost like he’s done everything in his power to control this conversation and bully her instead of just fucking talking to her like she’s a human being.

She swallowed, her anger fading. “Please. I need your help.”

Or phrased slightly differently, she swallowed her anger because she needed his help.

“All right, all right,” I said. “What kind of help do you need? If you’re into some kind of gang-related trouble, I’m going to recommend that you head for the police. I’m not a bodyguard.”

And Harry continues to not shut the fuck up even when grudgingly asking questions. She knows magic is real, she’s come to him, she’s scared enough she insists it has to be him right now because only he can help, she’s desperate enough to offer sex the moment she thinks he’s asking that, she’s desperate enough to stick around after he treats her like shit – but the dumb bitch is probably just in trouble with a gang or something and doesn’t understand what “police” are, so he should first explain that option.

And she finally manages to explain that it’s not physical attack she fears but an angry spirit and she heard he makes protective charms.

That made me sit up and take notice, metaphorically speaking. With the city flying into spiritual chaos as it was, I had no trouble believing that a girl gifted with magical talent might be experiencing some bad phenomena. Ghosts and spooks are drawn to the magically gifted.

Knowing ghosts have started going crazy recently, knowing they home in on people with magic, knowing she had magical powers, Harry still thought it was most likely she was probably dealing with gang problems and should go bother someone other than him.

Harry asks what specifically, and she says she can’t say – and here, of course, Harry sees no point in asking the followup of if that’s “don’t know” or “not allowed to talk about”. And she reiterates that seriously, protective charm, it is not that important precisely what’s going to rend her soul into a million pieces.

Harry then tells us that he in fact has one literally on his wrist at the moment.

“Maybe,” I told her. “That depends on why you’re in danger, and why you feel you need protection.”
and
“Look, Lydia. I don’t like to get involved in anything without knowing something about what’s going
on.”

I mean, sure, old what’s-her-tits died last time Harry pulled this shit, but hey, Harry would never have seen those cute tits in the first place if she hadn’t, so it’s kind of neutral overall, you know? Definitely not worth changing his existing stance over.

Her pale face pinched into an expression of worry—real worry, the kind that makes you look older, uglier. The way she hugged herself made her look smaller, more frail. “Please, I just need your help.”
I sighed, and rubbed at one eyebrow with my thumb. My first rampant instincts were to give her a cup of hot chocolate, put a blanket around her shoulders, tell her everything would be all right and strap my talisman onto her wrist. I tried to rein those in, though. Down, Quixote. I still knew nothing about her situation, or what she needed protection from—for all I knew, she was trying to stave off an avenging angel coming after her in retribution for some act so vile that it stirred the Powers that be to take immediate action. Even vanilla ghosts sometimes come back to haunt someone for a darned good reason.

So last chapter, that Xanth passage – doesn’t this seem so very similar? Oh yes, sure, women are fragile and precious and need protection and only a terrible person would harm one buuuuuuut, it’s important not to jump to conclusions. Are we sure she wasn’t asking for it? Yeah, Harry knows full well that ghosts are going on a rampage for no clear reason, and that even under normal circumstances the most that can be said for their focus is that “sometimes” they act for a reason, and that even having a good reason wouldn’t automatically mean it was one that justified letting someone get torn apart…but can you prove in triplicate that it’s not an avenging angel, lady? No? Well, sorry, but you understand, I mean, what if, you know? What if.

She explains she has “Cassandra’s Tears” and that’s just horrific.

See, the workaround for Cassandra’s problem is to never tell people why you know something, because you’re cursed not to be believed if you explain yourself. But in the Dresden universe, women are never believed. If you provide overwhelming evidence, you might get lucky and have Harry listen to you, and even that’s not a sure thing. And the book insists that this isn’t a particular quirk of Harry’s, it’s just how the world works.

Supposedly, this isn’t a direct curse. Harry explains how it’s supposed to work:

“Prophetic condition,” I said. “The person in question has random seizures—visions of the future, but they’re always couched in terms of conditions that make explanation of the dreams seem unbelievable. Doctors mistake it for epilepsy in children, sometimes, and prescribe a bunch of different drugs for it. Pretty accurate prophecy, as it goes, but no one ever buys into it. Some people call it a gift.”

So it sounds like that’s not as bad as what I just outlined, right? It’s a reference to Cassandra due to the fact muggles won’t believe it, not a direct curse preventing anyone, including fellow magic users who know exactly what is it, from believing the person.

“You don’t know how horrible it is. To see something about to happen and to try to change it, only to have no one believe you.”
I studied her for a minute in silence, listening to the clock on my wall count down the seconds. “All right,” I said. “You say that you have this gift. I guess you want me to believe that one of your visions warned you about an evil spirit coming after you?”

This is immediately followed by Harry, having outlined that people don’t believe someone with Cassandra’s Tears, disparaging her explanation that she has Cassandra’s Tears.

Unaware of just how well and truly fucked she is, she explains that she’s had three visions as if Harry will give a fuck.

I only got one vision when they tried to kill the President. I got two for that disaster at NASA, and for the earthquake in Laos. I’ve never had three before. Never had something appear so clearly …”

I’m assuming the reference to Laos is a specific one, but apparently there have been so many deadly earthquakes there I can’t find anything about ones old enough to be before this book was published. Similarly unsure which NASA disaster this is or if it’s meant to be that Dresden history isn’t quite the same as ours. Luckily, presidential assassination attempts are more listable, so I found one that, combined with her young age and the fact she’s only referencing it happening once, fit 1996 Clinton one. Or, it may be that none of them match up because Dresden’s history isn’t meant to be ours.

Again, my instincts told me to help the girl, smash the bad ghost or whatever, and walk off into the sunset. If she was indeed afflicted with Cassandra’s Tears, my actions could do more than save her life. My faith could change it for the better.
On the other hand, I’d been played for a sucker before.

Admittedly, the fact Harry is such a horrible piece of shit does mean it’s possible that she isn’t truly cursed and doomed to never be believed by anyone. I guess not being believed when it’ll get you killed is slightly less awful than never being believed including when it’ll get you killed.

Anyway, Harry, you were explaining why you’re sure disbelieving the person cursed to be disbelieved is legit, so, what’s your horrible piece of shit reasoning?

The girl was obviously a competent actress. She had shifted smoothly to the role of willing seductress, when she thought I had been asking for sex in payment.

It’s always interesting what Harry inadvertently admits. Actress playing the role of willing, ie, it’d have been rape and this doesn’t bug you in the least. It’s just the part where you think she was tricking you that’s the problem.

This is how tangled up sex and agency are. It doesn’t matter that she was just trying to follow his lead. She was capable of faking enthusiasm, so she could be faking anything and it doesn’t matter that she didn’t attempt to lie as far as he knows or that everything she says makes perfect sense or that he has absolutely no reason to think there’s some other motive. She is not utterly helpless because she was going to try to sell her body instead of just holding still, and so she can’t be trusted. She might try to manipulate him at some point for any reason and if she does it’s possible it’d work, so better she dies then risk Harry feeling like he got tricked.

That she would immediately make that conclusion based on my own fairly neutral statement said something about her, all by itself. This wasn’t a girl who was used to playing things fair and square. Unless I was grossly misreading her, she had bartered sex for goods and services before—and she was awfully young to be so jaded about the entire matter.

Harry would like to remind everyone that there are no victims, only manipulative bitches who deserve what’s coming to them.

Then the book explains that this is objectively a valid belief:

The entire Cassandra’s Tears angle was a perfect scam, and people had used it before, among the circles of the magically endowed. The story required no proof, no performance on the part of the person running the scam. All she would need would be a smidgen of talent to give her the right aura, maybe enough kinetomancy to tilt the dice a little on their way down. Then she could make up whatever story she wanted about her supposed prophetic gifts

Which is to say, asking for protection that’s only useful if she’s about to get mauled by what she says she’s about to get mauled by. You can understand why it’s so incredibly important Harry focus on the possibility she’s scamming him instead.

And he goes on to say that You could just be a small-time witch who stirred up the wrong demon and is looking for a way out.” Like I said a bit back – the probability is irrelevant, it’s possible, and really really, wouldn’t the greatest tragedy be to believe someone who shouldn’t be believed? Isn’t avoiding that worth any number of innocent women getting torn apart? Who cares, really, that demons and ghosts aren’t the same thing and someone really worried about one wouldn’t be begging for a charm optimized against the other? Who cares, really, that Harry himself has summoned demons and we know that even if she had it wouldn’t make her evil and deserving of getting killed? She pretended to be enthusiastic about sex she didn’t want, and that simply can’t be forgiven. I bet she didn’t even THINK about how embarrassed Harry would be if he thought she was into him and then realized she wasn’t. God. Women are just so selfish.

She makes her final, last ditch attempt.

She spread her hands. “All I can tell you is that I’m not. I know that something’s coming. I don’t know what, and I don’t know why or how. I just know what I see.”
“Which is?”
“Fire,” she whispered. “Wind. I see dark things and a dark war. I see my death coming for me, out of the spirit world. And I see you at the middle of it all. You’re the beginning, the end of it. You’re the one who can make the path go different ways.”

She says he’s special. She says she supports the book’s very narrative conceit that all that matters is Harry.

“That’s your vision? Iowa has less corn.”
She turned her face away. “I see what I see.”
Standard carny procedure. Flatter the ego of the mark, draw him in, get him good and hooked, and fleece him for everything he’s got. Sheesh, I thought, someone else trying to get something out of me. My reputation must be growing.
Still, there was no sense in being rude. “Look, Lydia. I think maybe you’re just overreacting, here. Why don’t we meet again in a couple of days, and we’ll see if you still think you need my help.”

We are doing Exalted next. You probably guessed that, but yeah, fuck this shit.

Good news. Someone who’s spent her life being tormented by knowing what’s to come and not never being believed just got told by someone who knew exactly what was wrong with her and exactly how no one ever believed her that actually no, nothing’s wrong, you’re just doing it for attention, go away. She’s tried so hard. She must have tried to convince people before a million different ways before she found out the closest she could get was to agree to fuck them if they’d humor her stupid delusions. And even that’s not enough. Even doing all that, it still wasn’t good enough and she’s just going to die anyway.

Her shoulders just slumped forward and her face went slack with defeat. She closed her eyes, and I felt a nagging sensation of doubt tug at me. I had the uncomfortable impression that she wasn’t acting.
“All right,” she said, softly. “I’m sorry to have kept you late.” She got up and started walking toward the door of my office.

But Harry’s a sucker for them once they’ve been broken to his satisfaction, so, now, he’ll help her. Now that she knows exactly where she stands.

He gives her the anti-ghost ward and ties it to her wrist, seeing scars from a suicide attempt running up her arms in the process.

She must have gotten them when she was … what? Ten years old? Younger?
I shuddered and

Did not apologize, did not even consider he was wrong, and certainly did not change his mind. Just finishes tying it. I guess she should be grateful he doesn’t just kick her out for manipulating him by having scars.

But he’s so chivalrous, so he gives her one more piece of advice.

“Faith magic works best against spirits,” I said quietly. “If you’re worried, get to a church. Spirits are strongest just after the sun goes down, around the witching hour, and again just before the sun comes up. Go to Saint Mary of the Angels. It’s a church at the corner of Bloomingdale and Wood, down by Wicker Park. It’s huge, you can’t miss it. Go around to the delivery door and ring the bell. Talk to Father Forthill. Tell him that Michael’s friend said that you need a safe place to stay for a while.”

Just to be clear – Harry listed “avenging angel” as one possibility for why he shouldn’t intervene, but obviously an angel could get her just fine in a church. And he still wasn’t going to tell her to go to one on the basis that hey he’s just so concerned I mean what if she’s some monster and it’s an angel after her, you know? He’ll only tell her once he’s made sure to crush any delusion she has control over herself and made her apologize for talking to him.

And the very saddest thing is her response, which is to start sobbing over how wonderful and amazing Harry is for believing her. He says yeah he really doesn’t but he doesn’t literally want her dead. She kisses his knuckles because he’s so great, so kind.

Then after she leaves he immediately upgrades “didn’t really believe” to “definitely just got scammed there, man, fucking bitches”.

The phone rang. I got down off my chair and answered it sourly. “Dresden.”
There was silence and scratchy static on the other end of the line.
“Dresden,” I repeated.
The silence stretched on, and something about it made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. There was a quality to it that is difficult to describe. Like something waiting. Gloating. The static crackled louder, and I thought I could hear voices underneath it, voices speaking in low, cruel tones. I glanced at the door, after the departed Lydia. “Who is this?”

And this is some quality minor spookiness, but the fact is, I can’t care about Harry’s feelings right now. The closest I can get is dull anger that all that’s happening to him is he’s feeling creeped out.

The voice says they’ll meet soon and hangs up, then the rapist skull starts talking to him through the radio, suggesting that yup, Harry did indeed unleash a rapist skull on the city again.

“My contact came through. Cook County Hospital, tonight. Someone’s stirred up Agatha Hagglethorn. This is a bad one, Harry. She is one mean old biddy.”

Oh boy we don’t even get a break on the hating women front do we. I guess we have to pack it all in to make up for the deceptive opening.

So he runs out and almost but apparently does not literally run into Michael, who says that God just makes it so, but also Harry has been asking for help every fucking night for two weeks straight, so he figured he’d just walk over today without being asked because unlike some people he can extrapolate from basic information. And that brings us to the start of the book, back when I was stupidly feeling hope.