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You know those new full-body scanners TSA installed in many of the major airports? Big, expensive, seemingly invasive and downright creepy? Well, I kind of took out the entire O'Hare fleet. Accidentally.
I can't help it if one of the lesser Fae decided it was a good idea to kidnap my best friend's (well, I supposed he's still my best friend, things happened and, well, we won't get into that now) youngest child and tried to escape to Europe by plane rather than via the NeverNever.
The faerie - who went by the name 'George' - had snatched Michael's son, Harry, and run off with him.
I got a call from Michael at my office as the man was trying to convince his wife that he needed to chase the perpetrator. I told him not to worry, that I'd get his son back, I just needed to know who - or what - had taken him. (From Michael's description, I had deduced it was possibly a faerie.) Also, if Michael would loan me something of Harry's for a tracking spell.
When I arrived at the Carpenter home, I'd been told, in no uncertain terms, that none of the magic was to happen on Carpenter property. I asked if using the middle of the street was okay and found the door shut firmly in my face. It's nice to know some things never change.
Don't get me wrong, I respect the hell out of Charity. She just doesn't care all that much for me. I'm only allowed near the house because I'm partially responsible for preventing her daughter, Molly, from losing her head. It doesn't hurt that her husband is a friend.
And that I'm pretty good at finding lost things. Says so in my phonebook ad.
Michael met me halfway down the driveway. I wanted to tell him to just go back inside, that I had this covered, but if he had something to say, it was probably important. Mostly, he told me to be careful and to bring his son back. I told him I would and that his son would be back as soon as wizardly possible.
I waited until he was back inside before I walked to the middle of the street, made sure the traffic wouldn't interrupt me mid-working and drew a chalk circle on the pavement. This was a more simplified spell, but I figured there was no need to be elaborate yet. The kid hadn't been gone long and it was better to use this one than to go home to gather up everything I'd need for a more complicated spell and waste precious minutes.
Tracking spells, as they go, are fairly simple if you don't have to follow someone too far - and they haven't been gone too long. The farther away or longer gone, the more complicated the spell needs to be. 'More powerful too. But I didn't need complicated or powerful. Yet.
I set the spell to working and followed the directions my scrying stone pointed me. Okay, so it's part of a broken crystal fixed to a length of cord, but 'scrying stone' sounds so much cooler.
Now, when you follow a tracking spell, the spell doesn't know about roads and traffic signals and buildings, so you end up taking the scenic route. But, in the end, you get there... if the signal doesn't give out before you reach your destination.
In my case, the signal hadn't actually given out, but it might as well have, given that I was standing outside Chicago's O'Hare International Airport. Perfect.
Ever since they changed the regulations about who can go past ticketing, it's harder to just meander through the airport unnoticed. I either had to have a really good disguise or a ticket. I only needed a ticket for a flight leaving today. And those would be the expensive ones. I don't have that kind of money. Wonder if Murphy will help me out.
After she finished laughing at me, she bought me a turnaround to Detroit. 'Said it was the cheapest she could get, but that I still owed her three-hundred bucks. I might pay her back before I reach fifty. My income is not as lofty as I'd prefer. Money troubles later, kid-finding now.
I made it through the security checkpoints with only a minor amount of fuss regarding the blasting rod tied inside my duster - they wanted to make me pack it in my checked luggage, until I informed them that I had no luggage. They wanted to take it from me after that, but I explained that it was part of my business pitch to an advertising firm in Detroit and they thought I was full of it. So, I told them the truth - that I'm a wizard looking for a missing boy and that the blasting rod would help me find him. (The blasting rod would only help if I needed to fight my way through, but they didn't need to know that.) They seemed to believe the advertising lie after that and let me go without further fuss.
I know they're just doing their jobs and I find my calm demeanor (given how often I have to answer questions about my job and my equipment) helps me not get questioned or detained. I find this position terribly amusing once I'm through calmly and someone else in line didn't take my approach and is laying out the poor TSA official making things worse. Whether or not I agree with the policies, making everyone's lives miserable isn't going to help anyone.
Personal philosophies aside, I needed to navigate the airport using my tracking spell to locate little Harry. And O'Hare is stretched out across several hundred acres. It is not the friendliest of airports to navigate.
I may be a wizard, but I'm also a private investigator. I'd managed the most complicated part of this - getting past security - now to locate a little boy. The item I'd borrowed from Michael was a photograph of his son. I presented it to people as I walked the concourse - I was on C - janitorial staff, passing air crew, food stand workers, gift shop attendants - anyone who might see something out of the ordinary. Typical passengers are far more concerned about getting to their own destination to worry about anyone else. Air travel is stressful for a large portion of the population. Stress tends to limit their focus. So, I stick to the people who ignore most of that and see everything else.
I got a few leads. Most of them lead me away from concourse C and deeper into the terminal. Airports have become mini-cities - all the amenities. That also makes them far more crowded than years ago. Harder to navigate, even if you know where you're going. I did and I didn't. I was still following my tracking spell, but it was starting to fade and all the people were making it difficult to move with any amount of speed.
About the time I rounded the corner out of concourse H, I realized who had taken little Harry. The one thing I didn't know was why. Why would this particular faerie take Michael's son? Sure, the Fae are known for kidnapping children, but to kidnap a child protected by a higher power? That seems a little ballsy to me. For those playing along from home, Michael was a Knight of the Cross. I can't see the Almighty leaving him in the lurch.
I'm getting off track again - finding the boy. Concourse H. Rounded the corner and saw a not-quite-human-looking man. Hard to look human when you're trailing glittery motes behind you. He was. Proof that people are too busy to notice anything beyond their personal sphere - no one else seemed to have any idea that this guy was surrounded by gold-red motes of light. I wasn't catching an actual flight, so I had time to notice.
Since I had left my faerie-fighting kit at home, I had to compromise. This is where airports turning into mini-cities comes in handy. I slipped through a little gift shop and grabbed a small fireplace grate that didn't make my wallet turn in on itself and slipped back out to catch up with the faerie kidnapper. I needed to find out if he still had little Harry with him or if he'd stashed him somewhere.
Both were plausible. The latter would make retreating with the kid a lot easier. Which means there was no way I'd get out of there without a fight. My luck isn't that good.
Concourse K is where I finally relocated the little twerp - the kidnapper, not Harry. Unfortunately, that's about the time he saw me too.
When he'd turned around, I'd gotten a good look at his face. It was a faerie I'd run up against many years ago, when he was still rather young and inexperienced. I'd known him as 'George', though that isn't his true name. He'd tried to steal horses from a farmer down in Minnesota. I'd convinced him that was a bad idea and sent him back to Faerie with his tail between his legs. The little shit.
George hissed and snarled and started running toward the far end of the concourse. My only option was to give chase. (Professional way of saying I ran after him without mowing down the crowds of people in the middle of the terminal.) If you've never tried to run through a crowded airport without being noticed, don't take it up as a hobby. The fastest way to get the entire crowd to realize there is something going on other than their air travel is to look like you're in a more emergent hurry than they are. Running means chasing, means something's happening, means everyone stops to gawk. This, in turn, exacerbates an already difficult situation, taking the already not-so-straight lines and turning them into almost-circles.
I think I ran past the same businessman on his cell phone three times because of the throng of people moving to get a better angle. Finally, I leapt over a row of chairs like a high school hurdler and nearly broke my ankle when my boot got caught. I landed in a fair approximation of a dive-roll and managed to get back on my feet without slowing down too much. Unfortunately, I lost my fireplace grate - the only iron I had on me - in the process. No time to grab it, I kept running.
Note to self: add 'jumping over things' to daily running regimen.
It took me a few agonizing seconds to get sight on George again. He was ducking into an executive lounge for one of the major airlines. Dammit. It's a little harder to slip into those unnoticed. Harder when the ticket I held was for a competitor's airline partner.
Rather than sulk and wait until he decided to come out on his own, I walked up to the door and knocked sharply. It took less than three seconds for someone to open the door. The knock sounded that important. It took less than five more for that same someone to look me over and decide I had no business in that room and try to shut the door in my face.
However, I'd slipped my blasting rod into the space between the door and the jamb, which made shutting the door problematic. I hoped my blasting rod was stronger than the door. "Hey, sorry, but did you see a guy and a small blond child come in here?" I asked. Then I added, "Custody battle," for clarification and urgency.
It seemed to work. (I'll have to apologize to Michael for lying about his son's disappearance.) The guy let up on the door and opened it enough for me to have a look around from the outside. I wanted to get inside, but that might set off too many suspicions and bring up questions I didn't want to have to answer.
In the far corner, I got a glimpse of floppy blond hair. "Hey," I whispered to the guy holding the door, "there, in the corner."
The guy looked at the corner, then back at me. "Want me to go get him?"
"No," I supplied quickly. That would tip off the faerie that I knew where he was. For the moment, he didn't know that. "But, if you can take him this," and I handed the guy the toy car Michael had given me as a back-up, in case the photograph hadn't worked. "Don't draw attention to me and don't let him look this way if you can help it."
"Sure," the guy said and took the car.
I let the door close as much as I could and still have enough room to see into the lounge. Harry got the car and knew who it was from, but he looked directly at me and the door.
So did George.
Crap.
The faerie charged at the door in an attempt to close it, so I did what he wouldn't expect - I threw it open and leveled my blasting rod at his chest. I never got the power together to make the shot because someone tackled my hips and I hit the floor. Right. Airport security. Weapons are bad. I hate airports.
George came roaring out the door, whooping like a fool, pointing and laughing at me laying on the floor beneath the knee of an airport security officer. Funny thing, George, airport security is even less likely to let a man hovering in the air on a set of faerie wings leave the premises without an interrogation. At least all I'd done was wield a big stick.
The faerie must have picked up on that because he tried to make a brave escape. But, he hadn't realized that security had stopped paying attention to me, so I was able to raise the blasting rod and aim a shot at George. I focused it to slide right between the two security officers and slap that faerie right in the ass.
I hit him in the leg. Close enough.
At that point, the security officers approached the situation much like referees at a hockey game when two players drop their gloves: they backed off to wait for a better opening.
If I did this right, there wouldn't be one.
George was trying to flutter away with a bum leg and a singed wing. He was mostly just attracting a lot of attention. It's not everyday people see a man in a suit with faerie wings and a burnt ass.
"So, George," I called to him, "why did you kidnap the Carpenter's youngest child?"
Wings flapping harder to keep him in the air, he hissed back, "For the same reason any faerie would."
Typical. "And what reason is that?" I asked again.
"Mortal, you know better than to ask these things," George snarled as he lost altitude.
He was starting to try my patience. I had two options - blast him to smithereens or ask him the same question again. If I asked him again, he'd have to give me the truth - though he wouldn't be all that happy about it.
Screw him. "George, why did you kidnap little Harry?" I asked for the third and final time.
He shook with rage and balled up his fists. If the sight wasn't so pathetic, I might've laughed at the absurdity of it all. The faerie man in his wrinkled and singed business suit, his faerie wings flapping to keep him hovering mere inches above the floor, and his fists curled into tight little balls while his face burned with rage. In the end, I was fighting not to laugh at him.
"Dresden! You weasel! I kidnapped him for revenge!"
Revenge? Really? (and also - weasel?) "Revenge against whom?" New question meant he could lie to me again, but I took a chance.
The faerie hrmphed at me and made to turn his back, but thought better of it and fluttered closer. "You, Dresden, made me look foolish before my Queen. My aim was to do similar to you."
"Sorry, chump, I have no Queen," I told him. That kind of made him angrier.
"No matter! I still have the child and you do not."
This was going to be a long day. "You don't, actually. He's still in the lounge."
George laughed even as his pant-leg continued to smolder, giving him a comedic sinister look. "But he's not, Dresden!" Then he fluttered off, swooped down and snatched something from near one of the ticket counters.
Hell's bells. How'd he manage that? Damned faeries.
I gave chase (again), leaping over things in my way, marginally more graceful than the first time, and tried not to lose sight of him in the crowds of busy travelers. Turns out, that wasn't hard. Even busy blind-to-everything-else travelers will see a man flying through the concourse carrying a small child. I had more than enough gawking faces following extended fingers pointing the way. I didn't take time to nod thanks to each and every person pointing out George's direction, but I appreciated it all the same.
By the time I caught up with George and little Harry, we were nearly back at the security checkpoints. I couldn't let him carry the child out of the airport. I needed to stop him now.
George landed on one of those new scanners and turned to taunt me. He held Harry by the collar of his shirt over the seven foot drop to the floor. This would take some serious finesse. Wish I had some. All I've got is some cleaned-up magic and a little ingenuity. Maybe those would work for me.
I needed to get Harry away from the faerie and prevent the faerie from doing any more damage. And I had to do that fast. I didn't have a lot of time. And neither did little Harry, the way he was dangling from his shirt.
But I'll be damned if, while I was readying my shield bracelet and my blasting rod, the little squirt didn't wriggle himself out of his polo and start falling to the floor. Everything that happened from that point on took less than two minutes by my estimation.
I needed to catch the boy and take out the faerie at the same time. No easy feat no matter how you slice it. Sure, a seven foot drop isn't all that far - when you're over six feet tall, but when you're a little tyke, it's a bit more of a fall. Harry would've broken his legs or ankles or head if I let him tumble to the linoleum. I did three things, all in a matter of a heartbeat:
First, I dove toward where I thought Harry would hit the ground, ready to catch him. Second, I fired off a burst of flame at the faerie. Third, I threw up as much of a shield as I could in case of retaliatory attacks from George.
It mostly worked. I did manage to drag little Harry into a football carry against my chest, but that meant that I landed hard on my hip when I hit the floor. The flames sailed toward the faerie, but hit one of those scanners instead and set off a chain-reaction of sparks along the length of the security stations. The only thing that worked exactly as planned was the shield, which didn't shield much, since George had hopped back into Faerie to escape further injury. The little coward.
As I laid on the floor, eyes closed to cover the ugly wince of pain, the child on my chest poked me in the nose and asked, "Hey, why are we on the floor?"
I thought that was a really good question. I did not, however, have a really good answer, so I settled on, "Let's just get you home, okay?"
Some nice folks standing nearby helped us both from the floor and a nice TSA agent escorted me out of the building. I didn't understand why she looked so eager to get us out of there until I turned around and saw the curls of smoke rising from each and every one of the large scanner machines. Of course, the whooping cheers from the air-traveling masses might have had something to do with it. Who's to say.
I smiled politely at the TSA agent, then carted little Harry to a waiting cab, only limping a little, and gave the driver Michael's address. He and Charity were grateful to see their son again, but only Michael spoke to me longer than uttering a curt 'thank you'. I wasn't expecting that much from Charity, so I think I came out ahead.
"Thank you, Harry, for returning my son," Michael said to me.
I shrugged. "It's the least I could do." Michael had helped me out a lot over the years. This felt a bit like repaying some of that debt. I didn't mind at all.
The big man leaned on his cane and asked me, "Do we know why this creature wanted my son?"
"What it specifically wanted him for? I don't know. Why it took him? Revenge, was the answer it gave me when I asked." The only other information I had was that George had a hate-on for me for, apparently, embarrassing him by doing my job.
"It's good to have my family back. Thank you again, Harry."
"Don't mention it," I said as he turned to head back inside. I really do have some of the best friends a guy could ask for.