I felt it before I heard it.

The metaphysical impact shook my bones and soul, and I mentally called on my mantle. Winter gave my body strength, but even so, I felt like my bones had been thrown into a washing machine along with a brick.

"Hell's bells..." I muttered, standing up from my desk. With John having left to look for clients-which, in Johnspeak, meant he'd gone to Strangefellows to annoy the bartender and get plastered-someone had to hold down the fort.

"Boss?" Cathy asked from her desk, glancing up from arranging some papers she was arranging. "You've got that look on your face again."

I sighed, letting out a cloud of cold mist, and wrestled my mantle back into its cage. I knew how unsettling my transformation to Winter Knight was, when viewed from outside. I tried not to look into mirrors while I was playing Knight. They might break and I'd get seven years of bad luck.

I must have broken a dozen mirrors when I was a kid.

"I'm fine, Cathy," I lied. "Did you...feel anything unusual, just now?"

She shot me a weird glance, like she was thinking of how to tell her crazy grandpa that no, his imaginary friends weren't here, and wouldn't he like to take some of the happy pills again?

"Not really..." She said eventually. "Why? Should I have?"

"Maybe," I replied, going to the clothes rack and putting on my duster. "I think some of our neighbors might have gotten a bit lively. I'm gonna go over to them and tell them some folks are trying to work here."

Cathy blew a raspberry. "Wimp. If you want lively, you should come clubbing with me."

"I think I'd rather not, thanks a bunch." Alright. Staff, check. Rings, check. Bracelet, check...

"If anyone comes here," I told Cathy over my shoulder. "And they're suffering from memory loss, remind them that Dresden and Taylor work here, and you work for them."

"Wow, such faith in me, Harry," she said drily, back to the paperwork. "You two couldn't even get dressed without me..." She muttered under her breath about old men who didn't appreciate her, then looked up at me again. "Are you still here? Bugger off and find out whatever you think you've heard!"

"Yes, ma'am." I gave her a mock-salute, and opened a Way.

Back home, using travelling through the Ways of the Nevernever is deadly serious business. Risky as hell on the best days, and, at best, you'll die painfully if you fail. But it's also the best ways to get anywhere fast, in the supernatural community, so everyone does it. During the war between the Red Court and the White Council, entire armies marched through the Nevernever.

The Nevernever is, broadly speaking, the magical reflection of the material universe, though it's a twisted reflection at best. Like a funhouse mirror, without any of the fun. Bob, the spirit of intellect who used to be my helper and advisor, once said that, if you go far enough in the Nevernever, you could reach any of the fictional worlds thought up by mankind. I'd never dared to try it-we had enough trouble without actively looking for more-but the fact that the Nevernever existed here too, or at least enough of it to open Ways, had me thinking.

Could Ethniu have thrown me beyond the Nevernever, beyond the Outer Gates and into the Outsiders' realm? Was she even that powerful? I'd have liked to think she wasn't, but the Nightside was beyond any magical realm I'd ever seen or heard of.

Did it lay beyond the Outer Gates, then? It would explain why everyone here was so batshit crazy, at least. But I hadn't seen anything like an Outsider since coming to the Nightside, which, considering my life until now, was a bad sign. Something was just waiting to happen, I knew it.

As I passed through the Way, I was once more struck by the differences between the Nevernever back home and the version of it tied to the Nightside. The Nevernever is an abstract sort of place, and traveling through it means walking paths of symbolism and emotion. For example, walking a path of violence and despair may lead you to a murder scene.

The Nightside's Nevernever-if that was what it really was-wasn't like that. The shape and landmarks of the city were still there, some clearer and sharper, some duller, faded. It was less like walking through the Nevernever, and more like walking through the Nightside unseen half. And I couldn't help but wonder if there was, truly, any difference between them.

Spiritual parasites clung to people's backs and necks, encouraging them to greater and greater acts of debauchery. I wanted to stop and help, but there were so many of them...damn it.

Huge, vague shapes walked through building as if they were more real than them, and perhaps they were. Those who knew of these beings rarely spoke about them, and none of them had told me their name, if they even had one.

Giant beings floated across the surface of the moon, blotting it out completely. And, in the middle of the street I arrived on, following the sensation that had shaken me, Stark was mutilating an angel.

I tried to be shocked, and failed.

Instead, I sighed, loudly. "Stars and stones, Stark, what are you doing now?"

He half-turned, attention still on the angel, who was caught in a trap like an iron maiden made of thorns.

"Dresden," he said with a smirk that stretched his scarred face. "Come to join, huh? Want my sloppy seconds?"

I didn't dignify that with an answer. Instead, I looked at the captive angel. "Don't tell me-it was just like that when you found it? Have you started going after servants of Heaven too now, Stark? What did it do, tell you to try and not be an asshole?"

I was vaguely aware of the crowd who had gathered around us, whispering excitedly amongst themselves. If I had looked, I bet I'd have seen some cash being passed around, too.

The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

"And why the fuck are you assuming that I'm in the wrong? Besides your hate-on for me, I mean." Stark let out a hollow laugh. "If I had white wings and a halo, I'd always be right too, eh? Use your fucking Sight, dipshit. See this thing as it is."

I did-what did I have to lose-and gasped. The angel's hands were covered in blood, though not its own. I Saw the echoes of the people who dad died in the crossfire of its battle with Stark. There would be many new ghosts, very soon.

And I Saw Stark. I hadn't paid much attention to his clothes or eyes when I'd arrived-I'm not the type to care about the former, and I'm used to avoiding the latter-but now that I looked, really looked, I saw the network of power that ran through his body and coat, linking them to each other, subtly changing shape with every passing thought of Stark. I shut off my Sight, and shook my head to clear it.

What on earth had happened to him? Had this come as a result of that 'class' John had mentioned, whatever it was?

"Oi," Stark said, gesturing at the angel. "Got an eyeful? Good. Halo-polisher here ain't exactly sitting on a cloud playing a harp." His sardonic sneer disappeared as his expression grew more serious. "I tried to stop it, and to ward them off. But I couldn't make a barrier, not while I was fighting, or I'd have died as well. And for what? With me dead, it'd have rampaged until a serious player dragged their ass here to put it the fuck down."

Was Stark...apologizing, for failing to save people? Maybe I should start taking that class he was going to as well, if it had changed him like this.

"No, you shouldn't," he said, fishing his shapeshifting weapon out of a pocket I couldn't see.

I frowned at him. "What, you're a telepath now as well? Where are you studying at, the Jedi Temple?"

Stark snorted. "They wish. Now...let's get some answers. I wanna know why feather-boy here wanted to bump me off, besides he usual reasons. Feel free to help, or not." Then, he stopped, glaring about him, at the crowd. They were still present, though visibly disappointed at the fight that hadn't broken out between me and Stark.

"Oi, gawkers anonymous! Fuck off, before I repeat what I did to the angel on your insides."

The crowd muttered, some cried out threats at insults at him, but people began breaking off. And, eventually, they dispersed.

Stark nodded, pleased. "I'm gonna separate part of the street from the rest, so we can interrogate pigeon man without anyone listening in on us. Wanna help?"

I shrugged. "Not really my area, but...sure."

I took out some chalk and drew a circle around the captive angel, while Stark spoke in a harsh, barking language I didn't know. A transparent barrier rose from the circle's edges, sealing us off from the outside. Then, the barrier became opaque, and I couldn't see or hear anything beyond it.

We turned our attention to the angel.

"Why did you try to kill me?" Stark asked bluntly, lighting a thin black cigarette that appeared straight into his hand. "Is it because of my lovely parentage? The paternity test was bullshit, by the way."

"We care naught for your origins, Abomination. The keepers of your Creation have their own reason for loathing your kind, but we do not share them,"  the angel replied. "You stand guilty of moving beyond-"

"Yeah, yeah. I heard you the first time. Care to tell us what the fuck it means, though?"

"You should not have traveled beyond your Creation. You should not have remained in the Nightside. No agent from Above or Below is supposed to, and you are one, for all your foreign origin. Though it is still being decided which side you belong to."

"Yeah?" Stark asked, smirking around his cigarette. "And where is it being decided, huh?"

"Where all things that matter are. On the Shimmering Plains, and in the Houses of Pain."

"Were you sent here?" I decided it was past time I got a word in. "Because you just said angels aren't supposed to come to the Nightside. A bit hypocritical, if you ask me."

"Mock me not, Starborn. Look instead to your own damnation, for it shall be as terrible as it has been long in coming."

I wanted to ask how the hell it knew about me, but it wasn't the moment. "Did you come here out of your own free will?" If it even had that. I barely knew anything about the local angels, besides the fact that they existed. "Or did God send you?"

"I have always acted according to my purpose," the angel said, which wasn't an answer at all. Then, it saw or sensed something behind me, and screamed in pure horror. It writhed and shook in Stark's trap, freeing itself even as it was being torn apart. I couldn't help but think of a fox chewing off its paw to escape a trap.

As the angel disappeared, I heard a slow clapping behind me. Stark and I turned, and the sight wasn't what I expected. The man who hap appeared inside the barrier had a plain, if weathered face, wore an old duster over a plain shirt and jeans, and had two old-fashioned, long-barreled revolvers on his belt. He was smiling at us, hands clasped. I got a weird feeling about him, but...who was this guy, to scare an angel like this? More than Stark and I combined?

"How the fuck did you get inside the circle?" Stark asked, a Colt in one hand and his weapon, whip-shaped, in the other. I gathered power around my staff, and subtly dug inside my duster for my gun.

The man's smile widened, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Same as I get everywhere I need to be. I walked."