illhousen:

"Boss, not that I doubt you but... are you sure it's wise?"

Normally Marcone wouldn't tolerate being challenged like that. But John worked for him for a long time and proved his loyalty. It was... good business to indulge loyal people from time to time.

"Mr Dresden," Marcone said, "does nothing of importance unless his well-being is directly threatened. Since it would be beneficial for us to have him on the case, we shall provide him with a... proper motivation."

"But breaking in his home..."

"Is the best course of action. I've studied him, don't forget. He needs his implements to be truly prepared, and he is in habit of carrying them only when he knows there is going to be a fight. Inside his home he will be relaxed. And, of course, inviding his home will send a certain... message. I am confident in taking this risk."

John nodded.

"You are the boss, sir."

"And don't you forget it."

The two men reached the door to Dresden's residence. Marcone took out a small jar out of his pocket. Inside a jar a tiny embryo was suspended in formaldehyde. It slowly rotated in circle, an atrophied head moving a bit as if sniffing.

Marcone studied the fetish for a few moments before putting it away.

"As I predicted, it seems Mr Dresden didn't repair his wards after the last debacle. Everything proceeds according to the scenario." He nodded to John.

John quickly got to work. It didn't take long for him to cut the cheap locks on the newly installed door.

The two entered cautiously, drawing their guns.

The apartment appeared empty.

Stepping quietly, they searched the apartment until they reached the stairs to the basement. A noise can be heard coming from there.

Marcone listened intently. It appeared to be a voice and... moans?

Marcone smiled. If his assumption was correct, Dresden would be even less likely to pose a threat to them. He nodded to John to lead the way.

As they descended, Marcone's expression changed to frown. The smell was wrong.

There was a smell of sex, which Marcone expected, though not the intensity. But it was mixed with other odors. Marcone quickened his pace. He needed to know what he felt. He had to.

It was... ozon, he decided. And something else. He took a few more steps. Raspberry?

They were close. The voice can be heard clearly now.

"Thought it was funny to joke about throwing me into a well?" it said. "Thought I can't do anything to you?"

Marcone stopped. John stopped behind him.

It sounded like a magic problem. Not something Marcone cared to be entangled with.

He should abort the mission.

"Well, I have news for you, Master. Every binding has cracks. Every binding requires maintenance. And you are not half as smart as you think you are. Most of what you know about me you know from me or from your master. Who wasn't very eager to share his secrets with you."

He really should turn back.

Marcone stepped forward and into the basement.

Ichor covered the walls. Formless shapes twisted and coiled inside of it, reflecting the movements of the mass of flesh which occupied the room.

Hungry mouths were thrusting barbed tongues trying to catch the liqueur, lashing at the skin of impossible colors, making holes which were filled by juices poured from countless convulsing pseudopodia.

There was no design.

There was no reason.

There was no form human mind could recognize.

Yet, there was a face amidst the chaos of madness and lust.

It was a face of Harry Dresden, twisted in unearthly ecstasy indistinguishable from agony.

Marcone dropped his gun. John's followed a moment later.

"I see we have guests," said the voice with no source. "What a pleasant surprise. I do so love to watch."