The Devil Wears Better than Prada
5th of July 2006 A.D.
As you tip forward into Harry's eyes you have the strangest feeling of being stretched across the chasm between here and there, between your mind and his. It's not at all like when you had put the compulsions on Rosie and Nelson, and you do not know if it is the way you are doing it or if it had been you who had changed. You cannot feel the jagged edges of another mind, but instead a soft, firm touch, like a handshake.
Reciprocity is the key, that is why one hurts and the other does not, you realize and wonder to yourself if you could use this more than once, there are people you would trust inside your head after all and there
are good reasons to be in someone's head, communication from afar, maybe even healing.
Thinking of borders you cross the border and find yourself in an unfamiliar city, that is a little like Chicago yet not it, all red brick and shingles, but some of them are a little too tall for what they are, like watch looking out for perils in the alleyways below. The towers look a little run down, the light in the windows muted but the stars shine clear silver overhead, a sign of fate and portents you cannot read.
The road twists and turns under your feet, you recall the advice of friendly folks telling you where to go, but not their faces and when you willfully stop to ask one he just shakes his head sheepishly and points you on. Down the streets and down the steps, under the earth hidden from sight, but the candles still burn clear silver even here as your steps echo in the lonely dark.
"How long has it been since someone found the door? How long since you thought you were important enough to know?"
"What since he trusted someone with his secrets?" a woman's voice calls from up ahead. "Not since his first master betrayed him really. He sees it as not pushing his burdens on others, I think of it as almost breaking his back carrying it all."
Startled you turn to see a woman standing in an open side-door which is odd because this is supposed to be a basement not an underground complex. She is maybe a few inches taller than you dressed all in black in what looks to have been Victorian funeral dress, though between the lace panel that shows off her collar and a good bit more besides and the slits on the side she'd likely be picked up for public indecency if she tried to show up that way in eighteen ninety. Her face has has that classical look to it, regal and commanding framed by gleaming blond hair even you would not have had the heart to dye. She is wearing fishnet stockings....
That's another one for the Victorian moral police, you bite back a giggle. And to top it all off the kind of silver buckled leather books that made brand names obsolete, like they were made by a little old man named Hans in his five hundred year old cobbler's shop.
"Come in, come in," she waves you inside. "One cannot usually stop and chat in the middle of this but your soul is more complex than most, it will take Harry a while to understand what he sees."
"You're the spirit he was talking to just now aren't you?" you ask, it's not hard to put two and two together. "What's your name?"
"Well you see this is where I would normally lie and say that my name is Tiff or something..."
"You do
not look like a Tiff," you laugh as you step in to what looks like a cross between a pawn shop and a living room. There are chairs alright, but so mismatched it almost wraps back around and looks intentional and a six sided antique table scarred by fire.
"Thank you I never did much like that day," not-Tiff comments. "As I said I would lie, but as soon as you talk to Harry about the lady you met in his head he would reveal the truth so I might as well cut out the middle man. I am Lasciel..."
Wait... you know that name, dad made sure you knew all thirty of those names since you were twelve. You are standing in a room, that is not really a room but Harry's soul with one of the the Fallen.
Guess mom was right about the Devil approving of my fashion sense, the absurd thought bubbles to mind.
"To be exact I am
a kind of Lasciel, a fragment of the whole, a shadow in Harry Dresden's mind when be picked up the coin, three and a half years ago now. Nicodemus tossed it in front of another Harry while he was playing outside and it was the only way to spare the boy."
Shit. if the self-admitted devil is telling the truth and you do not see why or how it would be lying Harry is even more of a hero than you knew, saving your little brother from being possessed before preschool. "Why are you telling me all this?" Your voice is surprisingly steady given who you are talking to.
"I need your help...," she replies, managing to make even taking a seat look like some grand elegant gesture.
"Sorry, I'm batting for the other team," you quip back, wondering all the while if the lack of fear for your own safety makes you brave or just crazy... or if there is even a difference.
"To make sure he does not
die in the process of more self-flagellating heroics," the Fallen Angel finishes serenely.
"Out of the goodness of your heart?" you ask sarcastically, doing your best not to sneak peaks at the boots.
"Because if he dies having never taken up the coin I die with him," she answers in a maddeningly reasonable voice. "Our goals might not be entirely the same, but they do have significant overlap."
What do you do?
[] Nope, nope, nope, not listening to Fallen Angels, especially when they sound reasonable
[] Hear her out, it's not like she can make you do anything
OOC: Tiff is short for Tiffany which comes from the Greek Theophania which is traditionally given to girls born on the Feast of the Epiphany, which is obviously no a day a Fallen Angel would like. 
