"I think my old ring of protection might be small enough for him, it does a magic resize whatsit. Would that be in the hole or the bag...?" He pauses and retraces his jewelry related steps. "Aribeth had it for a bit, then we switched it out with the better one—bag, then." He reaches into the bag and retrieves a small copper band with a blue gem, then holds it up triumphantly. "Here we are."

"Oh, he's going to love that." The buzzing of tiny wings can be heard, Dopplering towards them. "Here he comes now! Hey, Toot-Toot, you're not gonna believe what-"

"Run!!" the pixie squeaks loudly. "Run away, run far away, run!"

Harry blinks. "What about the donut?"

"Forget the donut!!!"

Harry pales and turns to Veron. "We need to run."

"Running," agrees Veron. He clicks his shoes together, then snatches Harry's hand, darts to the side to carefully catch the pixie with his other hand, and then the world goes grey and still. The falling snow stops in its fall, suspended in mid-air.

"Don'tletgothisisashortcut," he huffs in one breath, tugging the both of them along at the speed of holy shit this man can run.

Harry follows as best he can. Toot-Toot holds obediently still, his wings only fluttering nervously.

Suddenly there's a sharp tug on Harry's side. Like he's found a sinkhole, falling into a different world. He's pulled sideways of reality with incredible force. Harry lets out a strangled yelp.

Veron would like to second that yelp. It is a yelp that is very appropriate to this situation. This is a very precarious balancing act he's doing here, dancing on the edge of the Plane of Shadow and dragging two passengers along for the ride. It's not the kind of thing that can gracefully handle such things as 'one passenger getting pulled sideways of reality.'

"Blighted imp fucker—" he swears, because swearing usually helps with these sorts of things, and he stumbles and trips. He lets go of Toot-Toot to avoid accidentally squishing him or dragging him into the Plane of Shadow if they're going there. He does not let go of Harry, because Harry does not have that squishing problem, and someone clearly meddled with him, and Veron's not abandoning him to handle whatever that is on his own.

The both of them tumble into a heap.

"How very intimate," purrs a voice. Literally, purring; it's the voice of a cat. The woman in front of them - dressed in a gown of woven snowflakes, swirling aurora colors in her slit-pupilled eyes, lips the shade of frozen raspberries - does not open her mouth. There's a cat behind her who's talking instead. "I do hope I'm not interrupting something."

"That's just petty," Harry groans, before he realizes who's talking. Then he freezes. Appropriately enough.

"Mab."

"It's my name," she murmurs. "Don't wear it out."

"Sorry," mumbles Veron apologetically, and then carefully disentangles himself from Harry to look at the snow woman (what is it with him and snow related things lately??) and her talking cat. He considers being a smartass, then decides against it, because he tries not to be a dumbass.

"... Hi," he says lamely, for lack of a better idea.

She turns her head fractionally to stare at him.

"Who in the world are you?" the cat wonders. "Are you why my Emissary was so far from my grasp, you strange thing? For you are strange, stranger, so like myself an age ago. Full of snow, but not yet frostbit... what's your name, child?"

Mab smiles, cold but almost genuine. Nearby, Harry shakes his head frantically and mouths "DO NOT". 

Veron will absolutely not tell this person his name if Harry says he shouldn't. That will be a thing he won't do.

"I'm just a professional lost person that keeps wandering into trouble," he says, ducking his head politely.

"That's not what I asked, is it?"

"It wasn't a fair question," Harry replies steadily, pulling himself to his feet. "He's called Veron. Why did you summon me?"

She makes a face. "Fine," the cat hisses. "I have a favor to ask of you, Harry Dresden, of the three favors owed your godmother that fell of late to me."

"What is it?" Harry asks cautiously.

The snow swirls around them, condensing into a tiny human form. "This man. Marcone. He was in the building that was destroyed earlier today."

Harry sucks in a breath. "Is he dead?"

"Not of that," Mab hedges. "I do not know his current fate. He was in a safe-room in the building, and he was taken away afterwards by parties unknown. The favor I ask is that you find him."

If Veron were some type of dog, his hackles would be raised. He's even a little tempted to growl. Clearly he doesn't understand the full scope of the situation, but he does not like this woman. He would like to be away from her and her implications of power and bindings and debt. Except it doesn't look like Harry can be away from this person. So Veron's not going anywhere.

He lets Harry do the talking, because Harry knows more about what's going on, and Veron feels that this is maybe one of those conversations where it pays to watch your tongue.

Veron may very well be correct. Harry raises his eyebrows. "And if I refuse?"

"You will die," she says casually.

Harry's face takes on a dangerous cast. "You swore that you would not harm me if I refused your tasks."

Then he screams and falls to his knees, clutching his face.

"I swore that I would not harm you for refusing me, and I will not," she hisses. "Your death would be unrelated. Question my given word again, ape, and I will finish freezing the water in your eyes."

His first instinct is to fix Harry's eyes. His second instinct is to stab Mab. He thinks that while these instincts are perfectly justified and reasonable, they're not super useful to the situation at hand.

"Pardon me, ma'am," he says, smoothly stepping in front of Harry, "but do you accept stand ins? Like, if I offered to pick up his favor for him?"

... That was maybe also not super useful to the situation at hand, but oh well the words have been said he'll stick by them.

Mab looks at him as though abruptly remembering he's there. "No, child, the bargain is ours alone. But you are very brave, and I find myself thinking... I wonder, would you take another of his burdens? For a long time I have hounded the wizard Dresden to take up the mantle of my Knight. My former Knight betrayed me, and I will not allow him to die until I have chosen another; he lives in agony, screaming for a death that will not come. His suffering has destabilized the balance of Summer and Winter, the very foundation of the world. Dresden will not end it. Would you take up the mantle? I would save Dresden from his pursuers, release all his debts. I can promise you anything you desire, child, pleasure beyond your wildest dreams and power even beyond what you already enjoy. And if you so desired, you could have me as well. What say you, Veron?"

Her eyes are very hard to look away from. Her unmoving berry-purple lips quirk into the tiniest smile as her interpreter says his name, like she just remembered an almost funny joke. From behind Veron, Harry whimpers helplessly.

Um.

"Um," he agrees, because the narration clearly has the right of it. Why does this keep happening to him. Why can't he attract normal women instead of scary intimidating ladies that offer him a job in exchange for sex. Why is this a thing. Do other people gets these kinds of offers, or is it just him? It is probably just him. What happened to his life. Why this.

He should probably not just leave his answer at 'um,' though.

"I'm—I'm flattered, ma'am," he says, clearing his throat. "I think I'd need to know more about the situation and the world I'm in before accepting or refusing any offers that are that, um—" Extreme? Terrifying? Bizarre? "—serious. Thank you kindly, I will give it my utmost consideration."

There, that was polite without directly saying, 'no' and pissing her off.

She smiles incrementally wider. "Very well. I eagerly anticipate your later response."

She circles around to crouch next to Harry, who has watery red tear tracks down his face. "Hear me, wizard. I have chosen to ask you to find the Baron Marcone as a favor, but in truth, it is more for your sake than mine. Summer's mercenaries will not stop until you are dead. Find the Baron, and you will find answers... answers that you need, if you are to survive. Now, we both have business to attend to. If I were you, I would rise and leave this place immediately."

"Why?" Harry manages to grit out.

"Because when your little retainer warned you of danger, he did not refer to me."

She vanishes in a whirl of snow, and the bleating of goat-men can suddenly be heard outside the alleyway.

He is not going to think about the possible implications of 'eagerly anticipate.' Nope. Nope nope nope nope.

Right. Of course they get dropped right back into danger. Why wouldn't they be. Time to resume running. He turns to pull Harry to his feet so they can get on that, this time without the shadowstep shortcut. He's not touching that again for a while.

"Is this what your life is normally like? Because I'm feeling this uncanny sense of deja vu," he mutters, darkly. He notes that a blind wizard is a very bad thing to have right now, and that he still has that ring from Drogan that does minor healing once a day. Usually it's for saving someone at death's door, but he thinks that having a wizard that can actually aim will do a better job of that. "Sano!"

One of the many rings on his fingers glows a bright blue, and Harry's eyes are a bit less bleedy. Not fixed, Veron bets that they'll still sting a bit after being half frozen over, but better.

"Thanks," Harry gasps. "Yeah, this is pretty typical. Eye-freezing's new."

There's a series of muted cracks, and snow puffs into the air around their feet. Harry staggers into a run, pulling his coat around his ears.

"Goats with machine guns," he groans. "Hell's fucking bells."

"This is more like a tavern in Hell," he says conversationally, "after having just lost a game of cards. What with the running."

Speaking of! Running! So much running! Actually, where is Toot-Toot, is he still around or did he make a break for it?

If he's around, it's not obvious. Which might be a good strategy in general, come to think of it.

Harry overturns a garbage can to slow pursuit; the gruffs hop over it easily. They continue chasing behind, but the gunfire stops. Harry looks to have a sudden realization.

"They're herding us," he says sharply. "Forzare!" he shouts, pointing the tip of his staff toward the entrance of the alley. A near-invisible bolt of force flies through the air and crashes into a gruff rounding the corner, who bleats unhappily and staggers backwards. He then takes the staff itself in a two-handed grip and smashes its ankle, eliciting a shockingly human scream of pain.

"Oh. Great."

Veron takes advantage of the opening Harry opened up with the gruff. By stabbing them. Then he retrieves a tanglefoot bag from his bag of holding and tosses it behind them, in the path of their pursuers.

The gruff who is stabbed crumples to the ground, bleating in agony. The tanglefoot bag explodes, covering the gruffs in quick-hardening tar. One of them founders, his legs trapped, and finds himself practically cocooned in the alchemical concrete. The other two avoid the tendrils, opening fire as they do so.

Harry and Veron round the corner half a second before the bullets bite into the wall. There's a door with no visible handle, presumably barred from the other side. Harry closes his eyes and focuses, and there's an audible clunk as a push-bar on the other side of the door depresses and the door opens out. Harry pulls Veron in, then swings the door closed behind them.

It's dark in here. Then there's a flare of light and a steady glow emanates from the pentacle necklace around Harry's neck, illuminating a bare concrete hallway.

It's a bit close for two people. Harry makes an apologetic face.