She'd be able to get a better view from up top, but she eyed the narrow, icy stairs and decided against tempting fate as the deck pitched under her. She paused, bracing herself against the door, long enough to pull on gloves, and then slithered hand-over-hand along the ice-coated railing, making a circuit of the deck. If he caused an accident, she was totally giving him a ticket, proper jurisdiction or not. Thomas had the Beetle's running lights off, in blatant defiance of maritime regulations, and she just hoped that if a 700-foot oil tanker cruised through the area, his sonar or radar or whatever was good enough to catch it before it hit them. Wavetops flashed in the dim glow from inside the wheelhouse, and beyond about a ten-foot radius, there was nothing at all. It wasn't a good night to be out on Lake Michigan, not a good night at all. The wind caught her in its teeth as soon as she stepped outside the snug confines of the wheelhouse, and she squinted against the sleet stinging her face. "Bite me, Raith," Karrin said, although the loose slicker billowing around her hips did feel uncomfortably like a parasail. "I thought vampires were stylish," Karrin said, pulling it on. "Here," he said, tossing it to her, "take this." "Suit yourself," he said with a shrug, and, rummaging in the storage area under the steering console, came up with the ugliest yellow rain slicker she'd ever seen in her life. "How about I go up top and have a look around?" Thomas said, "How about 20 Questions instead?" Above the steering console, a pentacle necklace identical to Harry's dangled from a small hook, spinning slowly with the boat's movement, but leaning unmistakably in the direction of their heading. Rain and sleet lashed the windshield of the wheelhouse, sheeting the glass with ice.
"White Court vampire who's about to get ventilated with a P-90." The vampire just flashed a brilliant white grin at her and continued, undaunted. "Don't make me draw on you, Raith," Karrin said, tucking a hand beneath her shoulder holster. This story is licensed under the Creative Commons as derivative, noncommercial fiction. Plus, canon hypothermia, how could one resist? (And by "one" I mean "me".)ĭisclaimer: The Dresden Files is copyright (c) Jim Butcher. Because Thomas and Murphy on a fishing boat in the middle of a Lake Michigan winter gale was too awesome not to write.
Rating: PG no pairings (except possible canonical hints of Harry/Murphy)
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