So, in the interests of getting a friend of mine to watch Revolution, I have written a crossover with the Dresden Files.
Un-beta'ed, so quibble away!
- o – o -
How Bad Can This Possibly Be?
It wasn't too long ago, I reflect, that Chicago had been one of the shining jewels in a long strand of American cities. At one time, she'd been the center of illegal trade in alcohol during Prohibition. Then she'd been one of the largest economic centers in the Midwest. The Chicago Cubs had never won a World Series, but I'd never been able to prove that they were hexed—no matter how many times the managers paid me to come in.
My name is Harry Dresden. Fifteen years ago, I was the only professional wizard advertising in Chicago. Now, I am the only wizard in Chicago. Sure, Morgan is around, but he's not quite in the same class that I am. (He's an enforcer these days. Don't ask why; he'd probably kill you with one of his trademark glares.)
These days, fifteen years after the world realigned to make itself a hell of a lot easier for my kind—wizards, practitioners, anyone with a drop of magic in their blood—I'm more of a feudal lord. I wouldn't be here, but for one nagging detail:
I have a seriously paranoid ghostly adviser living in my apartment. When the world fell, Morgan tried to repossess said ghostly adviser in the name of the High Council. I said no. If you live in Chicago, you've probably got to deal with the results. (It wasn't like I meant to flood Chicago, or completely destroy the locks about forty years before they should have even begun deteriorating, but Bob is special. Added to that, he's mine.)
Long story short is that Ancient Mai got herself killed when the city flooded. So did most of the High Council—the people who governed the affairs of the magical world. You'd think that the most powerful magical people on the planet would have protected their homes better against natural disasters. Of course, for all their power, they weren't exactly expecting flooding, fires, earthquakes, or even collapsing buildings. I, Harry Dresden, am now the de facto ruler of the High Council and, by extension, the rest of the wizarding world.
What a turn of luck, right?
It helps that Bob decided I needed to refine my skills a little bit more than I'd even tried to over the years. The protections he'd badgered me into adding to my building helped protect it against everything, including the Militia and the occasional raider who comes through Chicago-Under-Chicago. (I'm not the one who named it. Blame the practitioners who decided that I was their new feudal lord for the name; also, blame the little bubble that seems to encompass my street, keeping the water nice and high above the building…while still underwater, of course.)
I also control the supply of coffee that comes into the United States these days. None of the other magicals in Chicago—or anywhere else, for that matter—want to venture into the Nevernerver these days. Can't imagine why. I always find it a pleasant change of pace from the usual insanity of Chicago and Chicago-Under-Chicago.
The only bad thing about this was that, while I had Captain Neville on a leash due to my control of the coffee, I didn't have General Monroe on a second leash. Bastard didn't drink coffee, or I'd be able to avoid charbroiling his minions every time they came to conscript the kids who've flocked to my buildings.
Okay, yeah. Buildings. It was all Bob's idea, I swear!
When the world stopped, Bob made sure I snapped up as many buildings as possible. I had to do so many rituals to claim the territory that I was unconscious for about three months from sheer magical and physical exhaustion. But the protected territory is worth it—most of the kids in Chicago have migrated here now, where I can protect them better.
Harry Dresden: Feudal lord and proud adopted papa of nearly six thousand children.
That was where the coffee came in. Since nearly every adult in the Midwest—a region that now bears the disgusting title of the "Republic of Monroe"—was a caffeine addict at the time of the collapse, it made sense to keep them and their addictions happy. As long as I'm the only one who can make jaunts to Argentina, or Italy, or Tanzania, or other countries whose names I can't even begin to pronounce, my "subjects" stay fed, clothed, and sheltered. The medical supplies are handled by one of my minions, a sweet girl named Molly Carpenter. Her parents, and the rest of her family, run most of the homes here. Charity is the one who makes sure my clothes fit and look proper for someone of my alleged status.
But really, most of this can be blamed on Bob.
I wouldn't give it up for the world, though. I've got six thousand kids to protect, and I finally have the resources to do it with. I, Harry Dresden, own the largest chunk of real estate in Chicago.
How bad can this possibly be?
- o – o -
So, what did you think? Good? Bad? Find Harry's fate in the Revolution 'verse as funny as I do? Drop a line and let me know!