Dresden Files/SWTOR 3 (Patreon)

“Morgan,” I greeted the Warden as he glowered at me. For fuck’s sake, I’d just gotten the White Council off my back, and their faithful dog was at my doorstep not even a week after I’d barely managed to prove my innocence. There wasn’t much I could do in the moment, so I invited Morgan inside, past my threshold (weak as it was), and asked, “I don’t suppose you have something you can tell me about him that he couldn’t?”

Morgan’s eyes narrowed as he stared me down, descending the stairs into my apartment. Finally, he growled, “Given how I was so recently proven wrong in my assumptions, I am giving you the benefit of the doubt in this matter, Dresden.”

Given how I doubted Morgan had had an original thought in the last century, that meant the White Council probably was too. Yay for me. My thoughts must have shown on my face, because Morgan’s glare intensified before he continued, “Early this morning, there was a conflux within the Nevernever. Something foul, black, powerful, and unlike anything the White Council has experienced in living memory. I have tracked it here. Explain.”

I swallowed as Morgan drew his gleaming sword from within his trenchcoat, the polished steel reflecting the flickering light from the oil lanterns on the wall. Taking a deep breath, I tried to think of a way to explain it that wouldn’t result in Morgan killing us both. Morgan was old, I was pretty sure he was born in the late eighteen hundreds. The kind of old wizard that didn’t pay attention to the entertainment produced by the larger, nonmagical population.

“I received a call while I was conducting repairs at my office,” I began, the case I’d make settling in my mind. “A man’s voice, nervous. Asked if I’d be willing to make a specific item. I told him to meet me at my office, and he showed up an hour later. What he described sounded something like possession, so I, with Bob’s guidance, made a modified version of the standard Soul Ward.”

“‘Something like’ meaning it was different than possession. How?” Morgan asked.

Damn. I was hoping Morgan wouldn’t ask that. What I made with Bob was edging dangerously close to breaking one of the Laws of Magic. Taking a deep breath, I answered, “Essentially, it seemed to be as if a normal person was transferred into a soulless but still living body. The body he’s in wasn’t his, but whoever it originally belonged to wasn’t in it anymore. But while the original soul was gone, the memories remained. What I had Bob whip up was basically a mental shield tied to an item, no entering his mind was done by me. Therefore it doesn’t violate the Third Law of Magic.”

Morgan stood still, glaring and glowering at me as he considered what I’d told him. I was glad to still be wearing my shield bracelet, for all the good it’d do me against a Warden’s sword. Our silence was broken by a rush of air and a whoop of joy as George Zahn flew up the ladder to my basement lab, quite literally.

His molten gold eyes turned to us, and his face went blank upon seeing Morgan. I glanced at Morgan, only to blink upon seeing the Warden’s face.A quick glance between the two made me realize what had happened. They had locked eyes, and with Morgan being a wizard that had resulted in a soulgaze.

A soulgaze was basically what it sounded like. You gaze upon a person’s soul, see them for who they really are, all the various fronts and behaviors you show to the world stripped away. But it’s a two way street, everyone who looks a wizard in the eye sees the wizard’s soul just as the wizard sees theirs. Morgan and George broke their soulgaze, I’m not sure who looked away first, but as they did, my own gaze locked onto George’s. I should have shifted my gaze, looked at his nose or forehead. Looking back, all I can think to explain why I didn’t was that some part of me wanted to see what a Sith’s soul looked like.

Soulgazes were almost never pleasant. This one was no exception, but in a different manner than the norm. Looking into the soul of George Zahn was like gazing upon the titan Atlas as he held back the sky, only instead of a titan it was a young man, barely grown kneeling over a bedrock of quiet, humble contentment. Bearing down on him, doing its best to break the young man so that it could taint, consume, and violate that foundation, was a whirlwind, streaked through with purple lightning.

Within the whirlwind, brief flashes of impressions, concepts, and memories echoed out. The cackling of sadistic laughter, the splatter of blood, the sadistic pleasure of violating an enemy…

I forced my gaze away, my face cold with sweat as I tried to steady my breath. Shaking my head, I refocused myself in time to see Morgan putting away his sword. He looked the pale form of George up and down, before saying, “I will explain your situation to the White Council. You will most likely not have a Doom of Damocles placed upon you, but you will be under careful observation. I wish you the best of luck, young man.”

With that, Morgan stalked out of my apartment as George and I watched him leave. For a long moment, neither of us said a word. It ended up being George who broke the silence first, “How does he do the sword in the trenchcoat thing? That looked like something straight outta Highlander.”

I couldn’t help but chuckle, glad to see I was in company with good taste. Turning to George, I asked, “I’d assume you’d also like something to let you walk about without it being Halloween?”

His face went wry and he drily remarked, “No, I think I’ll walk about Chicago looking like I was dunked in a bucket of blood. Whatcha got in mind?”