De Forr Est
Dresden Soul
“I didn’t mean to disturb your thoughts, my friend,” Arthur smiled lightly at the werewolf in front of him. “I just needed a piece of advice, as a…”

Bering hesitated, the level of gravity predefined for the conversation dropping along with his tone.

“Talk to me as a spirit to spirit.”

Wolfe’s jawline hardened at the words, but he nodded quickly. This way they both could get the much needed answers, but at what cost… Spiritual practices inside the city were pretty much restricted, both by the law and by natural forces that didn’t allow the alignment of energetic fields and lines.

What Arthur really wanted from him by asking of this?

“As you wish, Sire.”


The forest was dim and dark, tall lifeless trees saving it from obscurity by their almost cardboard-like trunks. They seemed flat and somehow too straight to be natural.

DeForest felt as if he was standing in the spotlight. Perhaps, it could be explained by astounding visibility, that appeared not muffled by any other thing.

“Ah, yes. I am dreaming,” he thought and looked around with more defined curiosity. He could rarely walk this path, as if he usually didn’t allow himself to go deeper into the reality created by his own mind. He wondered, of course, what it can imagine of its own accord, what kind of pictures would haunt him if he’d just sink layer by layer.

Most probably not these.

He could only see this forest from time to time. Dark, scary, dead.

A big black stag stared at him.

DeForest completely missed the moment he was no longer alone in this odd place. Sudden change of the visible did nothing to surprise or startle him, but it set his thoughts into motion in completely different direction.

Who was it? What did it want? Why was it here?

Why the stag?

The dream ended as suddenly as the mysterious creature found its way into DeForest’s mind.


“There is nothing I could do or say to make it better.”

De watched the slumped frame of the werewolf in the chair thoughtfully, then sighed and stood up to pour his guest some more water.

Vincent had a difficulty to breather properly as he simply inclined his head to express a grave agreement. He wasn’t coping with his wife’s death at all.

“She is well in the world of your ancestors.”

“Yes, you took her there,” Vincent mumbled, his voice weak from the loss. A wolf spirit within him was howling, disconnected from the life companion. He himself was not sure how much of that mourning he could take until this soundless song would drive him mad.

“Yes,” said DeForest and crouched in front of the fireplace to add in some more wood. November started to show its cold sharp teeth recently.

“Can you take me there too?”

De’s hand stopped midair.

“You know very well, Vincent, that I can,” he looked at the wolf over his shoulder, his eyes almost fully blue with the remnants of yellow summer gleam. “But I will not.”


“There are rules, Vincent. I will not break them. Yes, those are my own rules, but I did not set them just to break them like that,” he snapped his fingers. “I take the spirit to the other world when it’s time for them to continue their path. Not earlier and not later than that.”

Wolfe took a deep breath, his lungs were still giving up to support a tiny shred of life his soul still cradled.

“If you lose your path,” DeForest said slowly, trying to get through that thick scull, “no one will be better off. Not you, not your sons, not your daughter. They’ve just lost their mother, so why would you take away their father as well?”

The change of expression on the wolf’s face was a good indicator that De felt the right spot to press on.

“Those are not the thoughts their father is allowed to have in his head. Stop being weak this instant!”

DeForest handed him the glass of water in time to see Vincent pour it instantly over his head and face.

He had to get his shit together.


Не успел ещё Де толком покинуть здание библиотеки, как слева от него послышался внушительный грохот, смягчённый шелестом бумаг и чьим-то жалобным "ай, нувотопять".

Шаман тут же поспешил помочь человеку прибрать обратно к рукам стопку фолиантов, нести которую в одиночку отважился бы лишь только сумасшедший. Либо с настолько быстрыми выводами о человечности бедолаги Де погорячился.

"И ведь раз десятый уже так," - закатил на самого себя глаза мужчина в возрасте, но с очень четком отпечатком аристократической породы в каждом жесте и движении. Затем он осуждающе посмотрел на широкую желтую полосу, которой был обклеен неприметный порожек. "И, судя по всему, этот десятый раз - далеко не первый. Спасибо Вам, мистер?.."

"Зовите меня просто ДеФорест," сказа Де, сгребая три одинаковых как близнецы тома.

"Август. Я работаю в городских архивах. Книжная крыса из меня образцовая," - фыркнул Август, поправив очки в солидной и очень дорогой чёрной оправе, - "а вот носильщик - никудышный. Прямо и не знаю, что делать, уровень доступа только у меня в нижние залы..."

Он покачал головой и, с помощью шамана, вернул всю книжную конструкцию к себе на руки, наспех поблагодарив ещё раз своего внезапного спасителя. Затем, уже в дверях, он внезапно обернулся.

"А я ведь Вас точно знаю."

"Да?" - удивился ДеФорест, приподнимая брови.

"Есть в Вас что-то такое, знаете..." Август чуть снова не уронил книги, видимо почти попытавшись выразить мысль руками. "Зайдите ко мне на следующей неделе."

Затем, поморщившись от собственной прямоты и грубости, он добавил:


Де оставалось только кивнуть.

@темы: If I were your vampire, A journey of life and death