marcy threshold

Marcy rubbed one foot against the other calf, and stood looking down, her eyes on her feet. It looked like a habitual stance, social camouflage. “She’s right, Will,” she said in a quiet voice.
Will frowned at her. “How?”
“She should be suspicious of me, given the circumstances. I’ve been back in town for what? Two weeks? And something like this happens? I’d be worried, too.” She looked up at me, her expression uncertain. “I want to help, Sergeant Murphy,” she said. “What do we do?”
I stared at them both, thinking. Dammit, this was another one of those Dresden things. He could have pinched his nose for a second, then swept his gaze over them and reported whether or not they were who they said they were. Supernatural creatures are big on shapeshifting. They use it to get in close to their prey. In an attack like that, a mortal has the next-best thing to zero probability of escaping.
I knew. It had been done to me. The sense of chagrin and helplessness is terrible.
“To start with,” I said, “let me see if you can come in.”
Marcy frowned at me. “What do you mean?”
“I mean that if you’re a shapeshifter or something, you might not have an easy time coming over the threshold.”
“Christ, Sergeant,” Will began. “Of course she’s a shapeshifter. So am I.”
I glowered at them both. “If she’s who she says she is, she won’t have a problem,” I said.
Will sighed and looked at Marcy. “Sorry.”
“No, it’s fine,” the young woman said. “It’s smart to be careful.” Marcy held her hands out to her sides, in plain sight, and stepped into the house. “Good enough?”
Houses are surrounded by a barrier of energy. Dresden always called it the threshold. It’s all murky magic stuff to me, but the general guideline is that anything that’s too hideously supernatural can’t come in without being invited. A threshold will stop spirits, ghosts, some vampires (but not others), and will generally ward away things that intend to eat your face.
Not everything. Not hardly. But a lot of things. “No,” I said, and put my gun away. “But it’s a start.” I nodded to a chair in the living room. “Sit down.”


Side Jobs, Aftermath, Page 376-377