Beastly Bones (Jackaby, #2)

by William Ritter

I’ve found very little about Jackaby to be standard. Following his lead tends to call for a somewhat flexible relationship with reality.

Some girls work in shops or sell flowers. Some girls find husbands and play house. I assist a mad detective in investigating unexplained phenomena—like fish that ought to be cats but seem to have forgotten how. My name is Abigail Rook, and this is what I do.

What made Jackaby so good at uncovering the perplexing and paranormal—more than his extensive library of the occult, more than his vast knowledge of the obscure—was that Jackaby was perplexing and paranormal himself. Where you or I could observe only the surface, Jackaby perceived a deeper reality. He said this made him “the Seer”—though not like any old tarot reader or charlatan with a crystal ball. Jackaby saw the truth behind every thing and every person.

All exceptional people are, by definition, exceptions to the norm. If we insist on being ordinary, we can never be truly extraordinary.”

Much of the essence of a living thing is distilled in its teeth. Did you know that? It’s why the tooth fairies are so fond of them.”

“Charlie helped with the dig as well?” Jackaby said. Charlie nodded. “Surprising—I should think that unburying bones would go against generations of instinct to do just the opposite, wouldn’t it? Ouch! Watch your step in the dark, Miss Rook—you just kicked my shin. Where was I? Right—I was saying that coming from a family of dogs—ouch! You’ve done it again, rather hard that time. Really, the path isn’t even bumpy here.” “Mr. Jackaby, please try to be a little more sensitive,” I said. “What on earth are you talking about? I am quite sensitive enough, thank you—and getting downright tender in the vicinity of the legs, at the moment.”

“You’re either a madman or an idiot. You’re not a detective, with your auras and dragons. Was that a crystal ball you were looking through when we arrived?” “A scrying glass. I’ve never had much luck with crystal.”

Behind every great man is a woman who gave up on greatness and tied herself into an apron.

“So often,” Jackaby said, “people think that when we arrive at a crossroads, we can choose only one path, but—as I have often and articulately postulated—people are stupid. We’re not walking the path. We are the path. We are all of the roads and all of the intersections. Of course you can choose both.”

“Miss Rook,” he said, “the greatest figures in history are never the ones who avoid failure, but those who march chin-up through countless failures, one after the next, until they come upon the occasional victory.” He put a hand on my shoulder. “Failure is not the opposite of success—it’s a part of it.

The only paths you can’t travel are the ones you block yourself—so don’t let the fear of failure stop you from trying in the first place.