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“Are you nervous?” “Why would I be nervous?” I asked. She looked down and shrugged. “I don’t know. I’m nervous. I haven’t ever gone to the zoo with my dad before. What if I do it wrong?”
“What if . . . I don’t know. What if I set something on fire?” “Maybe we’ll roast some marshmallows,” I said.
The actual lion’s roar had been a little too much. There was no way all the animals would be showing off like this without some kind of intervention, and I knew I hadn’t done it. I eyed Mouse with some suspicion. The dog noticed and dropped his jaws open into a guileless canine grin, panting happily and wagging his tail.
Get it? The dog. Playing poker. That’s an art joke. I may not know humor, but I know what I like.
Dammit. This day was supposed to go smoothly—just dad-and-daughter time, where Maggie knew that she was the most important thing in the world to me.
“All right,” I said, and wagged my finger at him. “Be good.” “Whuff,” Mouse said. “He’s always good,” Maggie said, and kissed his ear.
Enough time in the saddle as a wizard had taught me that there are bad repercussions when I keep people in my life in the dark, even when I’m only trying to protect them. I looked down at her open, earnest face and her huge eyes. Yeah. I didn’t need to start off my relationship with my daughter by repeating some of my classic mistakes.
“But I’m here.” “Yeah,” I said. “And you’re more important to me.” She darted a look up at my eyes and smiled a little.
She nodded again and asked, “Am I going to get powers?” “Maybe,” I said. “There’s no way to know for sure.” “Weird,” she said.
“If I do, will you teach me stuff? So no one gets hurt?” “If you want me to,” I said. She chewed her lip, looking intently at her fingers. “If . . . something happens to you, who is going to teach me?” An invisible boxer socked me in the gut. “Nothing’s going to happen to me,” I said. “It could,” Maggie said quietly. For those two words, her voice sounded older. Way too old for the little body it came from.
It wasn’t a very coherent compulsion. I waved it off with a defensive gesture of the fingers of my left hand. “Whoa, kid,” I said. “Save it for the tourists. You and I need to talk.”
“Running away from your problems rarely gets them solved.”
“As I was saying,” I said. “You don’t get it, kid. I’m the guy who is ready for it. I’m a wizard.” I offered him my hand.
HI. MY NAME is Maggie Dresden. My dad is okay, I guess, but I wish he were a little more up on his monsters.
But there were shrouds over their heads, like a couple of dirty old paper bags that you could kind of see through if you looked hard enough. Baglers weren’t really all that dangerous as creeps went. I had a theory about them, that they just fed on the brain energy of people who talked about politics too much, and made them want to talk about politics more, because that’s just about all that came out of their mouths.
For a grown-up, he didn’t seem too stupid. And he kind of liked me. You could tell sometimes when he talked or looked at me. I liked that a lot.
I really didn’t want him to think I was crazy. I wasn’t crazy. It was just that sometimes it was really, really hard to keep from screaming and crying.
I liked his voice. It rumbled in his chest, and sounded really nice. When he read to me, it sounded like that voice could go on, steady, all night long.
He smiled at me. The smile really changed how he looked. It made him look more like a dad, I think.
But she said he carried them without complaining or letting it stop him from helping people. Even when it was really, really hard. Sort of like being around me.
He was looking at me like he really liked me. I couldn’t keep looking at him when he was like that. What if he changed his mind? Things can change. So fast.
“What if . . . I don’t know. What if I set something on fire?” “Maybe we’ll roast some marshmallows,” he said. Which was the kind of goofy thing you’d expect a grown-up to say, but it was nice to hear him say it. “You’re weird.”
The haunts were marking me for prey. Oh, great. This was all I needed.
All I had to do was say something, and he’d do it. I’d be safe and it would be quiet. And then that would be the end of our first real day together. Stupid haunts. Stupid, creeping haunts. I wasn’t going to let them and their stupid faces ruin this for my dad. I would deal with them myself.
If you started talking to grown-ups about things they couldn’t see, let’s just say that you didn’t get to go chase fireflies near dark very often. Besides. What if he thought I was, you know? Broken. What if he didn’t want a daughter who was all funny in the head?
“Um. Dad?” I asked He looked down at me, and he did not look like a dad. He looked like the hero of a revenge movie—tense and alert and maybe even a little angry. Oh. Oh, wow.
I wasn’t sure if maybe I’d made him angry. I didn’t think so. I didn’t think I’d done anything that he could get mad about. But I didn’t always realize it when I did.
If he was going to stay here instead of taking me somewhere, then he probably didn’t think he had to take care of me. So, you know. That’s good, I thought.
“Trouble, boy?” my dad asked. See, my dad is pretty smart. Most grown-ups try to tell you about how limited dogs are and how smart they aren’t. Mouse has been going to school with me since I was little, and he reads better than I do. If he thought there might be trouble, only a dummy would ignore him, and my dad wasn’t a dummy.
“All right,” he said, and wagged his finger at Mouse. “Be good.” “Whuff,” Mouse said. “He’s always good,” I said, and kissed his ear. “We’re gonna have to handle these haunts while he’s gone, Mouse,” I whispered. “Real smooth, okay? He worries enough.”
I looked up into its empty eyes and said, “I know what you are. I’m going to give you this one chance to go away and bother someone else. After that, things will get ugly.”
I interrupted it by throwing salt into its black, empty eyes. Creeps in general don’t like salt. Don’t ask me why. That’s how it is.
He didn’t talk to me in a kid voice, like some grown-ups did. They sound different when they talk to children. My dad sounded like he did when he talked to anyone else.
“But I’m here,” I said. “Yeah,” he said. “And you’re more important to me.” That made me feel warm all over, hearing him say that.
“If I do, will you teach me stuff? So no one gets hurt?” “If you want me to,” he said.
“If someone needs your help, you help them,” I said. “Even when it’s really hard. Miss Molly told me that about you.” Because what if Miss Molly had told me the kid-safe version of the truth about my dad? What if he wasn’t as good as she said he was? What if he didn’t want to take care of a daughter who had issues? Who was really hard to be around? But he looked at me and then he smiled, and I suddenly felt warm inside, like I’d had all the hot French fries in the world. “Yeah,” he said, winking at me and rapping a fist cheerfully on the table. “Yeah. That’s right.”
haunts. I addressed the girl directly. “Hey, you. Space Face.” The haunts all stared at me with their empty eyes, and for a second it was like there were shadows writhing everywhere, people in pain. I ignored those images because otherwise I would have gotten really scared. Instead, I made eye contact with every haunt and then said, “You guys are the worst. Let’s get this over with.”
The Book is pretty specific about haunts. They feed on fear. That’s why they dig up all the scary things from your past. It’s like their mustard.
Anyway, the Book says that there’s only one way to deal with fear, and only one way to deal with creatures who thrive on it. You face them.
The light was shaking a little. I was afraid. That wasn’t a good sign.
“I know,” I said out loud in a firm voice. “The Red Court came for me. They killed the foster family who was taking care of me. It was awful.”
In the dark and cold, when you’re tired and scared and can’t talk or breathe, with creeps all around you, words like that sound true. And if that was true, then there was no reason not to agree with them. There was no reason not to just lie down and let the monsters have me. For a second, I wanted it. I wanted to just lie down and stop. The words seemed right. They really did. They sounded true. They felt true. But feeling true isn’t the same as being true. In fact, feelings don’t have very much to do with the truth at all.
And then it hit me: The Book was right.
“You know what I think?” I said suddenly and in a very clear voice. The haunts fell into a shocked silence as I looked up at Tear Streaks. Her black eyes stared at mine, her mouth open, frozen in the middle of a sentence. I narrowed my eyes at her. “I think maybe right now, I’m the scary one.” And then I turned off my phone so we were all in perfect darkness—and I threw back my head and laughed at them.
I haven’t ever felt a laugh like that. It wasn’t exactly a bubbly laugh, but there was a ferocious, lionlike, sunlit joy beneath it.
One of the boys was smart enough to go straight to a security guard and ask for help, and Mouse and I went the other way. I found myself smiling. I might have skipped a little.
Beating the monsters is kinda fun. I mean, it’s awful when it’s happening, but after it’s over, it’s better than video games. Maybe that’s crazy to feel that way. I guess I get it from my dad.
“Okay, Dad,” I said. He blinked at that, and then he smiled so hard I thought he might break his face.
MY NAME IS Mouse and I am a Good Dog. Everyone says so.
I had never been to the zoo, but from what My Friend said, I just knew I was going to love it.
