Brief Cases (The Dresden Files, #15.1)

by Jim Butcher

My Friend was worried he could not be a good father to a little girl, which was ridiculous—but if he wasn’t worried about it, he wouldn’t be the person he is. She was upset, too, but for different reasons. She was worried that she would have an Anxiety attack, and that then I would have to help her, and that her father would think she was weak and broken and not want to be her father. That, too, was ridiculous, but her life has not been an easy one. They are both good people, and both often misunderstood by their fellow humans.

You just don’t know how to work your hearts right yet. That’s why there are dogs. I think it’s nice to know your purpose.

My Friend and Maggie walked together, talking. They were saying all kinds of words, but what they were really saying, over and over, was “I hope you like me.” That was silly, to think that they would not love each other—but sometimes humans are slow to figure things out, because they are heart-stupid. You are, too. That’s okay. Just get a dog. Dogs can teach you all kinds of things about your heart.

They must have been baglered. They were no threat to anything but pleasant conversation.

But . . . something was wrong. I knew it in my tail.

The otters ran behind some rocks, but before Maggie could even ask, My Friend had scooped her up and lifted her high so that she could follow the action. Maggie let out a rolling, bubbling giggle, fascinated, and the warmth between them sang of love and light. I wagged my tail so hard that I had trouble standing up.

That might be the saddest part of human heart-stupidity: how much happiness you simply leave aside so that you have enough time to worry. I know sometimes I’m not very smart, but I don’t see what’s so interesting about worry.

We’d only gotten to eat a few when one of the haunts simply walked up to our table and began to say mean things to Maggie. No. When one of the haunts was pushed to our table to confront Maggie.

I sat very still and breathed bright energy all around them. Their fears were foolish, but dangerous, this early in their relationship. If only so many things had not come up at once, and today of all day— Ah. That made more sense. These encounters were not the result of chance, but malice. My Shadow was attempting to disrupt the course of what should naturally be taking place—bonding between a father and his daughter.

I had read the Book as much as she had. I knew the course it recommended to confront haunts, and its reasoning was eminently sound. Evil left unconfronted only grows stronger. But to do that, she would have to face them alone—entirely alone.

“I love you, too, Mouse.” My heart pounded hard as the simple, frail, devastating power of that love flowed into me. I tried once again to tell her that I loved her in human speech, and again only made some random sounds. I sighed. She knew.

There were memories within her that could kill her, memories she didn’t even know she had. They came out only when she was sleeping.

I saw her begin to struggle with the images and then brush them aside in an act of will startling in its intensity. She clenched her jaw and turned in a slow circle. She was a head shorter than every other haunt-taken child there, but she made full eye contact with each and every one of them before speaking in a clear, calm voice. “You guys are the worst. Let’s get this over with.”

This child was about to walk into the darkness with a dozen predators, knowing full well the danger she faced—and knowing equally well that there was no promise that she would emerge victorious. Her heart was pounding, her eyes a little wide, but she stood with her feet planted and her expression set in stubborn calm. Maggie was not heart-stupid at all when it came to courage. She had chosen to forge her own destiny in this meeting. So be it.

“I grew,” he said. “You . . .” He lifted his lips from his fangs in a sign of contempt. “You merely ate.” “I like food,” I said. “You’re fat.” “And very happy,” I said. “Are you happy?”

“We were made to be dogs,” I said, as gently as I could. “To love. To show others how to love. To be guardians. To be examples.”

“Needs must be done?” I asked. “Who talks like that? Honestly.” “Do not mock me,” My Shadow snarled. “An acquired habit. I can’t imagine where I learned it,” I replied.

“Now hear me, brother,” I said gently. “Cease your attempts to harm my humans. Depart this city. Do not come back.” “Or else?” he asked. “There is nothing else,” I replied calmly. “You will do these things. The only question is whether you will do them of your own will or if I must teach you how.”

“Choose, slave. Lose the wizard or lose the girl.” I tilted my head to one side and said, “I assume you never saw The Dark Knight.” That gave him pause. He tilted his head and said, “What?”

“And what is that?” My Shadow asked, sneering. I roared, breath and energy filling me, and shot forward and up the stairs toward him, the darkness of the hallway suddenly full of azure starlight.

But, then, I was raised by a wizard. When it comes to fighting, I tend to cheat wherever possible.

I summoned energy with my breath and left paw prints of azure starlight behind when I hit the wall at the same place and bounded after him.

Mouse's magic is in his breath. That's very curious.

Uh-oh. Bad dog, Mouse.

Then, harnessing energy in my breath once more, I bounded against one tree trunk, then another, then straight up into the air. Sometimes when My Friend and I went camping, I would do that and leap out over the lake, just to see how high I could get. My record was nearly twenty feet. Of course, I hadn’t been terrified then. This was more like thirty.

I would have to trust to fortune and the Almighty and Queen Mab and Odin and whatever other friendly Powers that might be watching that My Friend would, please, please, please be all right.

“I am bleeding,” I said, “and weaker than I could be, and tired from one fight already. Assuming near parity between us, you should have the advantage. But you don’t. Because you forgot something.” “Oh?” My Shadow asked. “I don’t need to survive this scenario to succeed,” I said.

“Survival isn’t enough,” I said. “I wish to live. And I will best do that by taking you with me.” “If you can,” he said. “If I ignore my own survival, it gives me a great many options in a fight that I would not otherwise have, brother. Are you that confident of your strength?” “If you can,” he snarled. “But whether or not I can isn’t really the question, is it?” I noted.

“The question is whether you believe me. The question is whether I am truly willing to sacrifice my life so that she may have hers.” I rose and shook out my mane, causing motes of bright energy to fall like tiny stars. “I love that child. And if you take one step closer, I will gladly die to rip out your guts with my teeth.”

“Brother,” I said, my voice hard. He paused, cocking an ear without looking back. “You didn’t harm them. You are leaving. As I told you.” The hairs on his back went rigid. “Remember the third part,” I said. “Don’t come back. Or we will answer that question together.”

“You’re going to stand by him,” Maggie said carefully. Though she really meant by me. “Yes,” My Friend said simply. Maggie tightened her grip on his hand. I was tired. But I leaned forward and gave him a kiss on the ear. “Yick!” My Friend said, smiling. “Gross!” But what he meant was, Good Dog.