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Wednesday
I woke from a nightmare with a strangled yelp. I’d expected nightmares, but even so could never prepare myself for them. This latest one was full of terror and pain, my mind fracturing into pieces, held down by vampires while Mavra carved my skin with her razor-sharp nails, following it up with languid strokes of her tongue to lick the blood clean.
As I slowly died from a thousand cuts.
For seventeen years, most nights Mister would sleep draped over my legs (or between them when he’d been small enough). He would regard me with half-closed eyes and a rumbling purr after one of my nightmares, his way of letting me know I was loved, and safe, and none of it had been real.
Now his heavy weight was gone and I was alone. I flopped back on my pillow with an aching heart, covered in sweat. The monster who killed my cat was dead, but it hadn’t stopped the pain.
“Hell’s bells,” I muttered, rubbing my eyes, slicking back damp hair that’d plastered to my forehead. I sensed it was past sunrise, though not by much. I forced myself to my feet and into the bathroom, where a cold shower washed off the stink of fear.
I dried, dressed, and went downstairs, dreading the task ahead of me. But it wouldn’t get any easier if I put it off.
There was a room in the back on the first floor that I’d set aside for Mister, creating a cat haven just for him. I’d even cut a largeish hole near the bottom of the door and covered it with a flap, so he could come and go even if it was closed and locked.
While Mister liked people, he did not like screaming children, especially those chasing after him. So when a number of displaced families moved into the castle temporarily, he needed a place they would leave him alone. It wasn’t much, a dog bed (because of his size), an extra bowl of kibble and water, a litterbox in the corner. A few of his toys scattered around.
I stood in the doorway, trash bag in hand, and felt an ache in my heart as I looked around. Then I picked up a clump of gray hair from the bed, rolling it into a ball with my fingers. Mister’s fur was on the longer side, and finer than short-haired cats. As such, he tended to shed in clumps, and his navy bed was covered in swaths of matted gray.
I cleaned most of it off, dumping it, leftover food, and litterbox contents into the bag. I corralled the toys and tossed them in the middle of the bed, not sure what else to do with them. I couldn’t bear to throw them away, not yet.
His favorite toy had been Chirpy Bird, a catnip-stuffed yellow and red parrot with feathered tail that chirped when touched. The noise mechanism drove me insane after a week; a quick hexus spell took care of that, and Mister didn’t seem to care it no longer made noise. It sat on the bed, a well-loved toy missing both eyes and part of its felt beak, stuffing starting to escape from its seams.
I might’ve had to clear my eyes once or twice with a swipe from my hand while I worked.
“I’ll miss you, fuzzball,” I said softly.
Then, giving the room one last look, I closed the door behind me.
*
After a subdued breakfast of scrambled eggs and fried spam that Sanya dug out from a hidden corner of the pantry, I left him in the living room watching a show called The Americans while I went to the roof to repair the gargoyles.
“Is amazing show,” Sanya told me, gesturing to the frozen image Bob projected onto the large, blank wall. “Russians and Americans spying on each other, KGB operatives living as Americans. Is time in our history that is better not repeated, but is fun watching.”
The damage to my gargoyles looked worse in daylight, though someone (probably Purpleweed’s soldiers) had recovered their missing pieces. The gargoyles themselves were where I’d left them, huddled in the far corner surrounded by broken granite.
I swept all the chunks I could find into a bucket, ignoring the dried blood and ichor as best I could, then carried it over to the gargoyles.
“Let’s get you fixed up. Sorry it took so long. There was… an incident I had to take care of yesterday.” Predictably, they said nothing, though Leonardo’s tail thrashed from side to side. It gave me an impression of irritation on his part. “I know, I know. Without your wing you can’t fly. How about we fix you first?” For whatever reason, I felt closer to Leonardo than the other three. Perhaps because I’d enchanted him three separate times before trying the spell on the other gargoyles.
He looked at me and grinned. It was a bit unnerving.
I used chalk to sketch a small circle around us. A small flick of will and it snapped closed with a slight pop of air. Even without touching the wing, I knew it was Leonardo’s, sensed traces of his essence within the stone. I picked it up in one hand, extending my other inside the bucket.
“Similatius, similitus, similis,” I murmured, releasing my will. Tiny bits of granite flew into my palm, each belonging to Leonardo. I held still despite the urge to twitch every time fragments of stone added themselves to the pile. Not until the movement stopped did I let the spell fade and withdraw my hand. In it was a substantial amount of granite.
“You guys really took a beating. But you protected the lives of my friends, and I’ll be forever thankful for that. Leonardo, come sit next to me.” The gargoyle walked over with an unsteady gate, trying to compensate for his missing wing.
Drawing in power once more, I shaped a spell I’d perfected while testing my original golem spells on onyx chess pieces. I placed Leonardo’s wing in position, pressing the pile of granite against his arm.
“Vinculitas lapisium.”
Warmth spread from my chest down to my hands, a warmth that came from healing, from fixing instead of breaking, from creating instead of destroying. I began to sweat, even in the cold November morning, the heat growing intense.
The stone flowed into Leonardo like liquid, filling cracks and gouges, fusing his wing to his body. I held the spell, feeding power to it in a steady stream. Granite shifted inside the gargoyle, redistributing and balancing itself, until the warmth faded, taking the spell with it.
He flexed his wings, then tried a few experimental flaps. When he lifted a few inches off the ground, he hissed in excitement and launched himself into the sky. It broke the circle, but the joy Leonardo felt far outweighed my slight irritation at having to recast it. He spiraled up, then dove down, buzzing close enough to send my hair flying in his wake.
I grinned. “All right, quit showing off and have a seat. I still need to fix the rest.”
By the time I’d repeated the process for all four, I was exhausted. My magic still hadn’t fully recovered, and using two intensive spells back to back nearly drained my tank to empty. I was looking forward to an afternoon of relaxation on the couch, either with a book, or watching Sanya’s show with him.
Maybe I could talk him into something more fun, like Kate Beckinsale wearing tight leather while hunting werewolves.
I leaned back, propped up by my elbows, and laughed as the sight of four gargoyles racing over the roof filled me with joy. It felt damn good to laugh.
“Harry?” I turned to see Sanya making his way towards me, careful to walk around the stains. Seeing the gargoyles enjoying themselves, he gave a deep belly laugh. “Oh, how wonderful! You fix them good as new!” He sat down in one of the wooden chairs, and Donatello landed on the table next to him, which somehow managed to hold his weight. “Much thanks to you and your comrades for assistance in battle. It was glorious!”
The gargoyle tilted his head as he looked at Sanya, then nodded slowly as he displayed teeth in a wide grin. Then he took off, slapping at Michaelangelo’s wing as he rocketed by. The other gargoyle nearly went into a tailspin, but caught himself in time and darted after Donatello.
“You come up here just to enjoy the day?” I asked Sanya, collapsing into a chair.
“Oh, no. Someone called several times before I answer because of interruption to my show. When I tell him Harry is busy, he yells. I tell him if he wishes to swear in Spanish, do so in person. Then I hang up.”
Ramirez, probably calling to accuse me yet again of something I hadn’t done. I let out a sigh. “Thanks, Sanya.”
“Is no problem.” We watched the gargoyles in silence for a few minutes. “This is marvelous magic, Harry. Making golems.”
“Thanks.” It was more heartfelt this time.
Pounding, loud enough to echo through my neighborhood, and Bob’s blue orb shot up through the roof. “There’s a Warden at the door -“
“Dresden!” came the shout. Ramirez had decided to take Sanya up on his offer.
“Down!” I hissed at the gargoyles. “Get down!” I pushed power into my words, and all four quickly landed on their perches, turning into unmoving statues. Then I bolted to the edge of the roof and looked down, just as Warden Carlos Ramirez looked up. Only a moment’s hesitation and he snarled a word, his staff aimed at the ground. A pulse of power propelled him up the three stories, where he landed behind me by catching himself with a second spell.
He was fury incarnate, and I had no idea why.
“Ramirez,” I said cautiously, holding my staff at the ready but not gathering power. By contrast, his staff’s runes blazed with fire.
“I should go get sword?” Sanya asked, looking between us.
Carlos had barely given the Knight a glance, so focused he’d been on me. Now, he took in the sutures lining Sanya’s jaw, the boot he had on one foot, my own sutures running the length of my left hand. His stance relaxed slightly. “Knight,” he said with a nod.
“Warden.” Sanya returned the nod.
“That’s not necessary, though I do appreciate it, Sanya. I think Carlos and I need some alone time to work a few things out.”
The Knight gave Carlos a long, piercing look. It was absolutely a threat, and Carlos responded by narrowing his eyes. Then Sanya told me, “Send for me if situation changes.” He walked to the roof’s door and disappeared inside. While Bob wasn’t visible, I knew he’d hear every word spoken, and get Sanya if I needed him.
“What is this about, Carlos?“
“Did you know about the attack ahead of time?” It was more accusation than question, and took me by surprise.
“Mavra called me the day before to gloat. How do you know about it?”
“And you didn’t think to tell the White Council?” he thundered.
“Why would I bother telling the White Council about a Black Court attack on my home?” I thundered back, anger snapping. “Would you have stopped it? Or would you have used it as an excuse to finally kill me?”
He frowned in confusion. “An attack, here? Drakul -“
“Drakul didn’t show. It was Mavra, a handful of blampires and an army of Renfields against me and my friends.” I made sure to emphasize the word.
Carlos’ face hardened and he slammed his staff into the stone. “Drakul was in Edinburgh!” he yelled. “With the Fomor’s assistance, he used the Nevernever portal deep beneath the Arctic Ocean and took us by surprise. He even brought Yuki; she’s gained a lot of power. Conjured massive tornadoes the likes of which I’ve never seen. Between Yuki and the other practitioners he has at his disposal, they managed to either cripple or destroy a number of wards inside Edinburgh and do a substantial amount of damage.”
Hell’s bells. My anger deflated instantly, and I swallowed down a burst of fear. Had Ebenezar been there? “Casualties?"
“Four wizards, one Warden. More than two dozen injured, three critically.” His anger faded as he saw the shock on my face. “The Senior Council fought them off, but Edinburgh’s a mess.“
“Chandler.” The name slipped out involuntarily.
Carlos frowned. “What about him?”
“He’s dead.”
Carlos’ expression twisted into a scowl. “Of course he’s dead, and that’s your fault.”
For once, his bitter accusation merely rolled off me. “The vampires took him alive. They broke his mind and stole every secret he knew, then turned him into… into some kind of spider-like creature through necromancy. Mavra brought him - what remained of him - here. Coincidence, do you think, that Mavra attacked me while Drakul kept the White Council busy?”
“Dios… Chandler?” he finally asked, little more than a whisper. “You saw him?”
“I killed him,” I snapped, “before he was able to kill me. But it was him,” I added in a softer tone. “I touched his mind. I heard him screaming, Carlos. Killing him was the kindest thing I could do.” My stomach flipped a few times as I recalled the ward crushing Chandler’s body, the tiniest glimmer of humanity in his eyes as he died.
“Dios,” he repeated, looking at that moment more tired than I’d ever seen him.
I let out a long sigh, then walked over to one of the chairs and all but fell into it. “I’m not working for the vampires. Despite what you may believe, I never have been.”
He narrowed his eyes, but followed my example and sat in a nearby chair, stretching out his bad leg. “What about Lara Raith? Or her brother Thomas?”
I hid a flinch at Lara’s name. “That is Winter Court business. You don’t like it, fine. I don’t much like it either. But I made a bargain with its queen, and she helped me when the White Council wouldn’t. When you wouldn’t.” I couldn’t keep the growl from my voice. “Because of that, I have a debt to honor, and regardless of how much I may hate it, it involves the White Court.”
Carlos Ramirez had been a friend, once. I still considered him such, even if he no longer reciprocated the friendship. But he’d always been perceptive, and I should’ve kept my damned mouth shut.
“This is about that girl in Chichén Itzá, isn’t it? Who is she to you, Dresden?”
Hell’s bells.
Part of me wanted to tell him, to try and mend the rift between us.
Part of me didn’t.
“She’s my daughter,” I said softly, before my subconscious could object.
“What?” Carlos asked.
“Maggie is my daughter. A daughter that, until she was taken by the Red Court, I had no idea existed. You know my history. I was an orphan, adopted by Justin DuMorne when I was ten. My daughter was eight. She witnessed her entire adoptive family murdered at the hands of vampires, then was taken to be sacrificed.
“You know me, Carlos. Would you have expected me to do anything different? To not try every single means at my disposal to save her? To not bargain with a Fae when my back was broken and I could no longer walk, because I’d never succeed otherwise?”
I leaned forward in my chair. “She is my daughter,” I said in a menacing tone, “and I am the only family she has. I made a choice, and I do not regret doing it. The only thing I would have regretted is if I’d never tried in the first place.”
Of course, I would have been dead had the ritual completed, a blood curse that would’ve wiped out Maggie’s entire family line, including me, Susan, Thomas, Ebenezar… possibly spreading to Lara, her sisters, and her father.
Carlos continued to stare at me, his expression unreadable.
“I didn’t tell you before because… well, I was afraid you’d tell the White Council, and they would use my own daughter against me. You know they would. Some of them have had it in for me since I was sixteen. Stars and stones, I don’t even really know why I’m telling you now. I guess I’m hoping that my trust in you is not misplaced, and that maybe our friendship still means something to you.”
I let out an exasperated breath and ran my fingers through my hair absently. “Hell’s bells, Carlos. We’ve been through Hell together, and I know sometimes the things I say, the things I do… scare you. They scare me, too. But believe me when I tell you I’ve only ever tried to do the right thing.”
He met my eyes. “You know what they say about the road to Hell.”
It didn’t even make me angry, only more tired, and I nodded. “Which is why I rely on friends to help me see clearly. But you’ve become adept at accusation without explanation. Do you remember when you stood in the middle of the road, outside Château Raith? You accused me of sleeping with Lara, because Yuki’s spell informed her I’d had sex recently. That proved absolutely nothing, you know. White Court vampires don’t need to have sex to feed, or to compel.
“I was speaking with Lara Raith that night because that is what the White Council told me to do.” Which wasn’t a lie, but not the whole truth, either. I wasn’t ready to trust Carlos - or anyone who didn’t already know - with the knowledge of my brother. “But before that, I’d spent the evening with Karrin Murphy. Do you need me to draw you a diagram, or can you figure out what we were doing on your own?”
“Then why didn’t you just say that?” Carlos demanded, thumping his staff a few times for emphasis.
I’d been watching Leonardo out of the corner of my eye, the main reason I’d chosen this particular chair. The gargoyle had been staring at Carlos intently the entire time, and apparently Carlos’ hostile tone was one threat too many. He hurled himself at Carlos, a blur of gray stone.
“No!” I yelled at him, but knew it was too late. “Defendarium gravitas!” I aimed my staff at Leonardo, catching him in a shield bubble and yanking him to the ground next to me before he could crash into the Warden.
Carlos’ own shield had snapped up, a swirling, writhing mass of water, which he slowly lowered when he saw I wasn’t attacking him. “What in God’s name is that thing?”
“A gargoyle.” I crouched down next to Leonardo, who was struggling to break out of the bubble. “Calm down. He’s a friend, all right?” The gargoyle stopped and looked at me with unblinking eyes, tongue trailing over his exposed teeth. “Yeah, I know. For now, stand down. That’s an order.”
I released the shield. Leonardo gave Carlos a scowl, then launched into the air, spiraling around the roof a few times before landing back on his perch.
“Golem? You made a golem? That can fly?” Carlos sounded… impressed.
“I made four,” I said smugly, pointing to them. “One in each corner. That little guy is Leonardo.”
The barest hint of a smile formed on his face. “Let me guess. The others are Donatello, Michaelangelo and Rafael?”
“Got it in one. Good to know not every wizard is deficient in pop culture. In fact, exposing the White Council to a few select movies would improve their understanding immensely. Or at least make them a little less surly. I mean, how can you hate Ghostbusters? It’s not possible.”
Carlos walked over to Donatello. It pained me to see him still limping, his staff supporting much of his weight. Donatello’s head swiveled around to watch the Warden approach.
“Which one is this?”
“Donatello.” At the sound of his name, the gargoyle turned around on his ledge to face us. “Wanna see something?” I asked him. Without waiting for an answer, I shouted, “Red Squadron, attack pattern Delta!” I used my blasting rod to launch ten shimmering orbs into the air. The gargoyles sprang to life, flying up in formation wingtip to wingtip. They dove for the orbs, sweeping and rolling, lashing out with claws and tail, disintegrating the orbs in a matter of seconds. Finished, they landed in a line on the wall in front of me.
I startled at Carlos’ laugh; it sounded rusty, like he hadn’t used it in months. “Red Squadron, eh? Not Gold?”
“Of course Red Squadron. After all, they destroyed the Death Star and saved the day.”
This time he chuckled softly. “You are right about that. Your gargoyles are amazing. We could use a few like them in Edinburgh. I’ll have to talk to the Senior Council about adding golems to their defenses. After what Drakul did…” he trailed off, pain flitting across his face.
“Red Squadron, resume your duties,” I told the gargoyles, and after they flew back to their perches, I put a hand on Carlos’ shoulder. “Tell me what happened.”
*
Carlos stayed another hour, exchanging his Drakul encounter for my Mavra one. While Mavra was finally dead, Drakul had fled without a scratch on him. I had no idea what would kill him, other than perhaps a surprise beheading with a Sword of the Cross.
He wasn’t a vampire; he was a scion, but a scion of what I didn’t know. A demon maybe, or a Black Court vampire if such a thing was possible. Kincaid had worked for him for centuries, and I wondered if Kincaid knew a few things about Drakul that could be used against him.
When he was finished, Carlos drew in a long breath and let it out. “I won’t tell the Council about your daughter, Harry. I do wish you’d explained yourself sooner, though.” He ducked his head a moment, and when he lifted it, he looked embarrassed. “I don’t know if I ever thanked you for saving my life, risking yours by diffusing that bomb. I could’ve ended up like Yuki, working for Drakul as a mindless vampire. When you wouldn’t tell me how you knew where I was staying, I assumed you were working with them, and I’m sorry for that. I realized - almost too late - that what I accused you of made no sense. Had you wanted me dead, you would’ve just let the bomb finish me off.”
He stuck out a hand. “I don’t know if we can go back to the easy friendship we had, but I’d like to believe you’re not the enemy.”
I firmly gripped it. “I told you, everything I’ve done I’ve believed the right thing to do. I’m not your enemy, Carlos. I never have been.”
Carlos left the same way he’d arrived, propelling himself upwards with a word and a burst of power, arching over the roof and landing softly on the sidewalk. He raised a hand in farewell, then limped over to his car and drove off.
“What do you think?” I asked Leonardo, standing next to him. He regarded me with his blank-eyed unblinking stare, and if he could speak, I imagined him telling me that trusting Carlos Ramirez, Warden of the White Council, was a bad idea.
I truly hoped not.
A black shape appeared in the distance, a bird that grew bigger by the second as it made its way unerringly towards me. I readied my staff, shook out my shield bracelet. “Be wary, but don’t attack,” I instructed the gargoyles. I didn’t want them trying to take out Listens-to-wind, or worse, Odin himself.
It landed on the ledge, clearly a raven by its body size and thick beak. Since my last encounter, I’d read up on the difference between ravens and crows, not wanting to make a costly mistake the second time around. And ravens meant Odin, though I knew he was currently in the Kringle persona, having donned the Winter King’s mantle after Halloween.
I eyed the raven suspiciously.
It eyed me back. Set the paper in its vicious-looking beak on the wall’s edge and clamped a clawed foot down before it could blow away. Then it let out a raucous caw, sounding like a crow who had a lifetime habit of smoking twelve packs a day.
“You bite me and I’ll blast your feathers off,” I muttered, leaning over to carefully pluck the paper from under its foot. The raven turned its head to regard me with one eye, cawed once more and launched itself into the air. The gargoyles watched it go, Leonardo’s tail lashing back and forth in irritation.
“You got that right,” I told him, looking at the folded note in my hand. “That bird’s nothing but trouble.” I recognized the embossed logo in black, a thick circle bisected by a vertical line; the logo for Monoc Securities, whose CEO sometimes moonlighted as Odin. Inside, the elegant handwriting merely said one word: Come. The handwriting I recognized at once as Lara’s, and if I hadn’t, the subtle scent of her perfume would’ve given her away.
In the corner, written in block letters, was a date and time. Friday, 8PM.
At least I’d still make Maggie’s birthday.
*
Thanksgiving
I drove the Munstermobile to the Carpenters’ house for Thanksgiving. It had warmed enough that nearly all the snow had melted, except for small piles under bushes where the sun couldn’t reach.
The Carpenters’ driveway was full, but my car wouldn’t have fit even if it had been empty. I parked along the curb out front, to cut down on the walking distance for Sanya. He never complained, but I saw how tired he became when compensating for the boot’s weight, and how awkward it was to walk in it.
Michael greeted us at the front door before I even knocked, offering Sanya a huge, backslapping hug and me a nod over his shoulder. “Glad to see you’re both still in one piece, more or less.” He eyed Sanya’s stitches, then the black boot where wool-covered toes peeked out.
“Ah, was good to fight vampires again,” Sanya replied, grinning as we followed Michael into the living room. “Where are your children?”
Michael pointed to the kitchen as he carefully lowered himself onto the couch, using his cane for support. “Alicia and Hope are helping Charity, and Matthew -“ he pointed at the ceiling “- is keeping the other two occupied. Otherwise they’d be chasing each other through the house, and my wife’s temper is already frayed to the breaking point.” But he said the words fondly, a faint smile on his lips.
I was familiar with Charity Carpenter’s temper, having been on the receiving end of it more times than I cared count. But I also understood her incredible love for her family and had seen her fiercely protect them.
“Is good, having family,” Sanya said.
It was more than an hour before the food was ready, and Sanya gleefully regaled us with tales of what he’d been up to over the past few months. Though Butters was now a Knight, he stuck close to Chicago, more so since the battle. Sanya, however, had traveled the world twice over in the intervening months, and had been on his way to Peru when the storm unexpectedly grounded his flight in my city.
Charity appeared, and with nothing more than a raised eyebrow, called us to the table. “Kids! Come on!” Michael bellowed, loud enough to be heard anywhere in the house. Soon thundering footsteps descended the stairs, and everyone took their places in the dining room.
The extended table gleamed in the candlelight, the Carpenters having long become accustomed to leaving off the lights when I was around after one too many instances of light bulbs shattering in my presence. Michael sat at the head of the table, with Charity at the other end. Down one side was Sanya, Matthew and Amanda. I sat opposite Sanya, with Harry, Hope and Alicia next to me.
Matthew, having graduated from the University of Chicago with a degree in economics, was content to work for his father’s construction business. No longer living at home, he made it a point to come to family dinner every Sunday. Every time I saw him, he looked more and more like his father.
Alicia was currently attending the University of Chicago, majoring in creative writing. I’d read a few of her short stories that Michael passed to me; she wasn’t half-bad, though it brought up bittersweet memories of first meeting Susan when she worked as a reporter for The Midwestern Arcane. Alicia had always been more serious than her siblings, and even now wore a slight frown as if trying to complete a puzzle in her head.
Hope and Amanda were in high school, while Harry was in junior high. He was closest to Maggie in age, about two years older than she was.
We settled in our seats and were silent, all watching Michael as he bowed his head. “We thank you, Lord, for our friends and family gathered here today. We are grateful for Your bounty before us prepared by loving hands, and for the blessings You bestow upon us. O Lord, bless those absent this day whom we hold dear in our hearts. Amen.”
Even I murmured, “Amen,” after Michael’s words. It was the polite thing to do, and I was grateful for my friends and family. After all the Thanksgivings I’d spent at the Carpenters, it felt different now that I’d accepted an active role in Maggie’s life. Being her father wasn’t the same as becoming her father, and I understood better the joy Michael and Charity radiated at times like this.
I wished Maggie was here with us, and had to take comfort in the fact that I’d see her tomorrow.
Food was passed around, and I dutifully took a bit of everything, even the cranberry sauce made with real cranberries and orange peel that was too tart for my taste. But after I loaded my plate, I found my appetite had fled. I missed Maggie. I missed Mister, too; his loss still ached deep in my heart, which translated to a tight knot of pain in my stomach.
I stared at the mashed potatoes, lost in thought as I slowly used a spoon to push it around. A high-pitched mew caught my attention, repeating itself as I looked around. When I finally looked down, a tiny ball of cream-colored fluff was fixated on me and howling at the top of her lungs.
I dropped the spoon and reached down to cup her in my hands. “And who are you?” I asked, bringing her up to eye level. She purred furiously, her entire body shaking as she took a few unsteady steps towards my face. Then, very gently, she placed a paw on the tip of my nose and mewed.
“Found her at my construction site two days ago,” Michael said with a smile. “Couldn’t find any trace of Mom or siblings, and couldn’t leave her out there alone in the cold. She’s too small to be on her own, so brought her home to clean her up, and never have I seen a kitten eat so much. The vet gave her medication for parasites, but said she’s otherwise healthy and about eight weeks old.”
“Her name’s Clementine,” Harry piped up, grinning through a mouthful of cranberry sauce.
“He’s been playing The Walking Dead too much,” Hope said, rolling her eyes and sighing dramatically. At my blank look she added, “Clementine is the little girl that Lee, the main character, is trying to save from zombies.”
“Oh.” I shot a look at Charity, who ignored me, then at Michael, who shrugged.
“He plays at his friend’s house.”
Matthew turned his laugh into a cough at his mother’s withering gaze.
Clementine kept up her piteous mewing, and I picked off a small piece of turkey to offer to her. She eagerly chomped down, then licked my fingers with her tongue. I chuckled at the sandpaper-like roughness, then gave her two more bite-sized chunks.
“She’s adorable.” I set her in my lap and used one hand to scratch her back, the other to shovel a few bites of food in my mouth. My appetite had returned with a vengeance, and suddenly everything smelled so good. Clementine wobbled in place for a minute as I stroked her, then sleepily collapsed only as kittens can.
“Harry?” Michael waited until I looked up at him. “God sent her to me for a reason. I was wondering if you’d like to adopt her.” I didn’t much believe in God’s motives, or any plans He might have for me, but Michael did.
I looked down at Clementine dozing in my lap. My hand had curved protectively around her, warmth seeping into my skin. Affection bubbled up in my chest as a small smile grew. She wouldn’t replace Mister; no cat could do that. But she would help ease the aching loss and loneliness. Picturing her sleeping on my chest next to the fireplace turned that smile into a wide grin.
“I’d love to.”
*
Maggie’s birthday
Upon arriving at Maggie’s room, she flew into my arms and I picked her up, holding her with one arm as I stood. She trembled as she clutched my neck.
“I’m so sad Mister’s gone,” she murmured.
I rubbed her back. “I know. Me, too, punkin.” I let her sob for a minute, until she quieted and wiped her eyes. “I know it’s not the happy birthday you imagined, but I did bring you a present.”
I’d used a bookbinder and printer I knew to craft a handmade leather-bound journal as a present for Maggie. The pages were lined for writing, but the lines faint enough that Maggie could draw over them if she wanted to. She doodled on occasion; nothing fancy, but her talent far outshone my pitiful attempts. Though barely managing stick figures sets a pretty low bar.
The cover was embossed with a silver pentacle, ruby foil filling the center to match the necklaces that Maggie and I wore. Inside, on the first page, Ruben had stamped “Maggie Dresden’s Guide To Creeps” using the ancient printing press he loved to tinker with.
I’d leafed through the spiral notebook Maggie kept on the creeps. Filled with a generation of Carpenters’ handwriting in different sizes and styles, it had more than its share of food stains and water smears. Maggie’s block-style writing was remarkably similar to my own, but neater. Probably because she took the time to write, where I was usually in too much of a hurry to make the words legible to anyone other than myself.
From one of my duster’s pockets I brought out the wrapped package. “Happy birthday, punkin.”
She tore the paper off with glee. “Oh, wow,” she said softly, running fingertips over the pentacle and dark brown leather.
“Thought you might like your own journal for the creeps. You can copy from the original notebook, or create a brand new book in your own words. And if you don’t really want to make a new book on creeps, you can use the journal for anything else you’d like. I also got you this.” I pulled another item from my pocket, this unwrapped. “I spoke to your teacher, Mr. Zabriski. He told me you love writing with fountain pens. This one is filled with black ink, but your teacher said you could use any of the inks in his workshop if you’d like.”
Maggie took the capped pen with reverence, then untied the leather strap and opened the journal’s cover. There was a small pocket sewn into the cover for the pen, and she slid it inside. “Maggie Dresden’s Guide To Creeps,” she read out loud. “Oh, Dad, this is perfect!” She threw her arms around my neck and squeezed tight.
That warm feeling in my gut spread to the rest of me as I hugged her back just as tight. “Glad you like it.”
At that moment, Clementine let out a tiny mew of protest, and Maggie jerked her head back, eyes huge. “What was that?” Mouse, sitting at my feet, looked up expectantly.
I set her down on the floor. “That is someone I’d like you to meet. Maggie Dresden, this is Clementine.” I brought the kitten out of my duster’s pocket, cupping her in my hands.
Maggie drew in a sharp breath. “She’s so cute!” she exclaimed. “Can I hold her?”
“Of course.”
She picked Clementine up, pressing the kitten to her chest and leaning down to hear the tiny purrs. Mouse stood, stuck his nose into Clementine’s fur and sniffed a few times. She wasn’t afraid of Mouse, and sniffed him back, small pink nose touching his large black one. Mouse withdrew, tilted his head as he looked up at me, and woofed approvingly.
“Mr. Carpenter found her at his construction site and thought I should adopt her. What do you think?”
“Oh, yes, yes!” Maggie brushed her cheek against Clementine’s incredibly soft fur.
“That’s good, since I already did. So far, she’s made a mess of the litterbox and spread food all over the kitchen floor.” I was exaggerating for Maggie’s sake, just to hear her giggle. I loved her giggle, and hoped she never became too old or too serious to stop. Truth was, Clementine was much neater than Mister had ever been.
“How about we go eat lunch?” I asked, holding out a hand. Maggie took it, cradling the kitten with the other.
“Can Clementine come too?”
I gave her a grin. “Of course she can.”
*
We ate lunch inside the cafeteria, cheesesteak for the three of us (though Mouse’s was minus the bun). I opened a small can of cat food I’d brought and dumped it on a spare plate for Clementine. I followed that up by pouring water from my cup into a small empty soup mug.
Since we didn’t have a lot of time before Maggie’s class, I let her do the talking. I would’ve let her regardless; I hear my own voice often enough. She told me about her classes, her friends, the books she’d checked out from the library to read, and TV shows she’d been watching. My heart filled with joy at how happy she was. I’d never really had friends in school, first being too small and too strange, then becoming even stranger after my wizardly powers developed.
Besides, there had been Elaine. What were friends compared to her?
Maggie trailed off, watching Clementine’s head nod lower and lower until she face-planted in her food. It set Maggie off into uncontrollable giggles as the kitten seemed quite content to nap in that position. Even Mouse huffed a laugh.
I picked Clementine up, wiped food from her face, and settled her back into my inner pocket. It immediately grew warm from her body heat.
“Kittens are silly,” Maggie declared. She’d never seen Mister when he was little.
“They most certainly are,” I agreed.
We finished lunch and walked through the quad, heading to Maggie’s next class. When we approached one of the benches, I slowed and gestured to it. “Sit with me for a minute. I have something to tell you before I leave.” After I sat, Mouse hopped up to lean against Maggie, and to my delight, my daughter snuggled up next to me.
I quickly surrounded us in a zone of silence with power and a few words, then enclosed us in a bubble of icy fog to prevent anyone from reading lips.
I might be a little paranoid.
“You remember Justine, right?”
Maggie nodded decisively. “She gave me the nail polish I used to practice on you.”
I grinned at the memory, bright pink on my toes, Maggie’s brow furrowed in concentration as she applied the polish, and I gave her a squeeze. “She did. Well, she’s going to have a baby in a few months, which means you’re going to have a cousin.”
She blinked at me, mouth open in surprise. “A baby? I get to have a family?”
Oh, how that innocent comment broke my heart, and I held her tight. “You always have family, Maggie. Me, your grandfather, your uncle Thomas. And you have Michael Carpenter and his family, too. But soon, you’ll have one extra member of that family.”
Maggie squealed and threw her arms around me. “A baby!”
I chuckled at her enthusiasm. “Just remember, you can’t tell anyone about this, or about Thomas.”
She rolled her eyes with a sigh. “I know, Dad, it’s a secret.”
“It’s important, punkin. There are people who want Thomas dead, and wouldn’t hesitate to hurt Justine or the baby.”
Her face turned solemn at my words. “I won’t say anything. I promise.”
I hugged her one last time and kissed the top of her head. “Happy birthday, kiddo. I love you so much, Maggie.”
“Love you, Dad.”