Brief Cases

by Jim Butcher

  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. It wasn’t an angry sound, but it told them that I wasn’t impressed with their black eyes and their bad dreams. I didn’t try to be very loud, but the sound of it rang from the black stone walls, as true and clear as a bell.

  And the haunts screamed.

  Their screams didn’t sound like pain exactly. They were each on one note, an absolutely pure tone that didn’t waver around. None of them were notes that went with the others—it was just this horrible mash of sound, like a steam whistle on the cartoons, but without any of the happy, harmonious overtones a steam whistle carried. It sounded like when Molly or Harry walked into the room while the TV was on—sort of a shrieking, monotonous feedback.

  And then, all at once, they went silent—and the only sound left was me giggling.

  “Heh, heh, heh,” I heard myself say. “Ahhhhh. Stupid creeps.”

  I turned my light back on. The kids were all lying on the floor, dazed. They were my age, more or less, and they started to sit up one at a time. Their eyes weren’t black anymore. They were just eyes.

  The haunts were gone.

  It was just us kids.

  “What happened?” asked a boy.

  “Ow,” Tear Streaks said, and started sniffling. “My eyes.”

  “Um,” I said. I kept shining my light in everyone’s eyes so that they wouldn’t get a very good look at my face, and decided that it was probably simpler to go with the kid-safe version of events. “Gas leak. Come on. We should get out of here. It’s very dangerous to stay.”

  It took a little cajoling, but I got everyone back out of the building and into the daylight. They all seemed very confused. Mouse was waiting right where I’d left him, and he walked very carefully next to me, each movement slow and deliberate, so that he didn’t knock over any of the confused kids.

  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.

  Mouse and I got back to the café, and I bought us victory fries. Mouse collapsed flat onto his tummy under the table in pure relief that I was all right, but that was okay. I leaned down a little extra to make sure he got his fries.

  My dad came back about five minutes later, walking with a kid a few years bigger than me. He smiled at me, and I smiled back at him.

  “Hey there, punkin,” my dad said. “This is Austin. He hasn’t ever seen the gorillas here, either. How about we get some food for everyone and then we’ll go over there?”

  “Okay, Dad,” I said.

  He blinked at that, and then he smiled so hard I thought he might break his face.

  “Whuff,” Mouse said, and wagged his tail.

  MY NAME IS Mouse and I am a Good Dog. Everyone says so.

  There are many wonderful people in my life, but the most important ones are My Friend Harry Dresden and his daughter, Maggie. I love them, and I love being with them, and I love going to the zoo.

  I had never been to the zoo, but from what My Friend said, I just knew I was going to love it.

  My Friend and Maggie both smelled very nervous, though they were trying not to show it. 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 humans have the potential to be the most wonderful beings there are—if you can get past all these enormous stupid spots you seem to have in your hearts. It’s not your fault. 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.

  We rode in My Friend’s car down to the zoo in the park. I used to get confused when we went to the park, but then I realized that humans had made many parks inside their city, not just one. I love parks. And they are one of the many reasons humans are good.

  I walked carefully next to Maggie, and she held on to my mane or to the handle on my support-dog vest. Maggie says my vest is red. I don’t know what that means, but it is her favorite, and that makes me happy. I was careful to wag my tail a little and smile as I walked. Humans are little and can be frightened very easily, so it is very important to show them that you want to be friends.

  At least, until it is time to not be friends.

  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.

  I felt Maggie suddenly grow tense, and paused to look at her, one paw in the air. Her expression was intent and serious, and I knew there was one of those creatures she called creeps nearby. Creeps were serious business, a threat to children; adult humans could not seem to sense them at all. Even I could barely tell when one was nearby. I had to get close enough to jump on one to sense it properly, and even then I only saw shadows and smelled cold and hunger.

  It was not my place to fight them. I knew that from my nose all the way in my tail, the same way I knew how to use the power that had been given me. It was my duty to defend and protect the home, and these creatures were meant to be a training ground for the young. Humans forgot them as they aged, but the lessons taught by facing such predators lasted for life. It was not my place to interfere in Maggie’s learning.

  Unless they came in the house, of course. That was simply unreasonable.

  Two humans speaking angrily to each other smelled like old tobacco and mildew, and their voices hurt my ears a little. They were discussing the role of the United States in combating poverty, illiteracy, and terror in Central Africa, and were quite upset about it. They must have been baglered. They were no threat to anything but pleasant conversation.

  But the group of a dozen schoolchildren who smelled like sick ferrets and had black shadows under their eyes were a different matter. They were being possessed by more creeps, haunts, by the smell of it, and could be a severe threat to Maggie’s well-being. Not physically—physically, they were only more children, and if the creeps chose to take their battle to the physical arena, the same law that bound my power would allow me to intervene. The true threat they represented was intangible and serious.

  Maggie had not pointed them out to me. Perhaps she wished to ignore their presence on such an important day. That was a reasonable attitude. But slink-thief predators like haunts were not often reasonable. They marked her and began tracking her as we moved.

  That could be a problem.

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

  I focused my senses, trying to locate the threat that only my instincts insisted was near, but I could smell nothing. Human racket was drowning out the subtle sounds, as per usual in the city. There were scores
of people walking through the park, and I could track no movement.

  But there shouldn’t have been so many creeps here, walking about in plain daylight. I had been expending energy for two days to help make this day smoother for My Friend and his little girl. Their first day together was important, and I had worked hard to make sure no malicious energy would interfere with it.

  Perhaps simple ill fortune was at play, and things might otherwise have been much worse.

  Or perhaps there was a force working against me.

  My Friend leaned down to ruffle my ears and tell me how much he loved me, and my heart surged happily at the gesture.

  Well. If something wanted to interfere with My Friend and Maggie’s happiness, it would have to get past me.

  That thought normally made me wag my tail.

  But today, it sent a slow, cold chill up my spine.

  “HEY,” I SAID to the otters. (We were seeing the otters.) “Hi, guys!”

  “Hi!” burbled an otter.

  “Hi, hi!” said another.

  “I’m tired,” said a third, yawning.

  The humans around us didn’t notice the conversation, of course. Humans think you need your mouth to talk.

  I wagged my tail at the otters so they would know I was friendly. “I’m Mouse, and this is the best little girl in the world. Could you guys please show off for her? She’s never seen an otter before.”

  “Show off?” asked the first otter. “What’s that?”

  “Go play!” I said.

  “Play!” shouted the first otter, and jumped on the third otter’s head.

  “Eeeep!” the third otter shouted. The first otter bounded off, and the other otters followed, into the water, out again, around and around a tree trunk, and then back into the water.

  “Look, look!” Maggie said, tugging on My Friend’s coat. “Hey, look!”

  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.

  I spoke to the sun bear, who was sort of grumpy but who didn’t mind tearing a section of log apart to show Maggie how strong sun bears were. The lionesses only rolled their eyes when I tried to talk them into a pouncing demonstration, but the lion was pleased to roar. The monkeys were as happy to play as the otters, and I didn’t even have to ask the peacocks to show off their pretty feathers.

  All in all, I did a good job, I thought.

  Good boy, Mouse.

  And then magic, dark and ugly, rippled through the air.

  And under it was … energy. My kind of energy, but dark and hard and terrible, full of cold, merciless clarity.

  I caught a scent: the far-off scent of something I could barely remember. It made me think of mountains and burning oil lamps and cold, bright sky.

  My Friend had reacted to the black magic in the air. He was scanning the park, tense, the happy energy around him suddenly replaced with watchfulness and an unconsciously projected aura of confidence and power. My Friend is not to be taken lightly. He is not heart-stupid at all when it comes to defending those weaker than he is. He sensed a threat, a dark practitioner, and he was ready to confront it.

  I had a dark feeling roll through me and make the soft spot of my throat itch. A magical threat, here today? My nose told me that the pack of haunt-ridden children was still trailing us, even if they were keeping a distance.

  What were the odds of a threat unique to each of my family appearing? Especially when I’d been working energy to avoid this exact outcome?

  Something was out there.

  I felt the hairs on my spine try to rise. But my red support-dog vest hid them.

  My Friend knew he had to assess the threat he sensed, and that was proper. But he was worried to leave Maggie alone. He trusted me, but no safety measures could ever be thorough enough for him to feel completely sure she would be all right. He was right. Nothing is truly safe in this world—and that being the case, why worry about threats that have not yet appeared? Far wiser to make what preparations one could, face trouble as it arose, and be happy in the meantime.

  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.

  My Friend spoke to me. He used many words, but what his heart said was, “I don’t want to leave her even for a single second, but I trust you to protect my daughter while I am fighting evil.”

  I told him I would. He’s learned enough to know how to hear me when I say that much. Then he took us to a place with food smells and got Maggie and me French fries to eat while he scouted out the threat.

  Is My Friend awesome or what?

  He got Maggie settled and then strode out, moving with purpose. I had to resist the urge to follow him, because when he did that it made me want to go with him and help. Instead, I sat by the French fries and watched them intently. You know. In case any villains were hiding inside and might be a threat to Maggie.

  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.

  This time, I sensed a change in the air. Someone was working energy against us.

  Outside, partially concealed in some greenery, was a hulking, furry shape that looked like my shadow. I could sense that dark clarity flowing from it in a torrent, strong enough to push the creep toward Maggie, urging the creature to attack.

  I felt myself begin to surge to my feet, a growl bubbling in my throat.

  But Maggie put her foot on my head and pushed down.

  Maggie was tiny, even for a human, even for one her age. She was a surprisingly tough-minded child, but she could not have stopped me from rising and running even if she’d been her father’s size.

  My Shadow faced me calmly, something arrogant and mocking in its stance, in the angle of its head. It was crouched like a hunter, ready to leap.

  And it was trying to hurt my little girl.

  But I couldn’t leave her side. What if it pushed the haunt to break the rules and physically attack her and I wasn’t close enough to intervene?

  So I didn’t advance on the threat. I stopped using my breath to growl and instead focused it into working energy, reaching out for light and softness to counter the black ice of My Shadow’s malice.

  The dark energy pushing the haunt rolled back from mine like fog before an oncoming car, and just then, Maggie threw a handful of salt into the haunt’s face.

  The haunt recoiled from the salt, more than from the pain the body it possessed suddenly experienced, and I directed energy toward it, urging it to back away. If the haunt left Maggie, I could deal with My Shadow directly and make it depart. I’d gotten its scent now, the smell of its hostile intent. I could follow it into, through, and out of every shadowy realm to which it could possibly flee.

  The haunt retreated before Maggie’s defiance and my breath, and I began to move, to eliminate the true threat before it could make another attempt on Maggie.

  But the scent was … gone.

  I sniffed again, harder. That wasn’t right. I knew it in my tail.

  But it was gone.

  Impossibly, simply, gone.

  Huh.

  What in all the wide universe could do that?

  My Shadow, it would seem.

  When My Friend came back, he was tense, troubled, and quiet. That made me uneasy. I have seen him face many terrible things, and they rarely troubled his heart like that. A human, then. Monsters were not nearly the threat to him that other human beings had proved to be. He was in pain.

  I would have gone to him, but my duty was to guard and prote
ct Maggie, and she still was not safe—not with the haunts and My Shadow running around the zoo as if it was their own personal hunting preserve, and not with her Anxiety waiting to undo her if she didn’t have me beside her. He was her father. His primary concern was to protect and nurture her, and I would help My Friend with anything. So I stayed by Maggie’s side.

  Also, she had French fries.

  They spoke together some more. He told Maggie about warlocks and the dangers they posed. Maggie felt sad for the warlock, which I knew My Friend was feeling, too. But Maggie feared more than that—that he would not want to be her father. And he was afraid that she wouldn’t want to be his daughter if he always had work to do.

  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 lay quietly, staying focused on working energy. It would not do to dwell on violent thoughts during that process. But while I did what I could for my family, I also pressed my teeth together, to be sure they were ready.

  They were.

  MY FRIEND SET out to save the warlock, of course. He had no idea that haunts even existed, much less that they were nearby. I would have preferred to go with him—warlocks were dangerous propositions, and I could have sized up the person for him, helped him understand whether compassion or resolution was the most important virtue to hold while facing the warlock. I could have warned him, protected him.

  But only by leaving Maggie vulnerable to the circle of hungry haunts waiting outside the cafe.

  Maggie waited for My Friend to stride out of sight before she stood up and turned to me. “You know I have to do it like this. You can’t come all the way.”

  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 would not be able to defend her from the haunts and their terrible thoughts. She would have to face them, and while the proper course was always to confront evil, victory over it was never assured.