by Jim Butcher
I covered him up with a blanket and turned to examine the rest of the room. Not much to it. A lot of toys, most of them more or less put away, and a dresser which the two kids evidently shared, a little table and chairs, and a closet.
A nice, shadowy closet.
I grunted and got on the floor to peer beneath the little pink bed. Then I squinted at the closet. If I was four and lying on the girl’s bed, the closet would be looming right past the ends of my toes.
I closed my eyes for a moment and reached out with my wizard’s senses, feeling the flow and ebb of energy through the house. Within the defensive wall of the threshold, other energy pulsed and moved-emotions from the house’s inhabitants, random energies sifting in from outdoors, the usual.
But not in the closet. There wasn’t anything at all in that closet.
“Ah hah,” I said.
“Third A,” I said, writing on the board. “Assemble.”
“Avengers…” said McKenzie.
“Assemble!” crowed the young Wardens in unison.
They’re good kids.
“That is, in fact, one potential part of this phase of the investigation,” I said, taking the conversation back in hand as I nodded my approval. “Sometimes, once you’ve figured out what’s going on, you go and round up reinforcements. But what assembling really means, for our purposes, is putting everything together. You’ve got your information. Now you need to decide what to do with it. You plan what steps you need to take. You work out the possible consequences of your actions.”
“Here’s where you use your brain. If the foe has a weakness, you figure out how to exploit it. If you’ve got an advantage of terrain, you figure out how to use it. If you need specialized gear or equipment to help, here’s where you get it.” I started a stack of papers around the room. “There’s recipes on these handouts for a couple of the most common things you’ll use: an antidote for Red Court venom, which you’re familiar with, and an ointment for your eyes that’ll let you see through most faerie glamour, which you may not know about. Get used to making these.”
I took a deep breath. “This is also the stage where sometimes you do some math.”
The room was very quiet for a moment.
“Yeah,” I said. “Here’s where you decide whose life to risk, or whose isn’t worth risking. Here’s where you decide who you can save and who is already gone past saving. I’ve been doing this sort of thing for a while. Some of my seniors in the Council would call me foolish, or arrogant, and they could be right-but I’ve never met anyone who was breathing who I thought was too far gone to help.”
“You’ve got a boogeyman,” I told Megan an hour later.
Megan frowned at me. “A… a…?”
“A boogeyman,” I said. “Sometimes known as a boggle or a boggart. It’s a weak form of phobophage-a fear-eater, mostly insubstantial. This one is pretty common. Feeds on a child’s fear.”
Yardly’s eyebrows tried to climb into his hair.
“That isn’t possible,” Megan said. “I’d… I’d sense something like that. I’d feel it. I’ve felt things like that before. Several ghosts. Once, a poltergeist.”
“Not this one,” I said. “You’re too old.”
She cocked an eyebrow at me. “Excuse me?”
“Ahem. I mean, you’re an adult.”
“I don’t understand,” she said.
“Only kids can sense them,” I said. “Part of their nature conceals them from older awarenesses.”
“The threshold,” Meg said. “It should keep such things out.”
“Sometimes they ride in with someone in the family. Sometimes if a child has a vivid enough dream, it can open up a window in the Nevernever that the boggart uses to skip in. They can use mirrors, sometimes, too.”
“Nevernever?” Yardly asked.
“The spirit world,” I clarified.
“Oh, what bullshit, Meg-” Yardly said.
Megan stood up, her eyes blazing. “Benjamin.” The tension between them crackled silently in the air for several seconds.
“Crap,” he snarled, finally, and stalked out the front door. He let it slam behind him.
Megan stared at the door, her lips tight. Then she turned back to me. “If what you say is true, then how can you sense it?” she asked.
“I can’t,” I said. “That was the giveaway. The rest of your house feels normal. The closet in the younger kids’ room is a black hole.”
“Jesus,” Megan said, turning. “Tamara and Joey are asleep in there.”
“Relax,” I said. “They’re safe for now. It already ate tonight. It isn’t going to do it again. And it can’t physically hurt them. All it can do is scare them.”
“All it can do?” Megan asked. “Do you have any idea what they’ve gone through? She says she never even remembers waking up screaming, but Kat’s grades are down from straight As to Cs. She hasn’t slept a solid night in six months. Tamara has stopped talking. She doesn’t say more than a dozen words a day.” Her eyes shone, but she was too proud to let me see tears fall. “Don’t tell me that my children aren’t being hurt.”
I winced and held up my hands placatingly. “You’re right. Okay? I’m sorry, I picked the wrong words.” I took a deep breath and exhaled. “The point is that now that we know about it, we can do something.”
“We?”
“It will be better if someone in the family helps with the exorcism, yeah.”
“Exorcism?” she asked. She stared at the doorway Yardly had gone out.
“Sure,” I said. “It’s your house, not the boogeyman’s. If I show you how, are you willing to kick that thing’s ass?”
“Yes,” she said. Her voice was hard.
“Might be dangerous,” I said. “I’ve got your back, but there’s always a risk. You sure?”
Megan turned to face me and her eyes blazed.
“Yeah,” I said. “That’s what I thought.”
“Last A,” I said, writing. “Act.”
“That seems obvious,” Ilyana said.
“Sure,” I said. “But it’s where everything gets decided. And it’s always a gamble. You’re betting that you’ve seen everything clearly, that you know everything that’s going on.”
“Yes,” Ilyana said, her tone somewhat exasperated. “That is the purpose of the first three ahs.”
“Ays,” McKenzie corrected her absently. “Eh?”
Ilyana speared him with an icy gaze. “Whatever. Already we are discovering what is happening. That was the point of the methodology.”
“Ah,” I said, lifting a finger. “But do you know everything? Are you so sure you know exactly what’s happening? Especially when you’re about to put the safety of yourself or others on the line?”
Ilyana looked confused. “Why would I not be sure?”
I smiled faintly.
The next evening, the children went to bed at nine. They stopped asking for drinks, searching for the next day’s clothing, waving glow-in-the-dark light sabers in the air, and otherwise acting like children by nine-thirty. They were all sleeping by nine thirty-five.
Megan, a surly Yardly, and I immediately got ready to ambush the boogeyman.
While Megan collected clipped hairs from her childrens’ heads, Yardly and I cleared off enough carpet for me to take a container of salt and pour it out into a circle on the carpet. You can use just about anything to make a magic circle, but salt is often the most practical. It’s a symbol of the earth, and of purity, and it doesn’t draw ants.
You only use sugar to make a circle on the carpet once. Let me tell you.
Meg returned and I nodded toward the circle. “In there.”
She went over to the circle, being careful not to disturb it, and dropped the locks of hair from her children, bound together by long strands of her own coppery curls, into the center of the circle.
“Right,” I said. “Meg, stand in the circle with them.”
She took a deep breath and then did it, turning to face the
open, darkened closet. Her breathing was slow, but not steady. She was smart enough to be scared.
“Remember what I said,” I told her quietly. “When you feel it on you, close that circle and think of your children.”
She nodded tightly.
“I’m right here,” I told her. “It gets bad, I’ll step in. You can do this.”
“Right,” she said, in a very thin voice.
I nodded to her, trying to look calm and confident. She needed that. Then I stepped back out into the hallway. Yardly came with me, and closed the door behind him, leaving Megan and her children in the dark.
“I don’t get it,” he said in a low, quiet voice. “How’s it supposed to help the kids if they’re asleep?”
I gave him a look. “By destroying the creature that’s attacking them?”
His lips twisted sourly. “It’s a prophylactic effect thing, right?”
“Placebo effect,” I sighed. “And no, it isn’t.”
“Because there’s a real monster,” he said.
I nodded. “Sure.”
He eyed me for a while. “You’re serious. You believe it.”
“Yep.”
Yardly looked like he wanted to sidle a few more feet away from me. He didn’t.
“How’s this supposed to work?” he asked.
“The kids’ hair is going to substitute for them,” I said. “As far as the boogeyman is concerned, the hairs are the children. Like using a set of clothes you’ve worn to leave a false scent trail for something following your scent.”
Yardly frowned. “Okay.”
“Your sister’s hair is bound around them,” I said. “Binding her to the kids. She’s close to them, obviously loves them. That’s got a kind of power in it. She’s going to be indistinguishable from the children, to the boogeyman.”
“She’s a decoy?”
“She’s a damned land mine,” I said. “Boogeymen go after children because they’re weak. Too weak to stand up to an adult mind and will. So once this thing gets into the circle, she closes it and tears it to shreds.”
“Then why is she afraid?” he asked.
“Because the boogeyman has power. It’s going to tear at her mind. It’ll hurt. If she falters, it might be able to hurt her bad.”
Yardly just stared at me for a long, silent moment. Then he said, “You aren’t a con man. You believe it.”
“Yeah,” I said, and leaned back against the wall. It might be a long wait.
“I don’t know what’s scarier,” Yardly said. “If you’re crazy. Or if you’re not.”
“Kids are sensitive,” I said. “They’ll take the lead from their mom. If mom is scared and worried, they will be, too. If it helps, think of this as my way of giving the kids a magic feather.”
Yardly frowned and then nodded. “Like Dumbo.”
“Yep,” I said. “Couple months from now, that will be the easiest way to understand it.”
He let out a short, bitter bark of laughter. “Yeah?”
“Definitely.”
“You do this a lot.”
“Yep.”
We waited in silence for about half an hour. Then Yardly said, “I work violent crimes.”
I turned my head to look at him.
“I helped get my sister set up out here in Peculiar to get her away from the city. Make sure her kids are safe. You know?”
“I hear you.”
“I’ve seen bad things,” Yardly said quietly. “I don’t… It scares the hell out of me to think of my nieces, my nephew, becoming another one of the pictures in my head.”
I nodded and listened.
“I worked this case last week,” Yardly said a moment later. “Wife and kids got beaten a lot. Our hands were tied. Couldn’t put this guy away. One night he goes too far with a knife. Kills the wife, one of the kids. Leaves the other one with scars all over her face…” His own face turned pale. “And now this is happening. The kids are falling apart. Child services is going to take them away if something doesn’t change.”
I grunted. “I grew up in the system,” I said. “Orphan.”
He nodded.
“Something’s going to change,” I said.
He nodded again, and we went silent once more.
Sometime between eleven thirty and midnight, a scream erupted from the older child’s room.
Yardly and I both looked up, blinking.
“Kat,” he said.
“What the hell,” I muttered.
A few seconds later, the little girl started screaming, too, that same painfully high-pitched tone I’d heard the night before.
And then Megan started screaming, too.
“Dammit!” Yardly said. He drew his gun and was a step behind me as I pushed open the door to Joey and Tamara’s room.
Megan was crouched in the circle of salt, swaying. The lights were flickering on and off. As I came in, Joey sat up with a wail, obviously tired and frightened.
I could see something in the circle with Megan, a shadow that fled an instant after the lights came up, slower than the rest. It was about the size of a chimpanzee and it clung to her shoulders and waist with indistinct limbs, its head moving as if ripping with fangs at her face.
Megan’s expression was twisted in pain and fear. I didn’t blame her. Holy crap, that was the biggest boogeyman I’d ever seen. They usually weren’t much bigger than a raccoon.
“Meg!” Yardly screamed, and started forward.
I caught his arm. “Don’t break the circle!” I shouted. “Get the kids out of here! Get the kids!”
He only hesitated for a second before he seized Tamara and Joey and hauled them out of the room, one under each arm.
I went to the edge of the circle and debated what to do. Dammit, what had this thing been eating? If I broke the circle, it would be free to escape-and it was freaking supercharged on the dark spiritual equivalent of adrenaline. It would fight like hell to escape and come back the next night, bigger and hungrier than ever.
Nasty as the thing was, Megan still ought to be able to beat it. She was a sensitive, feeling the emotions and pieces of the thoughts of others thanks to a naturally developed talent, something that would manifest as simple intuition. It would mean that she would have developed a certain amount of defensive ability, just to keep from going nuts in a crowd.
“Megan!” I said. “You can beat this thing! Think of your kids!”
“They’re hurting!” she screamed. “I can feel them!”
“Your brother has them, they’re fine!” I called back. “That’s a lie it’s trying to push on you! Don’t let it trick you!”
Megan glanced up at me, desperate, and I saw her face harden. She turned her face back into the shadowy assault of the flailing boggart and her lips peeled back from her teeth with a snarl.
“They’re mine,” she spat, the words sizzling with vitriol. “My babies. And you can’t touch them anymore!”
“Begone!” I called to her. “Tell it to begone!”
“Begone!” Megan screamed. “Begone! BEGONE!”
There was a surge of sound, a thunderous non-explosion, as if all the air in the room had suddenly rushed into a ball just in front of Megan’s pain-twisted face. Then there was a flash of light, a hollow-sounding scream, and a shockwave lashed out, scattering the salt of the circle, rattling toys, and pushing against my chest. I staggered back against the wall and turned my face away as a fine cloud of salt blasted out and rattled against the walls with a hiss.
Megan fell to her knees and started sobbing. I reached out around me with my senses, but felt no inexplicable absence in the aura of the house. The boogeyman was gone.
I went to Megan’s side at once and crouched down to touch her shoulder. She flung herself against me, still sobbing.
Ben Yardly appeared in the doorway to the room a few moments later. He had Joey in one arm, and Tamara in the other. Kat stood so close she was practically in his pocket, holding onto the hem of his jacket as if he was her own person
al teddy bear.
“Okay,” I said quietly. “It’s okay. The thing is gone. Your mom stopped it.”
Kat stared at me for a moment, tears in her eyes, and then ran to Megan and flung herself against her mother. That drove Joey and Tamara into motion, and they both squirmed out of Yardly’s arms and ran to their mother.
“Thank you,” Megan said. She freed one hand from her children long enough to touch my arm. “Wizard. Thank you.”
I felt a little bit sick. But I gave her my best, modest smile.
I finished the recounting for the young Wardens and let the silence fall.
“What was my mistake?” I asked.
No one said anything.
“I trusted the process too much,” I said. “I thought I had already analyzed the whole situation. Found the problem. Identified the source of the danger. But I was wrong. You all know what I did. What happened?”
No one said anything.
“The boggart I’d identified wasn’t the source of the attacks. It was just feeding on the fear they generated in the kids. It hadn’t needed to expend any energy at all to generate nightmares and fear in them. All it had to do was feed. That’s why it was so large.
“The source of the attacks wasn’t an attack at all,” I said. “Ben Yardly’s job had exposed him to some pretty bad things-memories and images that wouldn’t go away. Some of you who fought in the war know what I’m talking about.”
McKenzie, Ilyana, and a few others gave me sober nods.
“Kat Yardly was the eldest daughter of her mother, a fairly gifted sensitive. She was twelve years old.”
“Damn,” McKenzie said, his eyes widening in realization.
“Yes, of course,” Ilyana said. The other students turned to look at her. “The eldest daughter was a sensitive, too-perhaps a skilled one. She had picked up on those images in her uncle’s mind and was having nightmares about them.”
“What about the little girl?” I asked.
McKenzie took over. “Kat must have been a pusher, too,” he said, using the slang for someone who could broadcast thoughts or emotions to others. “She was old enough to be a surrogate mother to the younger daughter. They were probably linked somehow.”