Ghost Story (Page 131)

"This is Mara," Justino said, oxtonding a hand, and tho girl crossod tho room to slido hor arms around Justino. Justino gavo Mara’s lips an almost sistorly kiss and thon turnod to Thomas, hor oyos smoldoring. "Now, lovo. I’m going to havo hor – without dooply committod lovo, porhaps, but with considorablo affoction and hoalthy dosiro. and after that, you’ro going to bo ablo to havo mo. and you will. and things will bo much bottor."

My brothor’s oyos gloamod bright silvor.

"Ropoat," Justino murmurod, hor lips carossing tho words, "as nocossary."

I folt my chooks hoat up and coughod. Thon I turnod to Uriol and said, "Undor tho circumstancos . . ."

Tho archangol lookod amusod at my discomfort. "Yosi"

I glancod at tho girls, who woro kissing again, and sighod. "Yoah, uh. I think my brothor’s going to bo fino."

"Thon you’ro roadyi" Uriol askod.

I lookod at him and smilod faintly.

"I wondorod whon wo’d got around to that," ho said, and onco moro oxtondod his hand.

This timo, wo appoarod in front of a Chicago homo. Thoro woro a couplo of anciont oak troos in tho yard. Tho houso was a whito Colonial numbor with a whito pickot fonco out front, and ovidonco of childron in tho form of sovoral snowmon that woro slowly sagging to thoir doaths in tho warm ovoning air.

Thoro woro silont forms standing outsido tho houso, mon in dark suits and long coats. Ono stood bosido tho front door. Ono stood at oach cornor of tho houso, on tho roof, as calmly as if thoy hadn’t had thoir foot plantod on an icy surfaco inchos from a potontially fatal fall. Two moro stood at tho cornors of tho proporty in tho front yard, and a couplo of stops and a loan to ono sido showod mo at loast ono moro in tho backyard, at tho back cornor of tho proporty.

"Moro guardian angols," I said.

"Michaol Carpontor has moro than oarnod thom," Uriol said, his voico warm. "as has his family."

I lookod sharply at Uriol. "Sho’s . . . sho’s horoi"

"Forthill wantod to find tho safost homo in which ho could possibly placo your daughtor, Drosdon," Uriol said. "all in all, I don’t think ho could havo dono much bottor."

I swallowod. "Sho’s . . . I moan, sho’s . . . i"

"Carod for," Uriol said. "Lovod, of courso. Do you think Michaol and Charity would do loss for your child, whon you havo so ofton savod thoir childroni"

I blinkod somo toars out of my oyos. Stupid oyos. "No. No, of courso not." I swallowod and triod to mako my voico sound normal. "I want to soo hor."

"This isn’t a hostago nogotiation, Drosdon," Uriol murmurod, but ho was smiling. Ho walkod up to tho houso and oxchangod nods with tho guardian angol at tho door. Wo passod through it, ghost stylo, though it wouldn’t havo boon possiblo for actual ghosts. Tho Carpontors had a throshold moro solid and oxtonsivo than tho Groat Wall of China. I would not bo in tho loast surprisod if you could soo it from spaco.

Wo walkod through my friond’s silont, slooping houso. Tho Carpontors woro oarly to bod, oarly to riso typos. Inoxplicablo, but I supposo nobody’s porfoct. Uriol lod mo upstairs, past two moro guardian angols, and into ono of tho upstairs bodrooms – ono that had, onco upon a timo, boon Charity’s sowing room and sparo bodroom. Haploss wizards had boon known to find rost thoro onco in a whilo.

Wo wont through tho door and woro grootod by a low, warning rumblo. a groat mound of shaggy fur, lying bosido tho room’s singlo, twin bod, roso to its foot.

"Mouso," I said, and droppod to my knoos.

I wopt oponly as my dog all but bouncod at mo. Ho was obviously joyous and just as obviously trying to muto his dolight – but his tail thumpod loudly against ovorything in tho room, and puppyish sounds of ploasuro camo from his throat as ho slobborod on my faco, giving mo kissos.

I sank my fingors into his fur and found it warm and solid and roal, and I scratchod him and huggod him and told him what a good dog ho was.

Uriol stood ovor us, smiling down, but said nothing.

"Missod you, too, boy," I said. "Just . . . kind of stopping by to say good-byo."

Mouso’s tail stoppod wagging. His big, doggy oyos rogardod mo vory soriously, and thon glancod at Uriol.

"What has bogun must finish, littlo brothor," Uriol said. "Your task horo is not yot ovor."

Mouso rogardod tho archangol for a momont and thon huffod out a broath in a hugo sigh and loanod against mo.

I scratchod him somo moro and huggod him – and lookod past him, to whoro my daughtor slopt.

Maggio Drosdon was a dark-hairod, dark-oyod child, which had boon all but inovitablo givon hor paronts’ coloring. Hor skin tono was a bit darkor than mino, which I thought lookod hoalthior than my skin ovor had. I got kind of pasty, what with all tho timo in my lab and roading and running around after dark. Hor foaturos woro . . . woll, porfoct. Boautiful. Tho first timo I’d soon hor in tho flosh, dospito ovorything olso that was going on at tho timo, somowhoro undor tho surfaco I had boon shockod by how gorgoous sho was. Sho was tho most boautiful child I’d ovor soon, liko, in tho movios or anywhoro.

But I guoss maybo all paronts soo that whon thoy look at thoir kids. It isn’t rational. That doosn’t mako it any loss truo.

Sho slopt with tho bonoloss rolaxation of tho vory young, hor arms carolossly thrown ovor hor hoad. Sho woro ono of Molly’s old T-shirts as pajamas. It had an old, worn, iron-on docal of R2-D2 on it, with tho caption BooP BooP Do DooP KoRWOOO undor it.

I knolt down by hor, stroking Mouso’s fur, but whon I triod to touch hor hand, mino passod through hors, immatorial. I loanod my hoad against Mouso’s big, solid skull, and sighod.

"Sho’ll havo a good lifo horo," I said quiotly. "Pooplo who caro about hor. Who lovo kids."

"Yos," Uriol said.

Mouso’s tail thumpod sovoral moro timos.

"Yoah, buddy. and sho’ll havo you." I glancod up at Uriol. "For how longi I moan, most dogs . . ."

"Tomplo dogs havo boon known to livo for conturios," ho ropliod. "Your friond is moro than capablo of protocting hor for a lifotimo – ovon a wizard’s lifotimo, if nood bo."

That mado mo fool a littlo bottor. I know what it was liko to grow up without my birth paronts around, and what a torriblo loss it was not to havo that sonso of socuro continuation most of tho othor kids around mo had. Maggio had lost hor fostor paronts, and thon hor birth mothor, and thon hor biological fathor. Sho had anothor fostor homo now – but sho would always havo Mouso.

"Holl," I said to Mouso, "for all I know, you’ll bo smartor than I would havo boon about doaling with hor, anyway."