consequences. Only he can’t protect himself or your family from them anymore.”
Molly took a very deep breath and then nodded, her worried eyes focused on the road. “Right,” she said. “Okay. It’s just . . .”
“Yeah?”
“I’m used to him being there, I guess. Knowing that . . . if I need him, he’s there to help. I guess I always had it in my head that if things ever went really, truly bad, he’d Show Up,” she said, putting gentle emphasis on the last words.
I didn’t answer her. My father had died when I was young, before I learned that there was anything stronger than he was. I’d been operating without that kind of support for my whole life. Molly was only now realizing that, in some ways, she was on her own.
I wondered if my daughter even knew that she had a father, if she knew that there was someone who wanted, desperately, to Show Up.
“You get yourself an apartment and your plumbing goes bad, he’ll still be there,” I said quietly. “Some guy breaks your heart, he’ll come over with ice cream. A lot of people never have a dad willing to do that stuff. Most of the time, it matters a hell of a lot more.”
She blinked her eyes several times and nodded. “Yeah. But . . .”
I got what she didn’t say. But when you need someone to break down the door and commence kicking ass, you really need it. And Michael couldn’t do that for his daughter anymore.
“Tell you what, Molly,” I said. “You ever need a rescue, I’ll handle that part. Okay?”
She looked at me, her eyes blurred with tears, and nodded several times. She clasped my hand with hers and squeezed tight. Then she turned her face back to the road and pressed down on the accelerator.
We hit a drive-through and went on back to my apartment.
At the top of the stairs that led down to my door, I felt myself starting to get angry. They’d hammered the door flat. There were some scuff marks on it, but not much more than that. Tough door. But the wooden frame around it was shattered. There would be no way to get the door mounted again without extensive repairs that were probably beyond my skill level.
I stood there shaking with rage. It wasn’t like I lived in an ivory tower or Bag End. It was just a dingy little hole in the ground. It wasn’t much of a place, but it was the only home I had, and I was comfortable there.
It was my home.
And Rudolph and company had trashed it. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, trying to calm down.
Molly touched my shoulder for a second. “It’s not so bad. I know a good Carpenter.”
I sighed and nodded. I already knew that when all this was over, Michael would be Showing Up for me.
“Just hope Mister will be back soon. Might have to board him somewhere until the door is fixed.” I started down the stairs. “I just hope that—”
Mouse let out a sudden, deep growl.
I had my blasting rod out and my shield up in less than two seconds. Mouse is not an alarmist. I’ve never heard him growl outside the presence of danger of one kind or another. I checked to my right, and saw no Molly standing there. The grasshopper had vanished from view even more quickly than I’d readied my defenses.
I swallowed. I’d heard many variants on my dog’s snarl. This one wasn’t as threatening as it might have been—as it would be, in the presence of dark threats. His body posture was a balance of tension and relaxation, simple wariness rather than the fighting crouch he had exhibited before. He’d smelled something that he thought was extremely dangerous, but not necessarily something that had to be immediately attacked and destroyed.
Slowly, I went down the steps, shield at the ready, my left hand extended before me, my fingers in a warding gesture, my thumb, pinkie, and index fingers stiff and spread wide apart, center fingers folded. My right hand held the blasting rod extended before me, seething scarlet power boiling out from the carved runes and the tendril of bright flame at its tip, simultaneously ready to destroy and lighting my way. Mouse came down the stairs with me, his shoulder against my right hip. His growl was a steady tone, like the engine of a well-tuned car.