Ghostly Echoes (Jackaby #3)(78)

“Sir,” I said. “You know we’re with you, but we’re not ready to fight a war. They want to tear down a wall we can’t even see and unleash an army we can’t begin to imagine. We’re not ready for any of this.”

“They killed Eleanor because she stood against them. They killed Howard Carson. Lawrence Hoole. Nellie Fuller.” He looked up at Jenny. “Jenny Cavanaugh. How many countless others? Good people have lost their lives every time they’ve risen up against the Dire Council’s villainy. I will not let those losses be in vain, nor will I stand idly by while countless others meet the same fate. We don’t know how long our window will last, and we cannot give him time to rally. He could be at our doorstep before we know it.”

“Well then,” I said, summoning the strength to stand up without wobbling. “Let’s go save the world.”





SUPPLEMENTAL MATERIAL

It was well after midnight when Jackaby passed by my room. He paused in the hallway before doubling back to poke his head through my open door.

“You haven’t slept,” he said.

“No, sir. Not yet.” I sat up, hugging the blankets around myself. My stomach was a tightening knot. “I—I’m—” I sighed.

“You’re what?” Jackaby stepped inside.

“I’m—” I took a deep breath. I didn’t want to say it out loud. Saying it out loud somehow made it true. I dropped my head, letting the words fall in sheepish whispers on the blanket. “I’m afraid.”

“Of course you are,” said Jackaby flatly. “You’re intelligent and you’re aware. Why shouldn’t you be afraid?”

“That’s very reassuring, sir. Thank you,” I said. “Are you afraid?”

“Constantly,” he said. “It’s the reason I’m still alive. Fear keeps us sharp. Listen to your fear.”

“And what if my fear tells me—what if it tells me I should run away?” I asked.

Jackaby leaned against the battered old dresser and regarded me with a bemused smile. “Then you should probably run away. I told you as much when I hired you. This line of work comes with heavy risks.”

“Why haven’t you run?” I asked.

His smile faltered and he swallowed. “I ran once,” he said. “In a way, I haven’t stopped.” He crossed the room in silence before dropping into a threadbare armchair in the corner.

“What did you run from?” I asked.

He raised an eyebrow at me but did not reply.

“It’s hard to imagine,” I said. “What could scare a man who fights monsters?”

His expression hardened. “Being a man who doesn’t.” He closed his eyes and leaned his head against the chair-back. “Being a man who lets the monsters win. I’ve been running from that for a very long time.”

I nodded, not knowing what else to say. The clock in the hallway ticked out a stoic rhythm that echoed through the house for several beats. Jackaby broke the silence at last.

“Have I told you the story of the two pennies?” he asked.

I shook my head. “Another folktale?”

“A memory,” he said. “I met a man that day.”

“Which day?” I asked.

“The day I ran. The sight was still so new to me then, and I had so much to learn. I was a rudderless boy with the weight of the world on my unready shoulders. I didn’t know where I was going, just that I needed to be gone.

“I walked for hours before reaching the nearest town, which is where I met the man. He wore stained overalls and a faded cap. His hair was gray, and his moustache bushy. He had a muddy cart at his side and a long-handled brush in his hands—he was a simple workman, cleaning a fountain in the town square. I don’t know why, but I stopped to watch him. There was something calming about the way he worked.

“The workman was just packing up when a married couple passed by with a little girl in tow. The old workman set his brush aside and greeted them with a kindly smile. He showed the child a penny he had fished out of the fountain. He told her an impromptu story about wishing wells and lucky coins. I listened from my bench. The girl’s parents seemed to find the man charming. The girl was riveted. The story was a lot of nonsense.

“When he was done, he handed the coin to the girl. She closed her eyes solemnly and tossed it into the water. The old man tipped his cap, and the family went happily on their way.

“I watched them as they walked off down the lane. I had seen the coin. It was a penny. Unexceptional. No aura, no halo, no magic. And yet—

“Impossibly, the girl was changed by the experience. There was a new glow around her. I could see it as plainly as you can see the glow of a candle. It was a blue aura, but a warm blue. It was as though she had been charmed, and I suppose she had been. I would wager anything that little girl got her wish after all.

“The workman was looking right at me when I turned back. He gestured for me to come forward, so I climbed down from my bench and approached him nervously. He hung his rag on the cart and merrily pressed a second salvaged coin into my palm.

“It was a penny, just like the first. Just like countless others. A scuffed Indian Head. Brown. Small. It might have been the least special penny ever minted. The man told me to make a wish. I smiled warily and tossed the thing into the fountain.”