Darkfall

cry. The kids would come apart if he cried. Besides, if he gave in to despair now, he would be surrendering-in some small but significant way-to Lavelle. Lavelle was evil, not just another criminal, not merely corrupted, but evil , the very essence and embodiment of it, and evil thrived on despair. The best weapons against evil were hope, optimism, determination, and faith. Their chances of survival depended on their ability to keep hoping, to believe that life (not death) was their destiny, to believe that good could triumph over evil, simply to believe . He would not lose his kids. He would not allow Lavelle to have them.
    “Well,” he said to Davey, “it’s too well- ventilated for a winter coat, but I think we can fix that.” He took off his long neckscarf, wound it overtop the boy’s damaged coat, twice around his small chest, and knotted it securely at his waist. “There. That ought to keep the gaps closed. You okay, skipper?”
    Davey nodded and tried very hard to look brave. He said, “Dad, do you think maybe what you need here is a magic sword?”
    “A magic sword?” Jack said.
    “Well, isn’t that what you’ve got to have if you’re going to kill a bunch of goblins?” the boy asked earnestly. “In all the stories, they usually have a magic sword or a magic staff, see, or maybe just some magic powder, and that’s what always does in the goblins or the witches or ogres or whatever it is that has to be done in. Oh, and sometimes, what it is they have… it’s a magic jewel, you know, or a sorcerer’s ring. So, since you and Rebecca are detectives maybe this time it’s a goblin gun. Do you know if the police department has anything like that? A goblin gun?”
    “I don’t really know,” Jack said solemnly, wanting to hug the boy very close and very tight. “But it’s a darned good suggestion, son. I’ll look into it.”
    “And if they don’t have one,” Davey said, “then maybe you could just ask a priest to sort of bless your own gun, the one you already have, and then you could load it up with lots and lots of silver bullets. That’s what they do with werewolves, you know.”
    “I know. And that’s a good suggestion, too. I’m real glad to see you’re thinking about ways to beat these things. I’m glad you aren’t giving up. That’s what’s important-not giving up.”
    “Sure,” Davey said, sticking his chin out. “I know that .”
    Penny was watching her father over Davey’s shoulder. She smiled and winked.
    Jack winked back at her.
    Ten-twenty.
    With every minute that passed uneventfully, Jack felt safer.
    Not safe . Just safer.
    Penny gave him a very abbreviated account of her encounters with the goblins.
    When the girl finished, Rebecca looked at Jack and said, “He’s been keeping a watch on them. So he’d always know exactly where to find them when the time came.”
    To Penny, Jack said, “My God, baby, why didn’t you wake me last night when the thing was in your room?”
    “I didn’t really see it-”
    “But you heard it.”
    “That’s all.”
    “And the baseball bat-”
    “Anyway,” Penny said with a sudden odd shyness, unable to meet his eyes, “I was afraid you’d think I’d gone… crazy… again.”
    “Huh? Again?” Jack blinked at her. “What on earth do you mean- again? ”
    “Well… you know… like after Mama died, the way I was then… when I had my… trouble.”
    “But you weren’t crazy,” Jack said. “You just needed a little counseling; that’s all, honey.”
    “That’s what you called him,” the girl said, barely audible. “A counselor.”
    “Yeah. Dr. Hannaby.”
    “Aunt Faye, Uncle Keith, everyone called him a counselor. Or sometimes a doctor.”
    “That’s what he was. He was there to counsel you, to show you how to deal with your grief over your mom’s death.”
    The girl shook her head: no. “One day, when I was in his office, waiting for him… and he didn’t come in to start the session right away… I started to read the college degrees on his wall.”
    “And?”
    With evident embarrassment, Penny said, “I found out he was a psychiatrist. Psychiatrists treat crazy people. That’s when I knew I was a little bit… crazy.”
    Surprised and dismayed that such a misconception could have gone uncorrected for so long, Jack said, “No, no, no. Sweetheart, you’ve got it all wrong.”
    Rebecca said, “Penny, for the most part, psychiatrists treat ordinary people with ordinary problems. Problems that we all have