Christopher Moore - Secondhand Souls

“She’s seven,” said Charlie. “Finding out that you’re Death—it’s hard on a kid. I was thirty-three when I thought I was the Luminatus, and I’m still a little traumatized.”

“Tell him about the tooth fairy,” said Cassie, Jane’s wife. She stood barefoot by the breakfast bar in yoga pants and an oversized olive-green cotton sweater, red hair in loose, shoulder-length curls—a calm snuggle of a woman, a chamomile chaser to Jane’s vodka and sarcasm shooter.

“Shhh,” Jane shushed. Sophie didn’t know that Jane was talking to her father, thought, in fact, that he was dead. Charlie had wanted it that way.

“She doesn’t play well with others,” said Jane. “I mean, since she’s this magical thing, she has unrealistic expectations about other magical—uh, persons. She lost a tooth the other day—”

“Awe,” said Charlie.

“Awe,” said Bob, and the other Squirrel People in the room with him, who were gathered around the speakerphone like it was a storyteller’s campfire, made various awe-like noises.

“Yeah, well, the tooth fairy forgot to put money under Sophie’s pillow that night—”

At “tooth fairy,” Sophie popped her head out the door. “I will smack that bitch up and take her bag of quarters! I will not be fucked with!”

Jane pointed until Sophie retreated into her room and closed the door.

“See?”

“Where did she learn that? Little kids don’t talk that way.”

“Sophie does. She just started talking like that.”

“She didn’t when I was alive. Someone had to teach her.”

“Oh, so you’re fine that she all of a sudden becomes Death incarnate without so much as seeing a Sesame Street segment about it, but a little light profanity and it’s all my fault.”

“I’m not saying that, I’m—”

“It’s Jane’s fault,” said Cassie, from across the room.

“You traitorous dyke.”

“See,” said Cassie. “She’s uncouth.”

“I am couth as fuck, Cassie. Who has cash anymore? I was going to pay the kid for the tooth the next day. Sophie has unrealistic expectations.”

“What do you want me to do?” Charlie asked. “I can’t exactly discipline her.”

“That’s the point: no one can discipline her.”

“Fear of kitty ?” Charlie asked. When Sophie was just learning to talk, and Charlie had bought her dozens upon dozens of pets, from hamsters to goldfish to hissing cockroaches, only to find them dead a few days later, he discovered, quite by accident, that if Sophie pointed at a living thing and said the word “kitty,” said thing would immediately become unliving. The first time it had happened, to a kitten, in Washington Square Park, had been a shock, but the second time, only minutes later, when Sophie had pointed at an old man and uttered the dreaded k-word, only to have him drop dead on the spot, well, it had become a problem.

“Thing is, I’m not sure she does the k-word anymore,” said Jane. “I’m not sure she hasn’t lost her, you know, powers.”

“Why would you say that?”

Jane looked across the room to Cassie for support. The petite redhead nodded. “Tell him.”

“The hellhounds are gone, Charlie. When we got up yesterday morning they were just gone. The door was still locked, everything was in its place, but they were just gone.”

“So no one is protecting Sophie?”

“Not no one. Cassie and I are protecting her. I can be pretty butch, and Cassie knows that karate for the slow.”

“Tai chi,” said Cassie.

“That’s not a fighting thing,” said Charlie.

“I told her,” said Cassie.

“Well, you guys need to find the goggies! And you need to find out if Sophie still has her powers. Maybe she can protect herself. She made pretty quick work of the Morrigan.” Charlie had chased the raven-women into a vast underground grotto that had opened up under San Francisco, and was engaging them in battle when little Sophie showed up with Alvin and Mohammed and more or less vaporized them with a wave of her hand. Not in time, however, to save Charlie from the Morrigan’s venom.

“Well, I can’t have her just kitty someone,” said Jane. “That may be the one bit of your training that stuck.”

“That’s not true,” said Cassie. “She puts her napkin in her lap and always says please and thank you.”

“Well, try it,” said Charlie. “Do an experiment.”

“On Mrs. Ling? Mrs. Korjev? The mailman?”

“No, of course not, not on a person. Maybe on a lab animal.”

“May I remind you that most of your friends are lab animals.”

“Hey!” said Bob.

“Not them,” Charlie said. “I mean an animal that doesn’t have a soul.”

“How can I be sure of that? I mean, look at you—”

“I guess you can’t,” said Charlie.

“Welcome to Buddhism,” said Audrey, who had moved to the corner of the room to allow space for the Squirrel People to gather around the phone.

“That’s not helpful,” Jane called.

“Just find the hellhounds,” Charlie said. “No matter what is going on with Sophie, they’ll protect her.”

“And how do I do that? Put up posters with their picture. Lost: two four-hundred pound indestructible dogs. Answer to the names Alvin and Mohammed? Hmm?”

“It might work.”

“How did you find them?”

“Find them? I couldn’t get them to go away. I kept throwing biscuits in front of the number 9 °Crosstown Express bus to get rid of them. But she needs them.”

“She needs her daddy, Charlie. Let me tell her you’re alive. I understand if you don’t want her to see you, but we can tell her you’re out of town. You can talk to her on the phone. Your voice is kind of the same—a little scratchier and squeakier, but close.”

“No, Jane. Just keep pushing through like you have been. You guys have done a great job with Sophie.”

“Thanks,” Cassie said. “I always liked you, Charlie. Thanks for trusting me to be one of Sophie’s mommies.”

“Sure. I’ll figure something out, I need to talk to someone who knows more than me. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow,” Jane said. She disconnected and looked up to see Sophie coming out of her room, a hopeful light in her eyes.

“I heard you say ‘Charlie,’ ” she said. “Was that Daddy? Were you talking to Daddy?”

Jane went down on one knee and held her arms out to Sophie. “No, sweetie. Daddy’s gone. I was just talking to someone about your daddy. Seeing if they could help us find the goggies.”

“Oh,” said Sophie, walking into her auntie’s embrace. ”I miss him.”

“I know, honey,” Jane said. She rested her cheek on Sophie’s head and felt her heart break for the little kid for the third time that day. She blinked away tears and kissed the top of Sophie’s head. “But if I’ve fucked up my eyeliner again you’re getting another time-out.”

“Come here,” Cassie said, crouching down. “Come to nice mommy. We’ll have ice cream.”

Over at the Three Jewels Buddhist Center, Bob the Beefeater looked at the dead phone, then at Charlie. “Lab animals? Little harsh.”

The Squirrel People nodded. It was a little harsh.

“Jane’s a very damaged person,” Charlie said with a shrug of apology.

Bob looked at the other Squirrel People in their miniature finery and mismatched spare parts. “We’ll be under the porch if you need us,” he said. He trudged out of the dining room. The Squirrel People fell in behind him. Those with lips pouted.

When the last of them was out of the room, Charlie looked to Audrey.

“Something’s going on.”

“Apparently.”

“My daughter needs me.”