THE GIRL WITH THE WOODEN STAKE

On the train ride into the city, while Keir taught Henry one of his dice games—rolling the little red cubes on the seat between them—I finally cracked open the old book my father had given me.

It was divided into a series of lectures by this Holmes guy, some on contracts, which might come in handy on Keir’s case, and some on crimes. But I was looking for something about a goat, and there was nothing in the contents about a goat. There was, however, something about cows, which was the closest I could get, so I gave it a look.

Holmes talked about a case from the 1800s called Rylands v. Fletcher, which told you what responsibility you had for damage done by your cow. Generally, you only had to pay up for any damage your animal caused if you didn’t act like a reasonable person in taking care of your animal. That’s called acting negligently. But the Rylands rule said if you owned an animal that was likely to do mischief, like a cow, and then the cow escaped and chewed up someone else’s lawn, then even if you acted like the most reasonable person in the world—the Queen of Reasonableness, a librarian even!—you would still have to pay. It seemed unfair, but there it was. If your pet was a dog, a cat, or a hamster? You’d be safe, because those are normal sweet little animals. A cow? You’d be in trouble. But what about a gremlin?

I had met Mr. Topper’s gremlin. I had grabbed her out of the air and looked her in the eye and swept up the mess she’d made. Mischief was her middle name. As we walked through the tunnels of the underground train station next to City Hall, I was thinking that this case was going to be harder than I thought, when I looked up and spotted a girl thirty feet away running toward us through the crowd.

The girl was older than me, high school age at least, tall, with torn jeans that hung loosely, a black leather jacket, and wild hair. Was she looking right at me as she ran? Yes—or maybe she was looking just to my right, where Keir was walking along with Henry. And in her hand was a large wooden spike.

I froze as the girl in the leather jacket, still running through the scattering crowd, shouted, “This is for Travis, you undead abomination!”

She raised the stake over her head and took two more steps before she leaped.

I’d like to say I bravely stood in front of Keir McGoogan, my client, to protect him from the deranged girl in the black leather jacket. I’d like to say I did anything other than fall into a quivering heap on the floor as the girl with her wooden stake sailed through the air with murderous intent on her face. But that would all be a lie.

All I know is when I heard another shout and then a splat, I looked up from my spot on the floor and saw the girl sprawled face-first to our side. Above her stood a man in full fighting pose.

“Begone, demon huntress,” said the pale, pointy-nosed man in a black cape, with matching hat and eye patch. He waved his cane at the sprawled girl as if it was one of those thin French swords you see in old pirate movies.

The girl spun to her feet and took a graceful step forward, like a cat stalking her prey. That’s when the man’s dog, huge and gray, looking very wolfish with hair rising all along its spine, bared its teeth and growled.

The girl hesitated.

The dog lowered its head.

There was a moment of frozen expectation before the girl spun and sprinted away as the dog, with howls and growls, charged after her. You could chart the progress of the chase by the screams from the horrified commuters.

Still on the ground, I took a moment to check on my friends. Henry was on his feet, twisting to watch the chase, and Keir, who stood close behind him, was doing the same. I couldn’t tell if Henry had bravely stood in front of Keir, or if Keir had jumped behind Henry, using the taller boy as a shield.

Still shaking, I had started struggling to my feet when a hand reached down to assist me. I looked up into the eye of the man who had saved us. I was so close I could see the scars beneath his eye patch.

“I help you up, ja?” he said with an accent, as if he had just come from planting tulips in Amsterdam.

“I’ll be fine,” I said, though I wasn’t, and with my knees still shaking I grabbed his hand and let him pull me to standing.

“There, there,” he said. “Calm your heart, Ms. Webster. I trust you remain unhurt.”

“You know my name?” I said.

“Ja, of course. The famous Elizabeth Webster. Famous at least in some circles. Fortunately for you, those circles are my circles.”

“Thank you for doing what you did, sir,” said Henry. “I don’t know what just happened, but man, that was close.”

“Too close,” said Keir.

“That was quite a kick you gave her,” said Henry. He did a bad imitation of a karate kick. “You tumbled her right out of the air.”

“It was a simple vechtsporten sweep,” said the man. “I was afraid something like this might happen. It is why I followed you three from the school.”

“Afraid what would happen?” I said.

“An unprovoked attack. Danger is all about you, Elizabeth Webster.”

“About me?”

“Ja, who else?” said the man.

“Gulp,” I said. “Who is the girl?”

“Her name is Pili. She was made crazy by grief. A sad case, a tragic case, the facts of which are better left unexplored. And I regret to say she is not the only danger for you, as long as your client is by your side. Allow me to introduce myself. I am Dr. Rudolf Van.”

Dr. Van fished a card out of his vest and handed it to me.

“What kind of sawbones are you?” said Keir.

He looked at Keir closely as he answered. “I am exactly what you need, young man. I am an educator and a protector. A doctor of metaphysical science, to be precise.” He smiled and then turned to me. “I would love to stay and chat—and we all have much to chat about, ja?—but I need to collect my pet before she gets into much trouble.”

“That’s some dog,” said Henry.

“Her name is La Loba,” said Dr. Van. “Quite cuddly, actually.”

“That Pili girl, she yelled the name Travis—who is Travis?” I asked.

Dr. Van looked at me, first with amusement and then with sympathy. “He is the brother of that young girl. Was, I should say. Some tragedies provoke sadness, some provoke revenge. Goodbye, my friends, and be careful.”

And just that quickly, he was gone, his cape flapping behind him as he hurried away in the same direction as the girl and the dog, which probably wasn’t a dog at all.

I looked down at the card still in my hand. RUDOLF VAN, it read, DOCTOR OF THE METAPHYSICAL SCIENCES. I had never heard of such a thing. It sounded like the kind of degree you buy on the internet, like Doctor of Television Studies. But it was the next line that interested me more:

HEADMASTER OF THE SEDONA ACADEMY FOR SPECIAL CASES.

That sounded quite peculiar. I sensed just then that the Sedona Academy for Special Cases didn’t specialize in teaching math.

“Let’s get out of here,” I said, and we did, hustling through the still-staring crowd and climbing the steps to the street.

In front of us was City Hall, and circling now in front of the cockeyed tower was the kettle of vultures, as if waiting for their turn with us.