Ghost of Doors (City of Doors) Read Online Free Page A

could have kept the secret until he died. Part of you wants to help me, Dad, he thought. The part that still wants to live free. I don't have the obligations you had--no child, no wife. Let me do this. For us. For the kids I might have someday. You believe in me. I know you do.
    "Dad, please don't take this the wrong way, but I'm not you. I grew up here. I understand this place a little better than you do."
    His father gave him a level gaze that spoke of backroom deals and seedy intrigue. "Don't be so sure."
    "What I mean is, I have advantages that you didn't have. And, no offense, but I'm younger, stronger than you were when I was small." Wolfgang lifted his halberd ever so slightly and the long weapon responded to the rush of blood through his touch by glowing. Thumped against the ground, the halberd threw up menacing sparks in support. "I can do this. You taught me a lot. But I learned a lot from my friends, too." He nodded at Marie, but she did not return the acknowledgment. Ever aloof, a cat in human form, she merely watched him with eyes that sparkled a supernatural gleam. Pilgrim returned a sick expression that begged to keep him out of this.
    "Maybe you didn't learn enough, Chief," Pilgrim mumbled.
    Dr. Schäfer interrupted his son's thoughts. "So, you're never coming back."
    "I didn't say that."
    "Listen, you can't fool me. I was in your place once upon a time, young man. You think you could do it twice? Not unless you became one of..." Aware of Marie and Pilgrim, he expressed himself carefully. "...one of the Fair Folk. Like your mother. And if you were going to do that, you might as well just wait until you turned and then leave. Then, you'd have your pick of doors."
    Wolfgang felt foolish. "I was going to go and come back," he said, embarrassed.
    "But why? Why would you come back at all? If you make a life there, why would you risk throwing it away?"
    Wolfgang didn't know what to say. He hadn't thought that far ahead. Now leaving seemed more final than he had imagined. His father's voice was more serious than it had ever been before. "You're not coming back, Wolfgang. Not if you succeed, and maybe not even if you don't. At least say goodbye like you mean it."
    "Sorry, Dad," Wolfgang said, quiet enough to keep emotion from spilling into his voice. Vogelfang's glow betrayed him.
    "Nothing to be sorry about," he said. "Not yet." After drawing a ladder along a row of shelves, Dr. Schäfer locked it in place, then climbed up to the topmost shelf and brought down a wooden box. "Now, if you want something from the human world that can be useful anywhere, I believe I have the perfect thing." After placing the box gently upon the nearest table, he set the stage by explaining, "When your step mom took you from the hospital, I had no idea what she was, what was going on. I only knew that I wanted to get you back, and that I needed a weapon. So...running through the hospital, I saw this on a table and took it." Something bronze gleamed underneath as the box lid leaned away, like the eye of a creature waking. A slender knife lay cushioned in velvet, light slithering off its smooth surface. "It's a small surgical knife," the doctor explained, "for those times when a large knife won't cut it."
    Marie rolled her eyes.
    "Seriously, it's for more delicate maneuvering, cutting digits and finer bones. I feel sure it would make a fine weapon," he added as his son lifted it gently from its coffer. "I myself have never had occasion to use it."
    Wolfgang cringed. Something about the knife made him uneasy; it looked like something that hungered, yearned to be fed, not a noble, artistic weapon like Vogelfang. It was made purely for the drawing of blood, while a long weapon like Vogelfang was designed for protection in various ways, to deflect and ward away as well as trip and wound. It was the weapon of a knight, whereas this knife was the weapon of a spy. "Thanks, Dad," he said, "but I'm not sure it's for me."
    "You never know, son. It