Night of the Dragons. Michael Anthony Steele

struck a pose that had him facing the front doors with his mouth wide, as if in midroar. The skeleton nodded his head ever so slightly in Nick’s direction and then took his original pose. Nick thought that if the dinosaur still had eyes, it would have just winked at him.

      Nick turned back as McPhee reached the door. “Hi, Dr. McPhee,” Nick shouted through the glass. “I’ll get it.” He reached for the latch on the door.

      McPhee sighed and dropped his key ring back into his pocket. He watched as Nick struggled with the door lock. Of course, Nick wasn’t really struggling. He only pretended so he could give his dad more time to get everyone back into their places.

      “I think it’s stuck,” Nick said, and he faked putting more pressure on the latch.

      The director rolled his eyes and shoved a hand back into his pants pocket. He pulled out the keys and thumbed through them. “Here, let me,” he said with a British accent.

      He shoved the key into the lock and Nick felt the latch begin to turn. He added more pressure, keeping it still.

      “You need to let go now,” said McPhee.

      “I’m trying to help,” said Nick. “I think it needs oil or something.”

      “Well, then turn it left,” McPhee instructed.

      Nick applied more pressure against the turning latch. He could still hear animals moving around upstairs.

      “My left or your left?” Nick asked, hoping to stall the man a little bit longer.

      McPhee’s brow furrowed. “Your left, of course. Why would I tell you to turn it to my left?”

      “So, is that counterclockwise?” asked Nick. He still fought the turning latch with his hand.

      “Right,” McPhee agreed. He used both hands to turn the key.

      “My counterclockwise or your counterclockwise?” asked Nick. He just needed to stall a few more seconds.

      “Son, if this is some kind of joke, it isn’t very funny,” said McPhee.

      Nick didn’t hear any more sounds behind him so he slowly relaxed his grip on the latch, letting the door unlock. When McPhee pushed through the door, Nick was a little out of breath. He didn’t have to pretend that part.

      “Where is your father?” asked the director.

      “Right here,” replied Larry Daley as he moved down the stairs. “I thought I heard a noise so I had to” he twirled a finger in the air behind him “inspect the … uh … perimeter.”

      “Well your son played a childish prank on …” McPhee began.

      Larry interrupted the director. “Nicky, did you help Dr. McPhee with that rusty lock the way I asked?”

      “Yeah, uh … it was really bad this time,” Nick replied.

      “I was going to write a note to maintenance before I left,” said Larry. “Let them know all about it.”

      The museum director looked from Larry to Nick and then back to Larry. “Right …” he said, eyeing them suspiciously. “Well, anyway, the noise you heard probably came from the loading dock. I’m expecting a delivery.” He marched across the main hall. Larry and Nick followed.

      Nick bit his lip as he saw a long sharp object poking out from behind a kiosk. It was Rexy’s fossilized rib bone. The bone was mostly hidden, but McPhee was headed right for it. The way the man was moving, he would probably trip over it.

      “Dr. McPhee,” called Nick.

      The director stopped and turned. “Yes?”

      Nick thought for a moment, then fell to a crouch. “I just have to tie my shoe first.” He quickly untied one of his sneakers and began retying it.

      McPhee stared at him for a moment, mouth open. Then the director moved closer. “Thank you so much for making that announcement, Master Daley,” McPhee said sarcastically. “I don’t know about your father but I was anxiously awaiting the word that you would be adjusting your footwear for the long journey over to the loading dock. A journey, I should point out, that you don’t have to make. In fact, you should remember that I’m only allowing you to be here at night out of the goodness of my heart. And that heart can change, Master Daley, if I find out that you’re making fun of me or putting me on in any way. Do I make myself clear?”

      “Yes, sir,” Nick replied.

      As Dr. McPhee lectured, Nick had made eye contact with his father and then glanced down at the large rib bone. Larry picked up the bone and untied the string around it. He hid it behind his back before the director turned around.

      McPhee shook his head. “I see the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.” He marched past Larry, toward the back of the museum.

      Larry tossed the bone to Nick and then ran to catch up with McPhee. Once they were out of sight, Nick ran up to Rexy. The skeleton wagged its long bony tail.

      “Forget something?” Nick asked the bony T-Rex.

      Rexy lowered his head and wagged his tail faster. Nick held out the bone and Rexy snatched it up with his mouth. He bobbed up and down happily before bending around and connecting the bone back to his spinal column.

      “Well done, Nick,” Teddy whispered, trying to remain still. “McPhee is right. The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. But I mean that as a compliment.”

      “Thank you, Mr. President,” said Nick, smiling.

      Teddy gave him a wink, then raised his saber high. When the first beams of the rising sun streamed through the large arched windows, Teddy froze in place. During the day, he was merely a wax figure—an ordinary museum exhibit like all the others.

      Nick caught up to McPhee and his father at the loading dock in the back of the museum. Four workmen in blue jumpsuits unloaded two large wooden crates from the back of a truck. One of the men handed McPhee some papers on a clipboard to sign.

      “Wait a minute,” said the director. “Is that it? There should be at least six crates. Not just two.”

      “That’s all we have,” said the workman. He extended a finger to the clipboard. “I think the others got delayed.”

      “Delayed?” asked McPhee. “How can they be delayed? And, more important, when will the rest of them get here?”

      “We just move ’em,” the other man said. “We don’t schedule ’em.”

      The director sighed. “Fine.” He scribbled his name across the top page on the clipboard. The men closed the back of the truck and drove off.

      “New exhibits, huh?” Larry said once the truck was gone.

      “Nothing gets by you,” said McPhee. “You’re wasting your time here as a night guard. You should be lead detective at Scotland Yard.”

      Nick barely paid attention to Dr. McPhee’s snotty remark. He was more curious as to what was inside the two crates. Both were a good foot taller than his father and very wide.

      Larry grabbed two crowbars from a nearby workbench. He handed one to McPhee and they began prying the front from one of the crates. Nick stepped back as the lid fell forward. Packing peanuts poured out, but there was nothing inside.

      “Wait a minute,” said McPhee. He reached to the top of the crate and swept away more foam peanuts.

      It only seemed like the crate was empty because the figure was shorter than the wooden box itself. As the director pulled out more packing, a young girl’s face appeared. The two men carefully pulled her the rest of the way out of the crate.

      Nick had always done well in history class. And since his father started working at the museum, he had done really well.