by TJ Klune
There was green. Bright and beautiful greens of waving grass, and what appeared to be flowers in pinks and purples and golds. They disappeared into white sand. And beyond the white was cerulean.
He barely noticed when the RULES AND REGULATIONS fell to the floor of the train with a loud thump.
Don’t you wish you were here?
“Is that the ocean?” Linus whispered.
“It is,” the attendant said. “Quite the sight, isn’t it? Though, you act like you’ve never— Say, have you never seen the ocean before?”
Linus shook his head minutely. “Only in pictures. It’s so much bigger than I thought it’d be.”
The attendant laughed. “And that’s only a small portion of it. I reckon you’ll see a bit more when you depart the train. There’s an island near the village. Takes a ferry to get to it, if you’re so inclined. Most aren’t.”
“I am,” Linus said, still staring at the glimpses of the sea.
“And who do we have here?” the attendant asked, bending over Linus toward the crate.
Calliope hissed.
The attendant stood quickly. “I think I’ll leave her be.”
“Probably for the best.”
“Two more stops, sir,” the attendant said, heading for the door at the opposite end of the train car. “Enjoy your visit!”
Linus barely heard him leave.
“It’s really there,” he said quietly. “It’s really, really there. I never thought—” He sighed. “Maybe this won’t be so bad after all.”
* * *
It wasn’t bad.
It was worse.
But Linus didn’t know that right away. The moment he stepped off the train, crate in one hand, luggage in the other, he smelled salt in the air and heard the call of sea birds overhead. A breeze ruffled his hair, and he turned his face toward the sun. He let himself breathe for a moment, basking in the warmth. It wasn’t until the bell on the train rang out and it started chugging away that he looked around.
He stood on a raised platform. There were metal benches in front of him under an overhang. The overhang was painted in blue-and-white stripes. Along the edges of the platform and stretching as far as he could see was beach grass growing atop dunes of sand. He heard what sounded like waves crashing in the distance. He’d never seen anything looking so bright. It was as if this place had never seen a rain cloud.
The train disappeared around a corner, and Linus Baker realized he was completely alone. There was a small cobbled road that disappeared between the dunes, but Linus couldn’t see where it led to. He hoped he wouldn’t have to walk along it, not while carrying his luggage and an angry cat.
“What should we do?” he wondered aloud.
No one responded, which was probably for the best. If someone had responded, he probably would have—
A loud ringing noise startled him from this thoughts. He jerked his head.
There, hanging on the side of the train platform, was a bright orange phone.
“Should I answer it?” he asked Calliope, tilting his head toward the front of the crate.
Calliope turned around completely, presenting him with her rump.
He figured that was the best he was going to get.
He left his luggage where it was and walked toward the phone. He set the crate down in the shade. He stared at the ringing phone for a moment before steeling himself and picking it up.
“Hello?”
“Ah, finally,” a voice said in response. “You’re late.”
“I am?”
“Yes. I’ve called four times in the last hour. Since I couldn’t be sure you’d actually arrive, I didn’t want to make the trip off the island until I was sure you’d be there.”
“You’re calling for Linus Baker, correct?”
She snorted. “Who else would I be calling for?”
He felt relieved. “I’m Linus Baker.”
“Bully for you.”
Linus frowned. “Pardon?”
“I’ll be there in an hour, Mr. Baker.” He heard a whispering in the background. “I’m told you have an envelope you need to open now that you’ve arrived. It would be best if you did so. Things will make more sense if you do.”
“How did you know about—”
“Toodle-oo, Mr. Baker. I’ll see you shortly.”
The line cut off, and he was left with a dial tone.
He stared at the handset before hanging it back where it belonged. He stared at it for a moment more before shaking his head.
“Now, then,” he said to Calliope as he sat on the bench with a huff. He pulled his suitcase toward him. “Let’s see what all the secrecy is about, shall we?”
Calliope ignored him.
He unzipped his bag enough for him to reach inside for the envelope he’d placed on top. It was thick, nearly bursting at the seams. The seal on the back was made of bloodred wax, the word DICOMY stamped into it. He broke the seal, the wax crumbling onto his lap and bouncing to the ground.
He pulled out the bundle of papers, held together by a leather strap.
On the top was a letter addressed to him, typed neatly and cleanly.
DEPARTMENT IN CHARGE OF MAGICAL YOUTH OFFICES OF EXTREMELY UPPER MANAGEMENT
* * *
Mr. Baker,
You have been chosen for the most important of assignments. As a reminder, this is CLASSIFIED LEVEL FOUR. Any parties disseminating information to those who do not meet the required classification level will receive punishment beginning at immediate termination and up to incarceration for ten years.
Enclosed, you will find seven files.
Six belong to the children at the Marsyas Island Orphanage.
The seventh belongs to Master Arthur Parnassus.
Under no circumstances should you share any of the contents of these files with the residents of the Marsyas Island Orphanage. They are for your eyes only.
This orphanage is different than all the others you’ve been to, Mr. Baker. It is important that you do your best to protect yourself. You will be staying at the guest house on the island, and we suggest locking all the doors and windows at night to avoid any … disturbances.
“Oh dear,” Linus breathed.
Your work on Marsyas is important. Your reports will provide us with the necessary information to see if this orphanage can remain open, or if it needs to be shut permanently. Arthur Parnassus has been entrusted with a great responsibility, but it remains to be seen if that trust is still warranted. Eyes and ears open, Mr. Baker. Always. We expect the searing honesty you’re known for. If anything appears out of order, you must bring it to our attention. There is nothing more important than ensuring things are on the up-and-up.
And also make sure the children are safe, of course. From each other, and themselves. One, in particular. His file is the first you’ll see.
We look forward to your extraordinarily thorough reports.
Sincerely,
CHARLES WERNER
EXTREMELY UPPER MANAGEMENT
“What on earth have I gotten myself into now?” Linus whispered as another breeze ruffled the letter in his hand.
He read through the letter a second time, trying to read between the lines, but he was left with more questions than answers.
He folded the letter and put it in his breast pocket before looking at the files in his hand. “No time like the present, I suppose,” he told Calliope. “Let’s see how big of a secret this actually is. I’m sure this is all blown out of proportion. The higher your expectations, the greater the disappointment.”
He flipped open the first file.
Attached to the top was a photograph of a young boy of perhaps six or seven years of age. He was smiling rather devilishly. He was missing his two front teeth, his hair was a mess, sticking up all over the place, and his eyes were—
Well. They looked as if they were suffering from red-eye effect, the flash happening too quickly for the pupils to react. There was a ring of blue around the red. I
t was certainly chilling, but Linus had seen it many times before. Just a trick of the light. That’s all it was.
Underneath the photograph, in blocky letters, was a name.
LUCY.
“A boy named Lucy,” Linus said. “That’s certainly a first. I wonder why they chose … the name … Lucy…”
The last word came out choked.
There, written in clear English, was exactly the reason why.
The file read:
NAME: LUCIFER (NICKNAME LUCY)
AGE: SIX YEARS, SIX MONTHS, SIX DAYS (AT TIME OF THIS REPORT)
HAIR: BLACK
EYE COLOR: BLUE/RED
MOTHER: UNKNOWN (BELIEVED DECEASED)
FATHER: THE DEVIL
SPECIES OF MAGICAL YOUTH: ANTICHRIST
Linus Baker fainted dead away.
* * *
“G’way,” he muttered when he felt a tapping against his cheek. “S’not time for your breakfast, Calliope.”
“That’s good to know,” a voice that obviously did not belong to Calliope said. “Seeing as how it’s afternoon. Unless they breakfast late in the city. I wouldn’t know. I tend to avoid such places. Too much noise for my taste.”
Linus opened his eyes, blinking slowly.
A woman peered down at him, silhouetted by the sun.
Linus sat up quickly. “Where am I!”
The woman took a step back, a look of cool amusement on her face. “Marsyas Train Station, of course. An odd place for a nap, but I suppose it’s as good a place as any.”
Linus pushed himself off the floor of the platform. He felt gritty and out of sorts. There was an ache in his head, and he seemed to have accumulated quite a collection of sand on his backside. He brushed himself off as he looked around wildly. Calliope sat in her crate, tail twitching as she watched him warily. His luggage sat near her.
And there, on the bench he’d been sitting on, was a pile of folders.
“Is this all you’ve got?” the woman asked, and Linus turned his attention back to her. He was immediately concerned when he couldn’t quite get a grasp on her age. Her hair sat like a white fluffy cloud atop her head. Bright flowers had been woven in. Her skin was dark and lovely, but it was her eyes that confused Linus the most. They were the eyes of someone far older than the rest of her appearance suggested. It must have been a trick of the bright sunlight, but they looked almost violet. He couldn’t place why he thought her familiar.
She wore a thin wispy shirt that hung loosely on her frame. Her trousers were tan and ended mid-calf. Her feet were bare.
“Who are you?” he demanded.
“Ms. Chapelwhite, of course,” she said, as if he should have known. “Caretaker of Marsyas Island.”
“Caretaker,” he repeated.
“Is that all the luggage you’ve brought?” she asked again.
“Yes, but—”
“To each his own,” she said. He stood dumbfounded as she pushed by him, lifting his suitcase as if it were filled with nothing but feathers. He’d broken out in a sweat lugging it onto the train, but she seemed to have no such issue. “Gather your papers and your gigantic cat, Mr. Baker. I don’t like to dillydally, and you’re already later than I expected. I do have responsibilities, you know.”
“Now see here,” he began, but she ignored him, moving toward the stairs at the edge of the platform. She descended the stairs gracefully, as if she were walking on air. It was only then that he noticed a small car idling on the road. The roof appeared to have been sheared off, leaving the seats exposed. A convertible, though he’d never actually seen one in person.
He gave very real thought to grabbing Calliope and fleeing down the train tracks.
Instead, he gathered his files and lifted the crate, following after the strange woman.
She’d already placed his luggage in the trunk by the time he reached the car. She glanced at him, then down at the crate. “Don’t suppose you’d be fine with putting that thing in the back?”
“Absolutely not,” he said, moderately offended. “That’s just cruel.”
“Right,” she muttered. “Fine. You’ll have to carry it on your lap, then. Or we can fasten it to the hood, if you think that’d work better.”
He was scandalized. “She would be so angry.”
Ms. Chapelwhite shrugged. “I’m sure she’d get over it.”
“I’m not tying her to the hood of the car!”
“Your choice. Get in, Mr. Baker. We’ll need to hurry. I told Merle we wouldn’t be long.”
Linus’s head was spinning. “Merle?”
“The ferryman,” she said, opening the door and climbing into the car. “He’ll take us to the island.”
“I haven’t decided if I even want to go to the island.”
She squinted up at him. “Then why are you here?”
He sputtered. “It was—I was told—this isn’t—”
She reached to the dash of the car toward a pair of oversize white sunglasses. “Either get in or don’t, Mr. Baker. Frankly, I would prefer if you didn’t. The Department in Charge of Magical Youth is a farce, and you seem to be nothing but a clueless lackey. I’d have no problem leaving you here. I’m sure the train will be back at some point. It always is.”
That rankled him more than he expected. “What I do is most certainly not a farce!”
The car turned over with a rumbling cough before the engine smoothed out. Black smoke curled from the tailpipe.
“That,” Ms. Chapelwhite said, “remains to be seen. In or out, Mr. Baker.”
He got in.
* * *
Ms. Chapelwhite seemed to get far too much enjoyment from the way Linus screamed when they took a corner at a high rate of speed. She handled the car deftly, but Linus was convinced he’d entered the vehicle of a madwoman.
The wind whipped through their hair, and Linus thought she’d lose the ornamental flowers, but they snapped and swayed and stayed put. He held the folders flat against the top of the crate, not wanting to lose them over the back of the car.
They drove on a narrow road through dunes that rose and fell. When the mountains of sand were at their lowest, he caught glimpses of the ocean, now much closer than it’d been from the train. Linus tried not to be distracted by the sight of it, but failed miserably. Even though he was sure he was about to die, it was still a wonder to behold.
It wasn’t until he was slammed against the door after yet another corner that he found his voice again. “Would you slow down?”
And wonder of all wonders, she did as he asked. “Just having some fun.”
“At my expense!”
She glanced over at him, hair bouncing around her head. “You’re wound up awfully tight.”
He bristled. “Wanting to live is not being wound up.”
“Your tie is crooked.”
“It is? Thank you. I hate it when I look disheveled—that’s not funny.”
He saw a flash of teeth through her smile. “Maybe there’s hope for you, after all. Not much, but a little.” She looked at him again, for longer than Linus felt was safe. “You don’t look like I expected.”
He didn’t know what to do with that. He’d never really been seen before. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“That you look unexpected.”
“Do you often speak without saying anything at all?”
“Quite often. But not this time, Mr. Baker.” She took another corner at a much lower speed. “I thought you would be younger. Your type usually is.”
“My type?”
“Caseworkers. Been doing it long?”
He frowned. “Long enough.”
“And do you enjoy your work, Mr. Baker?”
“I’m good at it.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
“It’s the same thing.”
She shook her head. “Why were you sleeping on the platform? Couldn’t you have done that on the train?”
“I wasn’t sleeping. I was—” It hit him, then, what
he’d forgotten since he’d been rudely awoken. “Oh my.”
“What?’
“Oh my.” He couldn’t catch his breath.
Ms. Chapelwhite looked alarmed. “Are you having a heart attack?”
He didn’t know. He’d never had one before, and he couldn’t be sure what they felt like. But given that he was forty years old with extra pounds and high blood pressure, that certainly seemed like a possibility.
“Damn,” he heard her mutter as she jerked the car to the side of the road, slamming the brakes.
Linus struggled to breathe, putting his forehead on the top of the crate. His vision had narrowed to pinholes, and there was a roaring in his ears. He was sure he was about to pass out again (or possibly die from a heart attack), when he felt a cool hand press against the back of his neck. He managed to suck in a deep breath as his heart rate slowed.
“There,” he heard Ms. Chapelwhite say. “That’s better. Another breath, Mr. Baker. That’s it.”
“The file,” he managed to say. “I read the file.”
She squeezed the back of his neck once before letting go. “About Lucy?”
“Yes. I didn’t expect it.”
“No, I don’t suppose you did.”
“Is it…”
“True?”
He nodded, face still pressed against the crate.
She didn’t respond.
He lifted his head, looking over at her.
She was staring straight ahead, hands in her lap. “Yes,” she finally said. “It’s true.”
“How on earth is this possible?”
She shook her head. “It’s not—he’s not what you think. None of them are.”
That startled him. “I didn’t even look at the other files.” A terrible thought struck him. “Are the others worse?”
She ripped off her sunglasses, looking at him sharply. “It can’t be any worse because there’s nothing wrong with any of them. They’re children.”