The House in the Cerulean Sea

by TJ Klune

  “Yes, but—”

  “No buts,” she snapped. “I know you have a job to do, Mr. Baker. And I know you probably do it well. Too well, if you ask me. You would have to in order for DICOMY to send you here. We’re not exactly orthodox.”

  “I should say not. You have the Antichrist on the island.”

  “Lucy isn’t—” She shook her head, obviously frustrated. “Why are you here?”

  “To ensure the safety of the children,” he said as if it were second nature. “To see that they are being provided for. Cared for. And that they aren’t in danger, either from themselves or others.”

  “And that goes for all children, correct?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “No buts. It doesn’t matter where he came from. Or what he is. He is a child, and your job, as much as it is mine or Arthur’s, is to protect him. And all the others.”

  He gaped at her.

  She slid her sunglasses back on. “Close your mouth, Mr. Baker. You don’t want to swallow a bug.”

  She gunned the engine again and pulled back onto the road.

  * * *

  “Seven files,” he said a few minutes later after coming out of his daze.

  “What?”

  “Seven files. I was given seven files. Six children. The master of the orphanage. That’s seven.”

  “Rudimentary counting a priority at DICOMY, is it?”

  He ignored the barb. “There isn’t one for you.” He saw a sign in the distance, approaching on the right at the top of the next hill.

  “Of course not. I’m not employed by DICOMY. I told you. I’m a caretaker.”

  “Of the house?”

  “That. And also the island. Runs in the family. Has for generations.”

  Linus Baker had been in his job for a long time. And yes, he was good at it. He could think analytically, could notice the little cues that others could not. It was why, he thought, he’d been chosen for this assignment.

  That being said, he should have recognized it the moment he opened his eyes on the platform. Fainting after receiving the shock of his life shouldn’t have been an excuse.

  The violet in her eyes should have given it away. It hadn’t been a trick of the light.

  “You’re a sprite,” he said. “An island sprite.”

  He’d surprised her. She tried to cover it up, and had he not known what to look for, he would’ve missed it. “What makes you think that?” she asked, voice even.

  “You’re a caretaker.”

  “That means nothing.”

  “Your eyes.”

  “Unusual, sure, but certainly not unique.”

  “You carried my luggage—”

  “Oh, I apologize. Had I known I was destroying your toxic masculinity, I wouldn’t have—”

  “You’re barefoot.”

  This caused her to pause. “I live near the ocean,” she said slowly. “Maybe I’m always barefoot.”

  He shook his head. “The sun is high in the sky. The road must be extremely hot. And yet, you walked along it as if it were nothing. Sprites don’t like shoes. Too confining. And nothing hurts their feet. Not even heated asphalt.”

  She sighed. “You’re smarter than you look. That can’t possibly be good.”

  “Are you registered?” he demanded. “Does DICOMY know that you’re—”

  She bared her teeth. “I was never in the system, Mr. Baker. My line is far older than the rules of men. Just because you have decided that all magical beings need to be tagged in the wild for tracking doesn’t give you the right to question me or my legal status.”

  He blanched. “That’s— You’re right. I shouldn’t have said that.”

  “Was that an apology?”

  “I think so.”

  “Good. Don’t ask about my status again.”

  “It’s just— I’ve never met an island sprite before. A water sprite, yes. And even a cave one once. It’s how I was able to recognize you. I didn’t know you existed.”

  She snorted. “I’m sure there’s much you don’t know about existing, Mr. Baker. Look. There. We’re almost to the ferry.”

  He followed where she was pointing. Up ahead, the sign he’d seen in the distance was approaching as they crested the hill. Above the picture of a palm tree and the waves of the ocean was the legend: VILLAGE OF MARSYAS.

  “I’ve never heard of this place before,” he admitted as they drove past. “The village. Is it nice?”

  “Depends on your definition of nice. To you, probably. To me, no.”

  They reached the top of the hill. Below them, along the edges of the ocean, was a cluster of brightly colored buildings nestled amongst tall trees that had been bent over time with the winds. He could see houses spread out into the forest, all in pastels and thatched roofs. It looked like he always dreamed a place near the ocean would. It caused his heart to ache.

  “We won’t stop, so don’t ask,” she warned him. “They don’t like it when we do.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Not everyone is as progressive as you, Mr. Baker,” she said, and he knew he was being mocked. “The people of Marsyas don’t appreciate our kind.”

  That surprised him. “Sprites?”

  She laughed again, but the bitterness was heavy. “All magical beings, Mr. Baker.”

  It didn’t take long to see what she meant. As soon as they pulled onto the main thoroughfare, heading through the village, people on the streets and in the shops turned toward the sound of the car. Linus had been on the receiving end of many looks of disapproval in his life, but never ones filled with so much hostility. People in board shorts and bikinis and rubber flip-flops turned to glare at them openly as they drove through. He tried waving at a few of them, but it didn’t do any good. He even saw a man inside what looked to be a seafood shanty reach up and lock the door as they drove by.

  “Well, I never,” Linus said with a sniff.

  “You get used to it,” Ms. Chapelwhite said. “Surprisingly.”

  “Why are they like this?”

  “I don’t pretend to know the minds of men,” she said, hands tightening on the steering wheel as a woman on the sidewalk appeared to shield her chubby, squawking children away from the car. “They fear what they don’t understand. And that fear turns to hate for reasons I’m sure even they can’t begin to comprehend. And since they don’t understand the children, since they fear them, they hate them. This can’t be the first time you’ve heard of this. It happens everywhere.”

  “I don’t hate anything,” Linus said.

  “You lie.”

  He shook his head. “No. Hate is a waste of time. I’m far too busy to hate anything. I prefer it that way.”

  She glanced at him, her expression hidden behind her sunglasses. She opened her mouth—to say what, he didn’t know—but appeared to change her mind. Instead, she said, “We’re here. Stay in the car.”

  She parked at the edge of a pier. She got out before Linus could say another word. There was a man standing next to a small ferry, tapping his foot impatiently. Behind him, Linus thought he could see the faint outline of an island. “It’s getting late,” the man snapped at Ms. Chapelwhite as she approached, voice drifting over to Linus. “You know I can’t be at the island after dark.”

  “It’s fine, Merle. I wouldn’t let anything happen to you.”

  “That’s not as comforting as you seem to think it is.” He spat over the edge of the pier into the water before looking over her shoulder at Linus. “That’s him, then?”

  She glanced back at him. “That’s him.”

  “Thought he’d be younger.”

  “That’s what I said.”

  “All right. Let’s get on with it. And you tell Parnassus my rates have doubled.”

  She sighed. “I’ll let him know.”

  Merle nodded, and with one last withering look at Linus he turned and jumped deftly onto the ferry. Ms. Chapelwhite turned back toward the car.

  “I think we might have go
tten into something bigger than we were led to believe,” Linus whispered to Calliope.

  She purred in response.

  “All right?” he asked as the sprite climbed back inside the car. He wasn’t sure it was; Merle seemed to be a troublesome fellow.

  “All right,” she muttered. The car turned over again, and she pulled forward as Merle lowered the gate onto the ferry. There was a moment when Linus’s stomach dropped as the gate creaked and groaned under their weight, but it was over before he could react.

  She put the car in park and pressed a button. Linus startled as the sounds of gears rumbled from the rear of the car. He looked back in time to see a vinyl roof rising up and over them. It locked into place with a terrible finality. She shut the car off before turning toward him. “Look, Mr. Baker. I think we got off on the wrong foot.”

  “You mean you’re not always such a joy to be around? Could have fooled me.”

  She glared at him. “I’m a sprite, which means I’m very protective of what’s mine.”

  “The island,” Linus said.

  She nodded. “And all its inhabitants.”

  He hesitated. Then, “Are you and this Mr. Parnassus…”

  She arched an eyebrow.

  He flushed as he coughed and looked away. “Never mind.”

  She laughed at him, though not unkindly. “No. Trust me when I say that would never happen.”

  “Oh. Well. Good to know.”

  “I know you have a job to do,” she continued. “And you’re finding out it’s like nothing you’ve ever done before, but all I ask is that you give them a chance. They’re more than what’s in their files.”

  “Are you telling me how to do my job?” he asked stiffly.

  “I’m asking for an ounce of compassion.”

  “I know compassion, Ms. Chapelwhite. It’s why I do what I do.”

  “You really believe that, don’t you?”

  He looked at her sharply. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  She shook her head. “You don’t have a file on me because I’m not supposed to exist. Arthur—Mr. Parnassus—sent me as an act of good faith. To show you how serious he is. He knows the kind of person you can be. He hopes you can be that person here.”

  Linus felt a trickle of dread at the base of his spine. “How does he know a single thing about me? He can’t know who was assigned. I didn’t even know until yesterday.”

  She shrugged. “He has his ways. You should use the time you have left before arriving at the island to review the remaining files. It’s best if you know what you’re walking into before you do. It’ll be safer, I think.”

  “For who?”

  There was no answer.

  He turned to find the driver’s seat empty, as if she’d never been there at all.

  “Bugger,” he muttered.

  * * *

  He considered doing what she asked. Forewarned was forearmed and all that, but he couldn’t bring himself to peruse the files after what he’d discovered in Lucy’s, fearing that it would only get exponentially worse. Extremely Upper Management certainly hadn’t made things any easier, given their dire warnings about how the inhabitants of the island were unlike anything he’d ever seen before. Ms. Chapelwhite had only seemed to confirm that. He wondered briefly if he’d said too much to her, or if she’d managed to peek inside the files while he’d been lying on the platform. Both seemed likely, and he reminded himself to be on his guard from here on in.

  Not trusting himself to maintain consciousness, he sat with the files on his lap, fingers twitching, the urge to know what he was walking into shrinking in the face of the desire to keep his sanity firmly in place. He thought of all manner of things, from terrible monsters with wickedly sharp teeth to fire and brimstone. They were children, he told himself, but even children could bite if provoked. And if they happened to be worse than what he was imagining, he would rather not know about it beforehand in case he found himself unable to leave the ferry.

  But still …

  He shuffled through the files, looking for one in particular. He inhaled sharply when he saw Lucy’s and skipped by it as quickly as possible until he found the one he wanted.

  The master of the house.

  Arthur Parnassus.

  The file was thin, consisting of a blurry photograph of a spindly man against a blue background and a single sheet of paper. He certainly seemed … normal, but appearances could be deceiving.

  The file (as much as it could be called that for something so sparse) didn’t tell him much more, as certain parts were redacted and the rest were bits and pieces without rhyme or reason. Aside from learning his age (forty-five) and the fact that his tenure at Marsyas appeared to be without any significant issue, there wasn’t much more Linus could glean from it. He didn’t know whether he was disappointed or relieved.

  The sun was beginning to set by the time a bell rang, signaling the arrival at the island. He was lost in thought when the ferry shuddered underneath him, and he looked out the back window to see the ferry gate lowering against a small dock.

  A shadow stretched over the windshield as he turned around. “This is where you get off!” a voice shouted at him.

  He peered up through the windshield.

  Merle stood above him, hands on his hips. “Off,” he repeated.

  “But—”

  “Get off my damn boat!”

  “What an ass,” Linus muttered. The key was still in the ignition, and Linus figured he should at least be thankful for that. He opened the passenger door and almost fell out. He was able to save himself and Calliope at the last second, though she wasn’t appreciative of his acrobatics. He set her on the seat and shut the door against her hissing. He tipped a jaunty salute up to Merle as he rounded the back of the car.

  Merle didn’t respond.

  “Certainly off to an auspicious start,” Linus said under his breath. The driver’s door creaked as he shut it behind him. It’d been a while since he’d driven. He’d never actually owned a car of his own. It was too much of a hassle in the city. He’d rented one once, years ago, planning on spending a weekend driving out to the country, but he’d been called into work at the last minute and ended up returning the car only an hour after he’d taken it out.

  He pushed the seat back before turning the key.

  The car rumbled to life around him.

  “Okay, then,” Linus said to Calliope, hands sweating against the steering wheel. “Let’s see what we see, shall we?”

  FIVE

  There were no signs pointing in any direction, but since there was only one road, Linus figured he must be heading the right way. It only took a few minutes of driving away from the ferry landing before he found himself in an old forest, the trees massive, their canopies almost completely blocking out the sky streaked in pinks and oranges. Leafy vines hung from tree limbs, loud birds called from unseen perches.

  “I don’t suppose this is some sort of trap?” Linus said to Calliope as it grew darker the deeper into the forest they went. “Maybe this is where everyone goes after they’ve been sacked. They think they’re getting a top assignment, but instead, they get sacrificed in the middle of nowhere.”

  It wasn’t a pleasant thought, so he pushed it away.

  He couldn’t find the lever for the headlamps, so he leaned forward as close to the windshield as he could get. It was dusk. His stomach rumbled, but he hadn’t felt like eating less in his life. He knew Calliope would probably be looking for a litter box soon, but he didn’t want to stop until he had some idea where he was. His luck would have Calliope running off into the woods, forcing Linus to chase after her.

  “And I probably wouldn’t,” he told her. “I’d leave you out here to fend for yourself.”

  He wouldn’t, but she didn’t need to know that.

  The odometer had turned over two additional miles, and he was about to start panicking—after all, the island couldn’t be that big, could it?—when the forest fell away around him, and he
saw it.

  There, ahead of him, set against the falling sun, was a house.

  Linus had never seen one quite like it before.

  It was set up a hill on a cliff overlooking the ocean. It looked as if it were at least a hundred years old. It was made of brick and had a large turret, of all things, set right in the middle of the roof. The side of the house facing Linus was covered in green ivy, growing around multiple white window frames. He thought he could see the outline of a gazebo set off next to the house and wondered if there was a garden. He would like that very much. He could walk through it, smelling the salt in the air and—

  He shook his head. He wasn’t here for such things. There would be no time for frivolities. He had a job to do, and he was going to do it right.

  He turned the car toward what appeared to be a long driveway that led up to the house. The closer he got, the bigger it grew, and Linus couldn’t be sure how he’d never heard of this place. Oh, not the orphanage, not if Extremely Upper Management didn’t want anyone to know. But surely this island, this house should have been known to him. He wracked his brain, but came up empty.

  The driveway widened near the top of the hill. There was another vehicle parked next to an empty fountain, overgrown by the same vines that latched on to the orphanage. It was a red van, surely big enough for six children and the master of the house. He wondered if they took many trips. Not into the village, of course, not if the people there weren’t inviting.

  But as he got closer, he saw the van appeared not to have been moved in some time. Weeds grew up through the wheel wells.

  It appeared they didn’t take many trips, if any at all.

  For a moment, Linus felt a pang, something akin to sorrow. He rubbed a hand against his chest, trying to chase it away.

  He’d been right, though. There was a garden. The last rays of sun seemed to be illuminating the flowers to the side of the house, and Linus blinked when he thought he saw movement, a quick flash before it was gone.

  He rolled down the window a smidge, just enough to be heard.