by TJ Klune
Linus did.
And so he followed.
* * *
Talia led them through the garden around the side of the house that he hadn’t been able to see from the road. The light was fading, and he could see stars appearing overhead. The air was cool now, and he shivered.
Talia, for her part, pointed out every single flower they came across, telling him their names and when she’d planted them. She warned him not to touch them, or she’d have to hit him upside the head with her shovel.
Linus didn’t dare try her. She obviously had a propensity for violence, and he needed to remember that for his reports. This investigation wasn’t off to a great start. He had many concerns. Specifically, that all these children appeared to be scattered about.
“Where is the master of the house?” Linus asked as they left the garden behind. “Why isn’t he keeping an eye out for you?”
“Arthur?” Talia asked. “Why on earth would he?”
“Mr. Parnassus,” Linus insisted. “It’s only polite to refer to him by a proper name. And he should be, because you’re a child.”
“I’m 263 years old!”
“And gnomes don’t reach an age of maturity until they’re five hundred,” Linus said. “You may think me a fool, but that would be a mistake.”
She grumbled something in what Linus was now convinced was Gnomish. “From five in the afternoon until seven, we’re given time for personal pursuits. Arthur—oh, excuse me, Mr. Parnassus—believes we should explore whatever interests us.”
“Highly unusual,” Linus muttered.
Talia glanced at him. “It is? Don’t you do things you like after you get done working?”
Well … yes. Yes, he did. But he was an adult, and that was different. “What if one of you gets hurt while in your personal pursuit? He can’t be lazing about while—”
“He’s not lazing about!” Talia exclaimed. “He works with Lucy to make sure he doesn’t bring about the end of the world as we know it!”
It was about this time that Linus felt his vision gray yet again at the thought of—of this child. This Lucy. He couldn’t believe that such a creature existed without his knowledge. Without the world’s knowledge. Oh, he understood why there was secrecy and could even comprehend the need for it. But the fact that there was a weapon of mass destruction in the body of a six-year-old and the world wasn’t prepared was simply shocking.
“You’ve gone awfully pale,” Talia said as she squinted up at him. “And you’re swaying. Are you ill? If you are, I think we should go back to the garden so you can die there. I don’t want to have to drag you all the way back. You look really heavy.” She reached up and poked his stomach. “So soft.”
Strangely, that simple action managed to clear his vision. “I’m not ill,” he snapped at her. “I’m just … processing.”
“Oh. That’s too bad. If your left upper arm starts to hurt, would you let me know?”
“Why would I—that’s a sign of a heart attack, isn’t it?”
She nodded.
“I demand you take me to Mr. Parnassus this instant!”
She cocked her head at him. “But what about your cat? Don’t you want to find her before she gets eaten and all that’s left is her tail because it’s too fluffy to choke down?”
“This is very perturbing and irregular. If this is the way this orphanage is run, I will need to inform—”
Her eyes widened before she grabbed him by the hand and began to pull him. “We’re fine! See? Everything is fine. I’m not dead, and you’re not dead, and nobody is hurt! After all, we’re on an island with no way on or off aside from a ferry. And the house has electricity and working toilets, something we’re very proud of! What could possibly happen to any of us? And Zoe keeps an eye on us when Mr. Parnassus is otherwise detained.”
“Zoe?” Linus demanded. “Who is—”
“Oh! I meant Ms. Chapelwhite,” Talia said hastily. “She’s wonderful. So caring. Everyone says so. And distantly related to a fairy king named Dimitri, if you can believe that! Though, he’s not from around these parts.”
Linus’s mind was a whirlwind. “What do you mean, fairy king? I’ve never—”
“So you see, there is absolutely nothing to worry about. We’re always monitored with everything we do, so no need to inform anyone of anything. And would you look at that! I knew Sal would have your cat. Animals love him. He’s the best. See? Calliope looks so happy, doesn’t she?”
And indeed, she did. She was rubbing up against the legs of a large black boy sitting on the porch of a small house set away from the big house, her back arched as he traced a finger down her spine, tail swishing lazily from side to side. The boy smiled down at her, and then wonder of all wonder, Calliope opened her mouth and meowed, a sound Linus couldn’t ever remember hearing her make before. It was rusty and deep, and it nearly stopped him in his tracks. She purred, of course—usually her distaste—but she never talked.
“Yes,” the boy said, voice low. “Such a good girl, aren’t you? Yes, you are. Prettiest girl.”
“Okay,” Talia said quietly. “No sudden movements, okay? You don’t want to—”
“That’s my cat!” Linus said loudly. “You there, how did you get her to do that?”
“—scare him,” Talia finished with a sigh. “Now you’ve gone and done it.”
The boy looked up fearfully at the sound of Linus’s voice. His big shoulders hunched as he appeared to sink inward. One moment, there was a handsome boy with dark eyes, and the next, the clothes he’d been wearing fell to the porch as if the body wearing them had disappeared from the face of the earth.
Linus stopped, jaw dropping.
Except even as he watched, the pile of clothes began to shift. There was a flash of white hair, and then the clothes fell away.
Sal, the large boy who had to weigh at least 150 pounds, was gone.
But not completely.
Because he had turned into a five-pound Pomeranian.
A fluffy five-pound Pomeranian. The hair around his head was white, shot with rusty orange that extended down his back and legs. His tail was curled up behind his back, and before Linus could process the fact that he’d seen an actual shifter change before him, Sal gave a high-pitched bark and turned and ran into the guest house.
“My word,” Linus breathed. “That was…” He didn’t know how to finish.
“I told you not to scare him,” Talia said crossly. “He’s very nervous, you know. He doesn’t like strangers or loudness, and here you are being both.”
Calliope seemed to agree, as she glared at Linus before she climbed the steps and disappeared into the house as well.
The house itself was tiny, even smaller than Linus’s own. The porch wasn’t big enough for a rocking chair, but it looked charming, flowers growing along the front underneath windows that had a warm and inviting light pouring out of them. It, too, was made of brick, much like the main house, but it didn’t exude the dread Linus had felt upon arrival.
He could hear barking coming from inside the house. There was a response that sounded high-pitched and garbled, as if someone was throwing a wet sponge on the floor repeatedly.
“Chauncey’s here too,” Talia said, sounding delighted. “He probably grabbed your luggage for you while we were in the garden. He’s very hospitable, you know. He wants to be a bellhop when he gets older. The uniform with the little hat and everything.” She looked up at him with wide, innocent eyes that Linus distrusted immediately. “Do you think he’d be good at that, Mr. Baker?”
And because Linus believed in the power of positive thinking, he said, “I don’t see why not,” even though he wondered what Chauncey could possibly be.
Talia smiled sweetly as if she didn’t believe a single word.
* * *
The inside of the house was just as endearing as the outside. There was a sitting room with a comfortable-looking chair in front of a brick fireplace, and a table sitting in a nook in front of one of
the windows. The barking sound came from farther down the hall, and for a moment, Linus was slightly disoriented, because there didn’t seem to be—
“Where’s the kitchen?” he asked.
Talia shrugged. “There isn’t one. Whoever owned the house before seemed to think everyone should eat together in the main house. You get to eat with all of us. Probably for the best, so you can see we eat only the healthiest foods and are civilized or whatever.”
“But there’s—”
“Sir!” a wet and warbled voice exclaimed from behind him. “Might I take your coat?”
Linus turned to see—
“Chauncey!” Talia said, sounding delighted.
There, standing (sitting?) in the hallway, a tiny dog peering out around him, was an amorphous green blob with bright red lips. And black teeth. And eyes on stalks that stuck high above his head, seemingly moving independently of each other. He didn’t have arms so much as tentacles with tiny little suckers along their lengths. He was not quite see-through, though Linus could make out the faint outline of Sal hiding behind him.
“I’m not wearing a coat,” Linus heard himself say, though he hadn’t actually instructed his brain to say it.
Chauncey frowned. “Oh. That’s … disappointing.” His eyes wiggled around as he seemed to brighten. As in literally brighten, because he became a lighter shade of green. “No matter! I’ve already attended to your luggage, sir! It’s been placed in your room, as has the barbaric cage I assume is for your cat that is now sleeping on your pillow.” He held out one of his tentacles.
Linus stared at it.
“Ahem,” Chauncey coughed, flipping the tip of his tentacle toward him twice.
“You have to pay him,” Talia hissed from behind him.
Again, independent of any thought, Linus felt himself reach back for his wallet. He opened it up, found a single, and handed it over. It instantly soaked through as Chauncey’s tentacle closed over it. “Wow,” he whispered as he pulled the bill close, eyes drooping on their stalks to look it over. “I did it. I’m a bellhop.”
Before Linus could respond to that, a chilling voice rang out, sounding as if it were coming from everywhere. The air, the floors, the very walls that surrounded them.
“I am evil incarnate,” the dastardly voice said. “I am the blight upon the skin of this world. And I will bring it to its knees. Prepare for the End of Days! Your time has come, and the rivers will run with the blood of the innocents!”
Talia sighed. “He’s such a drama queen.”
SIX
Linus Baker, for what it was worth, did care about the children he was tasked with observing. He didn’t think one could do what he did and lack empathy, though he couldn’t understand how someone like Ms. Jenkins had ever been a caseworker before being promoted to Supervision.
And so when faced with a perceived threat, and even though everything felt topsy-turvy, Linus did the only thing he could: He moved to protect the children.
Talia squawked angrily as he shoved her behind him toward Sal and Chauncey. “What are you doing?”
He ignored her, the ringing in his ears he’d heard since he’d arrived on the island now turning into a full-blown roar. He took a step toward the open door, and he swore on everything he had that the darkness settling outside had somehow gotten darker. He believed if he stepped out onto the porch, the stars above would be blotted out, and all that would remain would be eternal night.
“What’s going on?” Chauncey whispered behind him.
“I have no idea,” Talia said irritably.
Sal barked nervously, a high-pitched yip.
“Probably,” Talia said.
Linus took a step toward the door. He should have realized that accepting this assignment was going to be the last thing he’d do. He wondered if Lucy had already taken out Mr. Parnassus and whoever (or whatever) had been in the main house with them. He couldn’t be sure if there were other things that Extremely Upper Management hadn’t made him aware of. If there was a clear path, perhaps he could get the children to the car. He’d need to get Calliope into her crate, but he’d rather have an angry cat to deal with than a devil. He didn’t know how he’d get them off the island, but—
He stepped onto the porch.
It was darker, perhaps darker than it’d ever been before. He could barely see the flowers just off the porch. Everything else was lost to the darkness. It was as if the night were a living thing and had consumed the world. Linus’s skin felt electrified.
“Hello,” a sweet voice said from beside him.
Linus gasped and turned his head.
There, standing at the edge of the porch, was a child.
Lucy looked exactly as he had in the photograph. His black hair was windswept, and his eyes were red and ringed with blue. He looked so small, but the smile on his face was twisted into a sneer, and his fingers were twitching at his sides, as if he were barely restraining himself from reaching out and tearing Linus limb from limb.
“It’s nice to see you,” Lucy singsonged before giggling. “I knew you’d come, Mr. Baker. Though, by the time I’m done with you, you’ll wish you hadn’t.” The smile widened until it seemed like his face would split in half. Flames began to rise behind him, though they didn’t seem to burn the house, and Linus couldn’t feel the heat that should have been pouring off of them. “I’m going to enjoy this far more than you could ever—”
“That’s enough, Lucy.”
And just like that, everything switched off.
Lucy groaned, and the red disappeared from his eyes. The fire subsided. The blackness winked out, and the remains of the sunset appeared on the horizon. The stars were bright, and Linus could see the main house across the way.
“I was just having some fun,” Lucy muttered, scuffing his shoe against the porch. “I’m hellfire. I am the darkest parts of—”
“You still need to have a bath after supper,” the voice said, and Linus felt his heart skip a beat. “Perhaps we could save the hellfire and the darkest parts for tomorrow.”
Lucy shrugged. “Okay.” And then he ran past Linus into the house, shouting for Talia and Chauncey. “Did you see what I did? He was so scared!”
Linus looked off the porch.
There, standing in the grass, was a man.
He was unlike anyone Linus had ever seen before. He was spindly. His light hair was a mess, sticking up at odd angles. It was starting to gray around his temple. His dark eyes were bright and glittering in the near-dark. His aquiline nose had a bump in the center, as if it’d been broken once long ago and never set right. He was smiling, hands clasped in front of him. His fingers were long and elegant as he twiddled his thumbs. He wore a green peacoat, the collar pulled up around his neck against the sea breeze. His slacks appeared too short for his long legs, the hems coming up above his ankles, revealing red socks. He wore black-and-white wing tip shoes.
“Hello, Mr. Baker,” Arthur Parnassus said, sounding amused. “Welcome to Marsyas Island.” His voice was lighter than Linus expected, almost as if there were musical notes behind each word. “I do hope your trip was most pleasant. The ocean can sometimes be rough in the crossing. Merle is … Merle. He’s from the village, after all.”
Linus was flabbergasted. He remembered the blurry photograph from the file. In it, Mr. Parnassus had been standing against a blue background, and he hadn’t been smiling. But there had been a jovial arch to his eyebrow, and Linus had stared at it for longer than was probably proper.
He looked younger in person, far younger than his forty-five years suggested. He was as fresh-faced as the young people who came into DICOMY with their shiny degrees and ideas about how things should be done rather than how they actually were. They quickly learned to fall in line. Idealism had no place in government work.
Linus shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. It wouldn’t do for someone in his position to sit here gawking at the master of an orphanage. Linus Baker was nothing if not a consummate professiona
l, and he had a job to do.
“Do you often greet your guests with threats of death and destruction, Mr. Parnassus?” he asked sternly, trying to regain control of the situation.
Mr. Parnassus chuckled. “Not usually, though it should be said we don’t have many guests. Please, call me Arthur.”
Linus was tense, listening to the babble of voices behind him. He felt uncomfortable having someone like Lucy behind him, out of sight. “I think Mr. Parnassus will suffice. I will be Mr. Baker during the course of this visit. From you and the children.”
Mr. Parnassus nodded with barely concealed delight. Linus couldn’t be sure what, exactly, about this situation necessitated such a response. He wondered if he was being mocked somehow and felt a wave of anger roll over him. He managed to push it down before it could contort his expression.
“Mr. Baker it is, then. My apologies for not welcoming you in person upon your arrival.” He glanced at the house over Linus’s shoulder before looking back at him. “I was otherwise detained with Lucy, though I suspect he attempted to conceal your presence from me.”
Linus was gobsmacked. “He can … do that?”
Mr. Parnassus shrugged. “He can do many things, Mr. Baker. But I expect you’ll find that out for yourself. It is the reason you’re here, isn’t it? Phee informed us of your arrival, and Lucy decided he’d welcome you in his own special way.”
“Special,” Linus said faintly. “That’s what you call it.”
He took a step toward the porch. “This is an unusual place, filled with things I don’t believe you’ve witnessed before. It would be best if you put your preconceived notions behind you, Mr. Baker. Your visit will be much more enjoyable if you do.”
Linus bristled. “I’m not here for enjoyment, Mr. Parnassus. This is not a vacation. I’m here as ordered by the Department in Charge of Magical Youth to determine if Marsyas Orphanage should remain as is, or if other actions should be taken. You would do well to remember that. The fact that the children were running amok with no supervision isn’t the best start.”