by TJ Klune
Mr. Parnassus barely seemed affected. “Running amok, you say? Fascinating. And I’m aware of what it is you’re here for. I just don’t know if you are.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
He zigged when Linus expected him to zag. “You gave Theodore a button.”
Linus blinked. “Pardon?”
Mr. Parnassus was at the bottom of the steps. Linus had barely seen him move. “A button,” he repeated slowly. “Brass. You gave it to Theodore.”
“Yes, well, it was the first thing I found in my pocket.”
“Where did it come from?”
“What do you mean?”
“The button, Mr. Baker,” he said. “Where did the button come from?”
Linus took a step back. “I don’t … I don’t quite know what you mean.”
Mr. Parnassus nodded. “It’s the little things. Little treasures we find without knowing their origin. And they come when we least expect them. It’s beautiful, when you think about it. He loves it dearly. That was very kind of you.”
“I was all but ordered to give it to him!”
“Were you? How about that.” He was on the porch in front of Linus. He was taller, much taller than he had appeared on the grass in front of the house. Linus had to tilt his head back to meet his gaze. He had a freckle that nearly formed a heart below his left eye. A lock of hair had fallen on his forehead.
Linus flinched a little when Mr. Parnassus extended a hand. Linus stared at it for a moment, then remembered himself. He took the offered hand in his own. The skin was cool and dry, and as the fingers wrapped around his own, Linus felt a little curl of warmth in the back of his mind. “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Mr. Parnassus said. “Regardless of the reason you’re here.”
Linus pulled his hand away, palm tingling. “All I ask is that you let me perform my duties without interference.”
“Because of the children.”
“Yes,” Linus said. “Because of the children. They are the most important thing, after all.”
Mr. Parnassus studied him, looking for what, Linus didn’t know. Then, “Good. I’m pleased we’re off to such a wonderful start. That bodes well for what will certainly be an illuminating month.”
“I wouldn’t call it wonderful—”
“Children!” Mr. Parnassus called. He bent over deftly, sweeping Sal’s discarded clothing in his hand. “Come now, would you?”
There was a stampede of feet behind Linus, some heavy, some sounding as if they were squelching. Linus was jostled as they ran by him.
Sal was first, still a tiny Pomeranian. He yipped nervously, giving Linus a wide berth before jumping up on Mr. Parnassus, tail wagging. “Hello, Sal,” Mr. Parnassus said, looking down. Then, remarkably, he barked, a high-pitched yip. Sal responded in kind with a series of barks before taking off toward the house. “You brought a cat?”
Linus gaped at him. “You can speak…”
“To Sal?” Mr. Parnassus asked. “Of course I can. He’s one of mine. It’s important to— Talia. Thank you for showing our guest around the grounds. That was very kind of you. And Chauncey. I doubt there has been a better bellhop in all the world.”
“Really?” Chauncey warbled, eyes swaying on his stalks. “The entire world?” He puffed out his chest. Or, rather, he appeared to puff out his chest. Linus couldn’t be sure he had a chest at all. “Did you hear that, Talia? The entire world.”
Talia snorted. “I heard. You’ll have your own hotel before you know it.” She glanced up at Linus as she stroked her beard. “You’re welcome for not braining you with the shovel when I had the chance.” She winced slightly when Mr. Parnassus spoke in a low, guttural sound, almost as if he were choking.
It took a moment for Linus to realize he was speaking Gnomish.
Talia heaved a great, dramatic sigh. “Sorry, Mr. Baker. I promise I won’t brain you with my shovel. Today.”
And with that, she and Chauncey went down the stairs and headed toward the main house.
Linus felt a cold chill race down his spine when he heard the floor creak behind him. Lucy appeared beside them, smiling maniacally up at Linus. He didn’t appear to blink.
“Yes?” Linus asked in a croak. “Erm, can I help you?”
“No,” Lucy said, smile widening. “You can’t. Nobody can. I am the father of snakes. The void in the—”
“That’s enough of that,” Mr. Parnassus said lightly. “Lucy, it’s your turn to help Ms. Chapelwhite in the kitchen. You’re already late. Hop to it.”
Lucy sighed as he deflated. “Aw, seriously?”
“Seriously,” Mr. Parnassus said, reaching down and patting him on the shoulder. “Get a move on. You know she doesn’t like it when you shirk your responsibilities.”
Lucy grumbled under his breath as he hopped down the stairs. He glanced back over his shoulder at Linus when he reached the bottom. Linus felt his knees wobble.
“He’s bluffing,” Mr. Parnassus said. “He actually loves working in the kitchen. I think he’s just putting on a show for you. Quite the little entertainer, he is.”
“I think I need to sit down,” Linus said, feeling numb.
“Of course,” Mr. Parnassus said easily. “You’ve had a long day.” He glanced at his wrist, pulling back the sleeve of his coat to reveal a large watch. “Dinner is at half past seven, so you have a bit to get settled. Ms. Chapelwhite has prepared a feast in your honor as a welcome to Marsyas. I’m told there will be pie for dessert. I do love pie so.” He took Linus’s hand in his own again, squeezing gently. Linus looked up at him. “I know why you’re here,” he said quietly. “And I know the power you wield. All I ask is that you keep an open mind, Mr. Baker. Can you do that for me?”
Linus pulled his hand away, feeling off-kilter. “I will do what I must.”
Mr. Parnassus nodded. He looked as if he were going to say something else, but instead shook his head. He turned and stepped off the porch, following his charges into the dark.
He didn’t look back.
* * *
Linus barely remembered walking down the hall toward his bedroom. He felt as if he were caught in a strange dream, one he didn’t know how to escape from. The sensation persisted as he passed the tiny bathroom, only to see his toiletries had been placed on a shelf underneath the mirror.
“What?” he asked no one in particular.
The bedroom at the end of the hall was small, but functional. There was a desk facing the window that opened out to the cliff overlooking the sea. A chair was pressed against it. Near what appeared to be a closet door was a small bureau. A bed with an oversize quilt sat against the opposite wall. Calliope was on the pillow, tail curled around her. She opened a single eye as he entered, tracking his movement.
He opened his mouth and was about to speak to her when the words stuck in his throat.
His suitcase sat on the bed, opened and empty.
He rushed toward it. “Where are my things?”
Calliope yawned and tucked her face in her paws, breathing deeply.
The files for the children and Mr. Parnassus were still secure in a side pocket, the zipper closed. They didn’t appear to have been trifled with. But his clothes were gone, and so was—
He looked around wildly.
There, on the floor, near the desk, sat Calliope’s bowls. One had been filled with water, the other with her kibble, the bag of which was placed to the side of the desk. On top of the desk was his copy of RULES AND REGULATIONS.
He went to the closet and threw open the doors.
His shirts and ties and slacks were hung carefully from the hangers. Next to them was the one coat he’d brought, though he hadn’t been sure he’d need it.
His spare loafers were sitting on the floor.
Leaving the door open, he went to the bureau. Inside, stacked neatly, were his socks and undergarments.
The next drawer down held his pajamas and the only nonwork clothes he’d brought, pants and a polo shirt.
&nbs
p; He backed away from the bureau slowly until his legs hit the edge of the bed. He sat down roughly, staring at the drawers and the open closet.
“I think,” he said to Calliope, “that I’m in over my head.”
She didn’t have an opinion one way or another.
Shaking his head, he reached for his suitcase, pulling the files out and onto his lap.
“Foolish,” he muttered. “Next time, know what you’re walking into.”
He took a deep breath before opening the file on top.
“Oh,” he said rather breathlessly when he read about a wyvern named Theodore.
“What?” he choked out when he opened the file for a fourteen-year-old boy called Sal.
He didn’t manage to say anything at all for Talia, though a bead of sweat trickled down his brow.
He was right about Phee. A forest sprite, and a powerful one at that.
He recoiled sharply at what he saw for a boy called Chauncey. He was ten years old, and next the word Mother, it read UNKNOWN. The same for his father. And his species. It appeared no one seemed to know, exactly, what Chauncey actually was. And now that Linus had seen him in person, he wasn’t sure either.
Extremely Upper Management was right.
The children weren’t like anything he’d ever seen before.
* * *
He gave very real consideration to ignoring the dinner invitation and pulling the heavy quilt up and over his head, blocking out the strange world he’d found himself in. Maybe if he slept, things would make more sense upon waking.
But then his stomach grumbled, and Linus realized he was hungry.
Ravenous, even.
He poked his not inconsiderable stomach. “Must you?”
It gurgled again.
He sighed.
Which is why he found himself standing at the front door to the main house, steeling his nerves. “It’s no different than any other assignment,” he muttered to himself. “You’ve been in this situation before. On with it, old boy. You’ve got this.”
He reached up and banged the metal knocker against the door three times.
And waited.
A minute later, he knocked again.
Still no response.
He wiped the sweat from his brow as he stepped back, looking at the side of the house. There were lights on through the windows, but it didn’t appear anyone was coming to the door.
He shook his head as he stepped again to the door. After a moment of indecision, he reached for the knob. It turned easily under his hand, and he pushed.
The door opened.
Inside was a foyer that led to a wide set of stairs to the second floor. The banisters were wooden and smooth. A large chandelier hung above the foyer, the crystals glittering in the light. He stuck his head through the doorway, listening.
He heard.… music? It was faint, but still. He couldn’t make out the song, but it felt familiar somehow.
“Hello?” he called.
No one answered.
He stepped into the house, closing the door behind him.
To his right was a living room, a large overstuffed couch set in front of a dark fireplace. There was a painting above the fireplace, a whimsical portrait of swirling eddies. He thought he saw the ruffled skirt of the couch shift, but he couldn’t be sure it wasn’t just a trick of the low light.
Ahead were the stairs.
To his left was a formal dining room, though it didn’t appear to be in use. The smaller chandelier above the table was dark, and the table was covered with books, old by the looks of them.
“Hello?” he tried again.
No one responded.
He did the only thing he could.
He followed the sound of the music.
The closer he got, the more the notes filled in, trumpets low and sharp, a sweet masculine voice singing that somewhere beyond the sea, she’s there watching for me.
Linus had this record. He loved it so.
As Bobby Darin sang about watching ships from golden sands, Linus moved through the dream, fingers tracing along the books on the table. He barely glanced down at the titles, entranced by the telltale scratch of a record spinning.
He came to two swinging doors, portholes in their center.
He stood on his tiptoes, peering through them.
The kitchen was bright and airy. It was bigger than any kitchen he’d ever seen before. He was sure the entire guest house could fit inside, with room to spare. Lights hung from the ceiling surrounded by glass globes like fishbowls. He could see a gigantic refrigerator next to an industrial-sized oven. The granite counters were sparkling clean, and—
His jaw dropped.
Ms. Chapelwhite was moving through the kitchen, feet barely touching the floor. Her wings glittered behind her, much brighter than Phee’s had been. They fluttered with every step she took.
But it was the other person in the kitchen that caught Linus’s eye the most.
Lucy was standing on a stepstool in front of the counter. He had a plastic knife in his hand and was chopping a tomato, dropping the pieces into a large pink bowl to his left.
And he was bouncing along with Bobby Darin. As the orchestra swelled mid-song, drums beating, trumpets blaring, he shook his entire body in time with the music. Bobby came back in, saying he knew without a doubt, his heart would lead him there.
And Lucy was rocking his head back, bellowing the words as he danced.
Ms. Chapelwhite was singing along with him, twirling in the kitchen as she moved in and out of sight.
It was a feeling of unreality that washed over Linus then, a discordant wave that felt like it was sucking him down. He couldn’t catch his breath.
“What are you doing?” a voice whispered.
Linus let out a strangled yelp and turned to find Phee and Talia standing behind him. Phee had cleaned herself up, her red hair like fire, her freckles more pronounced. Her wings were folded against her back.
Talia had changed into a different outfit, though it was remarkably similar to the one she’d been wearing before, sans cap. Her long, white hair hung down on her shoulders, the same luxuriant color as her beard.
They both stared up at him suspiciously.
Linus didn’t know what to say. “I’m…”
“Spying?” Phee suggested.
He stiffened. “Absolutely not—”
“We don’t like spies here,” Talia said ominously. “The last spy who tried to infiltrate our house was never heard from again.” She leaned forward, eyes narrowing. “Because we cooked him and ate him for supper.”
“You did no such thing,” Mr. Parnassus said, appearing out of nowhere. Linus was beginning to understand it was something he did. At some point, he’d removed his coat. He now wore a thick sweater, the ends of which fell over the backs of his hands. “Because we’ve never been so lucky as to have a spy. A spy suggests someone capable of infiltration without displaying their intent. Anyone that has come here has made their intentions perfectly clear. Isn’t that right, Mr. Baker?”
“Yes,” he said. “Quite.”
Mr. Parnassus smiled. “And besides, we don’t harm our guests. Certainly not to the point of murder. That would be rude.”
That didn’t make Linus feel any better.
“Beyond the Sea” gave way to Bobby singing about wanting a girl to call his own so he wouldn’t have to dream alone.
“Shall we?” Mr. Parnassus asked.
Linus nodded.
They all stared at him.
It took him a moment to realize he was blocking the door. He stepped aside. Phee and Talia pushed through to the kitchen. Mr. Parnassus called over his shoulder, “Theodore! Supper!”
Linus heard a loud scuffling coming from the living room. He looked beyond Mr. Parnassus in time to see Theodore burst out from underneath the couch, tripping over his wings. He growled as he flipped end over end, tail smacking against the floor. He lay on his back for a moment, breathing heavily.
“Slow an
d steady, Theodore,” Mr. Parnassus said kindly. “We’d never start without you.”
Theodore sighed (possibly—Linus couldn’t be sure) and righted himself. He chirped as he gingerly stood on his back legs, folding his wings behind him with great care, first the right, and then the left. He took a tentative step forward, claws sliding on the wood floor before he found a grip.
“He prefers to fly everywhere,” Mr. Parnassus whispered to Linus. “But whenever it’s time to eat, I ask him to walk.”
“Why?”
“Because he must get used to his feet on the ground. He can’t spend all his time on wings. He’ll tire, especially being so young. If he ever finds himself in danger, he needs to learn to use his legs as well as his wings.”
Linus was startled. “Danger, why would he—”
“How many wyverns are left in the world, Mr. Baker?”
That shut Linus up quickly. The answer, though he couldn’t be exact, was not many.
Mr. Parnassus nodded. “Precisely.”
Theodore took his exaggerated steps toward them, head cocked to the side. When he stood at their feet, he looked up at Mr. Parnassus, chirped, and spread his wings.
“Yes, yes,” Mr. Parnassus said, leaning down to run a finger along his snout. “Very impressive. I’m proud of you, Theodore.”
He folded his wings again, then looked up at Linus before leaning down and biting gently on the tip of one of his loafers.
Mr. Parnassus looked at him expectantly.
Linus wasn’t sure what for.
“He’s saying thank you for the button.”
Linus would prefer not being gnawed on to show gratitude, but it was already too late for that. “Oh. Well. You’re … welcome?”
Theodore chirped again and went through the door that Mr. Parnassus held open for him.
“Shall we?” he asked Linus.
Linus nodded and walked through the door into the kitchen.
* * *
There was another table set at the other end of the kitchen. This one looked more used than the one in the formal dining room. There was a slightly worn tablecloth spread out, weighted down by place settings. Three plates and sets of silverware were on one side. There were four place settings on the other side, though one didn’t have a spoon or a fork. And there were settings at either end of the table. Candles were lit and flickering.