by TJ Klune
Linus thought he was going to be sick. “That’s not—that’s not fair. He should have never been in a position to do that to you. He should have never been allowed to lay a hand on you.”
“Oh, I know that now. But then? I was a child.” Arthur held out his hand, palm up. His fingers flexed slightly, and fire bloomed like a flower. Linus, who had seen so many strange and wonderful things in his lifetime, was entranced. “Back then, I thought it was what I deserved for being what I was. He beat that into me enough until I had no choice but to believe him.” The fire began to move then, crawling up his wrist. It wound its way around his arm. When it reached his shirt, Linus was sure it would start to burn.
It didn’t.
Instead, the fire grew until it began to snap and crackle. It rose in the air behind him, spreading out until Linus couldn’t deny what he was seeing.
Wings.
Arthur Parnassus had wings of fire.
They were beautiful. Linus could see burning feathers in the red and orange, and he remembered the night he’d seen the flash outside the guest house after Arthur had left. The wings stretched as much as they could in the small room, and Linus thought they were at least ten feet long from tip to tip. And though he could feel the heat from them, it didn’t feel scorching. The wings fluttered, leaving trails of golden fire. Above his head, Linus thought he could make out the outline of a bird’s head, the beak sharp and pointed.
Arthur closed his hand.
The phoenix curled back down toward the top of his head, wings folding in. The fire snuffed out, leaving thick wisps of smoke, the afterimages of a great bird dancing in Linus’s eyes.
“I tried to burn my way out,” Arthur whispered. “But the master had prepared for that. The metal slats against the door. The walls made of stone. Stone, I learned, can withstand intense heat. It became obvious rather quickly I would choke on the smoke before I ever escaped. So I did the only thing I could. I stayed. He was smart. He himself never brought me food or changed the bucket I used as a toilet. He made one of the other children do it, knowing I would never harm them.”
Though Linus didn’t want to know, he asked, “How long were you down here?” He couldn’t bear to look at the tick marks scratched into the wall.
Arthur looked pained. “By the time I left, I had thought it’d been a few weeks. It turned out to be six months. When you’re constantly in the dark, time gets … slippery.”
Linus hung his head.
“Eventually, someone came. Either because they suspected something was off, or because they decided an inspection was necessary. I was told the master tried to explain away my absence, but one of the other children was brave enough to speak up. I was found, and the orphanage was shut down. I was sent to one of DICOMY’s schools which was better, though not by much. At least there, I could go outside and spread my wings.”
“I don’t understand,” Linus admitted. “Why would you ever return to this place? After everything that happened to you?”
Arthur closed his eyes. “Because this was my hell. And I couldn’t allow it to stay that way. This house had never been a home, and I thought I could change that. When I went to DICOMY with the idea of reopening the Marsyas Orphanage, I could see the greed in their eyes. Here, they could keep track of me. Here, they could send others who they thought were the most dangerous. They assigned Charles to me, telling me he would help get things in order. He did, but to his own end. Zoe tried to warn me, though I chose not to believe her.”
Anger swelled within Linus. “And where was she? How in God’s name did she not help you?”
He shrugged. “She didn’t know. She hid herself away, fearing reprisal. She was the great secret of this island, and one they would have tried to harness back then. I only met her once before I went into the cellar. I stumbled upon her in the woods, and she nearly killed me until she saw me for what I was. She fled instead. After I returned to the island, she came to me and told me that she was sorry for all that I had endured. That she would allow me to stay, and that she would help if needed.”
“That’s not—”
“She isn’t to be blamed,” Arthur said sharply as his eyes flashed open. “I certainly don’t. There was nothing she could have done that wouldn’t have put herself in danger.”
“They know about her now,” Linus admitted. “I included her in my report.”
“We know. We made the decision after we received notice that DICOMY was sending a caseworker. She was tired of hiding. She accepted the risk because of how important the children are to her. She needed you to see that she was wasn’t going to let them go without a fight.”
Linus shook his head. “I can’t—why on earth would DICOMY allow you this place at all? Why would they agree to put children in your care?” He blanched and added quickly, “You’re quite capable, of course, it’s just that—”
“Guilt is a powerful tool,” Arthur said. “For all I endured here, it would fall back on DICOMY if word ever got out. They thought they could use it as leverage. For my silence, they would allow me this house. To keep track of me, yes, but in the end, they saw the island as a solitary and desolate place where the only village nearby could be easily bought off. One where they could send who they considered to be the most … extreme. This was their grand experiment. They thought I was a pawn.”
“But you were playing them,” Linus whispered. “Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free.”
Arthur smiled. “Oh yes. I took their huddled masses and gave them a home where they could breathe without fear of retaliation.” His smile faded. “I thought I had everything planned. And maybe I made mistakes. Keeping the children on the island for one. That was born out of fear. I told myself they had enough. That the island and Zoe and I could provide everything they could ever need. I love them more than anything in this world. And I convinced myself that love would be enough to sustain them. But I didn’t account for one thing.”
“What?”
Arthur looked at him. “You. You were the most unexpected thing of all.”
Linus gaped at him. “Me? But why?”
“Because of who you are. I know you don’t see it, Linus. But I see it enough for the both of us. You make me feel like I’m burning up from the inside out.”
Linus couldn’t find a way to believe him. “I’m just one person. I’m just me.”
“I know. And what a lovely person you are.”
This couldn’t be real. “You played them. DICOMY. To get what you wanted.”
Arthur’s eyes narrowed. “Yes.”
Linus had to fight to get the words out. “You could be doing the same to me. To get what you want. To have me—to have me say what you want in my reports.”
Arthur sucked in a sharp breath. “Oh. Oh, Linus. Do you really think so little of me?”
“I don’t know what to think,” Linus snapped. “You’re not who I thought you were! You’ve lied to me!”
“I withheld the truth,” Arthur said gently.
“Is there a difference?”
“I think—”
“Do they know about you? The children?”
Arthur shook his head slowly. “I learned rather quickly how to hide myself from most everyone.”
“Why?”
“Because I wanted them to think there was still good in this world. They were sent to me shattered into the tiniest of pieces. The less they knew about me the better. They needed to focus on their own healing. And I was—”
“They could have found solidarity with you,” Linus argued. “They could have—”
“And I was instructed by DICOMY never to reveal myself to them.”
Linus took a step back. He hit the wall. “What?”
“It was part of the deal,” Arthur said. “One of their conditions before they agreed to allow me to return here. I could reopen Marsyas, but who I am—what I am—would remain a secret.”
“Why?”
“You know why, Linus. Pho
enixes are … we—I can burn brightly, and I don’t know if there’s a limit. I believe I could burn the very sky if I pushed myself hard enough. If they couldn’t figure out a way to harness that power, then at the very least, they’d put a muzzle on it. Fear and hatred comes from not being able to understand what—”
“That’s no excuse,” Linus snapped. “Just because you can do things others cannot doesn’t make you something to be reviled.”
He shrugged awkwardly. “It was their way of showing that regardless of what I was getting in return, they still had a hold over me. It was a reminder that all of this could be taken away whenever they wanted. When Charles left, shortly after Talia and Phee arrived, he told me to remember that. And if he ever got word I had reneged on my promise, or that he even thought I had, he would send someone to investigate. And if need be, shut us down. I’m sure the thought crossed their mind at one point or another that instead of me living quietly on this island with their castoffs, I would instead amass an army. Preposterous, of course. I never wanted anything more than a home I could call my own.”
“It’s not fair.”
“No. It’s not. Life rarely is. But we deal with it the best we can. And we allow ourselves to hope for the best. Because a life without hope isn’t a life lived at all.”
“You have to tell them. They need to know who you are.”
“Why?”
“Because they have to see they aren’t alone!” Linus cried, slamming his palms back against the wall. “That magic exists where we least expect it to. That they can grow up to be whoever they choose to be!”
“Can they?”
“Yes! And though it may not seem like it now, things can change. Talia said that you told her in order to change the minds of many, you have to first start with the minds of a few.”
He smiled. “She said that?”
“Yes.”
“I didn’t think she was even listening.”
“Of course they listen,” Linus said, exasperated. “They listen to every single thing you say. They look to you because you are their family. You are their—” He stopped, breathing heavily. He shouldn’t say it. It wasn’t right. None of this was. It wasn’t—“You are their father, Arthur. You said you love them more than life itself. You have to know they feel the same about you. Of course they do. How can they not? Look at you. Look at what you’ve made here. You are a fire, and they need to know how you burn. Not only because of who you are, but because of what they have made you into.”
Arthur’s expression stuttered and broke. He lowered his head. His shoulders shook.
Linus wanted to console him, wanted to take Arthur in his arms and hold him tight, but he couldn’t get his feet to move. He was confused, all his thoughts swirling in a storm in his head. He latched on to the only thing he could. “And when—when I go back, when I leave this place, I will do my best to make sure Extremely Upper Management knows this. That the island—”
Arthur’s head snapped up. “When you go back?”
Linus looked away. “My time here was always going to be short. There was always an end date. And while it came much quicker than I anticipated, I have a home. A life. A job. One that is now more important than ever, I think. You have opened my eyes, Arthur. All of you. I will be forever grateful.”
“Grateful,” Arthur said dully. “Of course. Forgive me. I don’t know what I was thinking.” Linus looked up to see him smile, though it seemed to tremble. “Anything you can do to assist us will be more than wonderful. You … you are a good man, Linus Baker. I am honored to have known you. We’ll have to make sure your last week here on the island is one you’ll never forget.” He started to turn, but then paused. “And I promise you, the thought of using you for anything has never crossed my mind. You’re too precious to put into words. I think … it’s like one of Theodore’s buttons. If you asked him why he cared about them so, he would tell you it’s because they exist at all.”
And then he was up the stairs and into the night.
Linus stood in the cellar, staring at the space Arthur had left behind. The air was still warm, and Linus swore he could hear the crackling of fire.
SIXTEEN
If Linus’s life were a drama, the last week of his stay on Marsyas would have been cold and rainy, the gray clouds shifting overhead to match his mood.
But it was sunny, of course. The sky and the sea were cerulean.
On Monday, Linus sat in on the children’s classes, listening as they discussed the Magna Carta in the morning and The Canterbury Tales in the afternoon. Sal was quite vexed the stories were unfinished, which led Arthur to bring up the The Mystery of Edwin Drood. Sal vowed to read it and come up with his own ending. Linus thought it would be marvelous and wondered if he would ever get to read it.
On Tuesday from the hours of five in the afternoon to seven, he sat with Talia in her garden. She was fretting slightly over what Helen would think when she visited next week. She worried that Helen wouldn’t like what she’d grown. “What if it’s not good enough?” Talia muttered in Gnomish, and the fact that Linus understood her barely crossed his mind.
“I think you’ll find that it’s more than adequate,” he replied.
She scowled at him. “More than adequate. Gee, Linus. Thank you for that. I feel so much better already.”
He patted her on the top of the head. “We do need to keep the ego in check. You have nothing to fear.”
She looked around her garden doubtfully. “Really?”
“Really. It’s the most beautiful garden I’ve ever seen.”
She blushed under her beard.
On Wednesday, he sat with Phee and Zoe in the woods. He’d forgone a tie, and his shirt was open at his throat. He was barefoot, the grass soft underneath his feet. Sunlight filtered through the trees, and Zoe was telling Phee that it wasn’t just about what she could grow, but about cultivating what was already there. “It’s not always about creation,” Zoe said quietly as flowers bloomed underneath her hands. “It’s about the love and care you put into the earth. It’s intent. It’ll know your intentions, and, if they’re good and pure, there is nothing you won’t be able to do.”
That afternoon, he was in Chauncey’s room, and Chauncey was saying, “Welcome to the Everland Hotel, sir! May I take your luggage?” and Linus replied, “Thank you, my good man, that would be wonderful.” He handed over an empty satchel. Chauncey hefted it over his shoulder, his bellhop cap sitting crooked on his head. After, he made sure to tip Chauncey handsomely. It was what one did after having received first-rate service, after all. The saltwater on the floor was warm.
It was late afternoon on Wednesday, and Linus was starting to panic, a feeling settling over his shoulders like a heavy cloak that this wasn’t right, that he was making a mistake.
He had put his luggage on his bed with the intention of beginning to pack. He was leaving the day after tomorrow, and he told himself he might as well get started. But he stood in his room staring down at his bag. His copy of the RULES AND REGULATIONS lay on the floor near the bed. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d picked it up. He asked himself why it’d been so important in the first place.
He didn’t know how much longer he would have stood there if he hadn’t heard the tapping on the bedroom window.
He looked up.
Theodore was perched outside, wings folded at his sides, head cocked. He tapped his snout against the glass again.
Linus went to the window, sliding it open. “Hello, Theodore.”
Theodore chattered in response, greeting Linus as he hopped inside. His wings opened and he half jumped, half flew to the bed, landing near Calliope. His eyes narrowed at her, and he snapped his jaws. She stood slowly, arching her back as she stretched. And then she walked to Theodore and lifted her paw to smack him across the face before yawning and jumping down from the bed.
Theodore shook his head, a little dazed.
“You deserved that,” Linus chided him gently. “I’ve told you not
to antagonize her.”
Theodore grumbled at him. Then, he chirped a question.
Linus blinked. “Come with you? Where?”
Theodore chirped again.
“A surprise? I don’t think I like surprises.”
Theodore wasn’t having any of it. He flew up to Linus’s shoulder, landing and nipping at Linus’s ear until he had no choice but to obey. “Cheeky little git,” Linus muttered. “You can’t just bite until people do what you— Ow! I’m going!”
The afternoon sun felt warm on Linus’s face as they left the guest house. He listened as Theodore babbled in his ear. As the seagulls called overhead. As the waves crashed against the cliffs below. The ache in his heart was sharp and bittersweet.
They entered the main house. It was quiet, which meant that either everyone was out doing their own thing, or Lucy was up to something terrible that would end in death.
Theodore jumped down from Linus’s shoulder, wings out as he landed on the ground. He stumbled over them as he hurried toward the couch, tumbling end over end. He landed on his back, blinking up at Linus.
Linus fought a smile. “You’ll grow into them yet. Quite a lot, I think.”
Theodore turned over and found his footing. He shook himself from his head to the tip of his tail. He looked back up at Linus, chirped again, and disappeared under the couch.
Linus stared after him, disbelieving what he’d just heard. He’d seen part of Theodore’s hoard—the one he kept in the turret—but this was more important.
Another chirp came out from underneath the couch.
“Are you sure?” he asked quietly.
Theodore said he was sure.
Linus slowly went to his hands and knees and crawled toward the couch. Obviously he wouldn’t be able to fit underneath, but if he lifted up the skirt, he’d be able to see just fine.
So that was what he did.