The House in the Cerulean Sea

by TJ Klune

  “There was no treasure after all! It was a lie to get you here for your party!”

  “Oh. I see. So the real treasure was the friendships we made along the way?”

  “You guys are the worst,” Lucy muttered. “The literal worst.”

  * * *

  And what a party it was. There was food—so much so that Linus thought the table would collapse under the weight of it. There was roast and hot rolls and salad with cucumbers that crunched between their teeth. There was cake and pie and bowls of tart raspberries they could dip in cream.

  And music! All kinds of music. There was a record player sitting on the counter, and the day the music died was bright and loud with Ritchie and Buddy and the Big Bopper singing from beyond. Lucy was in charge, and he never failed to disappoint.

  They laughed on this day. Oh, how they laughed. Even though Linus thought his heart was breaking, he laughed until there were tears in his eyes, until he was sure his sides would split. As the sun began to set and the lanterns grew brighter, they laughed and laughed and laughed.

  Linus was wiping tears away (from amusement, he told himself) when the music changed yet again.

  He recognized it even before Nat King Cole began to sing.

  He looked up to see Arthur Parnassus standing before him, hand outstretched.

  Thank you.

  You keep saying that, and I don’t know if it’s deserved.

  I know you don’t believe you do. But I don’t say things I don’t mean. Life is too short for it. Do you like to dance?

  I don’t … know. I think I might have two left feet, honestly.

  I highly doubt that.

  And Linus Baker allowed himself to be selfish. Just this once.

  He took Arthur’s hand and stood slowly as Nat told him to smile even though his heart was breaking.

  Arthur pulled him close, and they began to sway back and forth.

  “Smile and maybe tomorrow,” Arthur whispered in his ear. “You’ll see the sun come shining through for you.”

  Linus lay his head against Arthur’s chest. He could feel the heat from him burning from the inside out.

  They danced.

  It stretched on for what felt like ages, though Linus knew the song didn’t last long. He heard Arthur whispering the words to him. He surprised even himself. Apparently, he didn’t have two left feet after all.

  But, like all things magical, the song eventually came to an end.

  The house around them was quiet. Linus blinked as if waking from a dream. He lifted his head. Arthur looked down at him, eyes glittering like fire. Linus stepped back.

  Zoe sat with Phee and Talia in her lap. Theodore was perched on Sal’s shoulder. Lucy and Chauncey lay pressed against his legs. All of them looked tired. Happy, but tired. Lucy smiled at him, but it broke when he yawned. “Did you like your treasure, Mr. Baker?”

  Linus looked up at Arthur again. “I did,” he whispered. “I liked it more than anything.”

  * * *

  Zoe carried Phee and Talia as they walked back toward the main house. Talia was snoring loudly.

  Sal had put Theodore in his shirt, and the wyvern’s head lay against his throat.

  Arthur held Chauncey by his tentacle.

  Linus brought up the rear, Lucy sleepy in his arms.

  He wished it could last forever.

  It was over in what seemed like an instant.

  He said good night to Talia. To Phee. To Sal and Theodore. He shifted Lucy to one arm and reached down and patted Chauncey on the top of his head.

  Arthur asked a question with his eyes.

  Linus shook his head. “I’ve got him.”

  Arthur nodded and turned to remind the others it was time to brush their teeth.

  He took Lucy into Arthur’s bedroom and set him down. “Go get your pajamas on,” he said quietly.

  Lucy nodded and turned toward the closet door. He shut it behind him.

  Linus stood in the middle of the room, unsure of everything. He thought he knew the way of things. How the world worked. His place in it.

  Now, he wasn’t so sure.

  Lucy returned in pajama pants and a white shirt. His hair was sticking up as if he’d run his hand through it. His bare feet were so small.

  “Go brush your teeth,” Linus instructed gently.

  Lucy looked up at him suspiciously. “You’ll be here when I get back?”

  Linus nodded. “I promise.”

  Lucy went back out into the hall. He heard Chauncey yell that Theodore was eating the toothpaste again, and Theodore chirping in response that he was not.

  Linus put his face into his hands.

  He’d composed himself by the time Lucy came back into the room, face freshly scrubbed. He yawned again. “I’m so tired,” he said.

  “Adventuring is hard work, I suspect.”

  “Good adventure, though.”

  “The best,” Linus agreed.

  He took Lucy by the hand and led him to his room. The records they’d glued meticulously back together were hung on the wall (though, from the Buddy Holly record, a piece they hadn’t been able to find was still missing; Theodore had moved quickly, it would seem). Linus pulled the covers down on the bed, and Lucy crawled up and underneath, snuggling down onto his pillow.

  Linus pulled the covers back up to his shoulders. Lucy turned on his side, looking up at Linus. “I don’t want you to go.”

  Linus swallowed thickly as he crouched down next to the bed. “I know. And I’m sorry about that. But my time here is just about finished.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I have responsibilities.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I’m an adult. And adults have jobs.”

  Lucy grimaced. “I never want to be an adult. It sounds boring.”

  He reached out and brushed a lock of Lucy’s hair from his brow. “I think you’ll make a fine adult, though it won’t happen for a long time to come.”

  “You’re not going to let them take us away, are you?”

  Linus shook his head. “No. I’m going to do everything I can to make sure that doesn’t happen.”

  “You will?”

  “Yes, Lucy.”

  “Oh. That’s nice of you.” Then, “You’re going to be gone when I wake up.”

  Linus looked away but didn’t answer.

  He felt Lucy’s hand brush against his face. “The others don’t know, but I do. I can see things, sometimes. I don’t know why. You. Arthur. He burns. Did you know that?”

  Linus inhaled sharply. “Did he tell you that?”

  “No. I don’t think he’s allowed. But we know. We all know. Just like we know what you both did when you left the other day. He’s one of us. Just like you.”

  “I’m afraid I don’t have magic.”

  “You do, Mr. Baker. Arthur told me that there can be magic in the ordinary.”

  He looked back at Lucy.

  His eyes were closed.

  He breathed deeply.

  Linus stood.

  “Thank you,” he whispered.

  He made sure to leave the door open a little when he left, so that a sliver of light shone in to chase away the nightmares should they try and find the sleeping boy.

  * * *

  The other doors were all closed. He touched each of them as he wandered slowly down the hall.

  The only light that was on came from under Sal’s door.

  He thought about knocking.

  He didn’t.

  He paused at the top of the stairs.

  Took a breath.

  And then descended.

  There was a whispered argument occurring on the first floor. He hesitated, unsure if he should make his presence known. He couldn’t hear what was being said, but he knew it wasn’t for him.

  Zoe stood at the front door, jabbing Arthur in the chest, her brow furrowed, her eyes narrowed. She looked unhappy. Not quite angry but … something. She stopped when the last step creaked under Linus.
>
  They looked over at him.

  “Lucy’s asleep,” he said, scratching the back of his neck.

  “Men,” Zoe growled. “Useless, the lot of you.” She stepped away from Arthur, her expression tight as she glared at Linus. “Bright and early, then?”

  Linus nodded. “Train leaves at seven sharp. Merle is expecting us at a quarter after six.”

  “And you just have to be on it, don’t you?”

  He said nothing.

  “Fine,” she muttered. “I’ll be here. Don’t keep me waiting.” She whirled on her heels and left without saying anything else. She left the door wide open.

  Arthur stared after her, jaw clenched.

  “Everything all right?”

  “No, I don’t think it is.”

  His head hurt. “If you’re both worried about my final report, let me assure you that—”

  “It’s not the damn report.”

  “Okay,” Linus said slowly. He wasn’t sure he’d ever heard Arthur curse before. “Then what is it?”

  Arthur shook his head.

  “Stubborn,” Linus muttered, and he couldn’t help how fond he sounded. He didn’t know what else to do, so he did the only thing he could.

  He walked toward the door.

  He thought something would happen the moment he was shoulder to shoulder with Arthur. What, he didn’t know. But it didn’t. He was a coward.

  “Good night, then,” he managed to say. He continued on to the door.

  And then Arthur said, “Stay.”

  He stopped as he closed his eyes. His voice was shaky when he asked, “What?”

  “Stay. Here. With us. Stay here with me.”

  Linus shook his head. “You know I can’t.”

  “No, I don’t. I don’t know that.”

  Linus turned and opened his eyes.

  Arthur was pale, his mouth in a thin line. Linus thought he could see the faint outline of burning wings behind him, but it might have just been a trick of the low light. “It was always temporary,” Linus said. “I don’t belong here.”

  “If you can’t belong here, then where can you belong?”

  “I have a life,” Linus said. “I have a home. I have—”

  A home isn’t always the house we live in. It’s also the people we choose to surround ourselves with. You may not live on the island, but you can’t tell me it’s not your home. Your bubble, Mr. Baker. It’s been popped. Why would you allow it to grow around you again?

  “I have a job to do,” he finished lamely. “People are counting on me. Not just—not just here. There are other children who could need me. Who could be in the same position you were in once. Shouldn’t I do everything I can to help them?”

  Arthur nodded tightly as he glanced away. “Of course. Of course that’s what’s important. Forgive me. I didn’t mean to make it sound like it wasn’t.” When he looked at Linus again, his expression was smooth, almost … blank. He bowed slightly. “Thank you, Linus. For everything. For seeing us for who we really are. You will always be welcome on the island. I know the children will miss you.” The expression stuttered slightly. “I know I will miss you.”

  Linus opened his mouth, but nothing came out. And he despised himself for it. Here was this man, this wonderful man, exposing his heart. Linus had to give him something, no matter how small.

  He tried again. He said, “If things were—if this were different, I … you have to know, Arthur. You have to. This place. These children. You. If only I could…”

  Arthur smiled quietly. “I know. Good night, Linus. And safe travels. Do take care of yourself.”

  He shut the door, leaving Linus standing on the porch in the dark.

  * * *

  Linus sat on the porch. There was a faint light in the east. The stars were bright. His luggage was beside him. Calliope too, in her crate, though she wasn’t amused at the early hour. Linus could commiserate, especially since he hadn’t slept a wink.

  He took a deep breath. It came out in a mist. “I think it’s time.”

  He stood. He grabbed his luggage and the crate, and stepped off the porch.

  As promised, Zoe was waiting by her little car. She took his suitcase from him and set it in the trunk without a word.

  He climbed into the passenger seat, settling Calliope’s crate on his lap.

  Zoe hopped in and started the car.

  Then they were off.

  Linus watched the house in the side mirror as it slowly shrank behind them.

  * * *

  Merle was waiting at the docks. The headlights from the car illuminated his scowl. He lowered the gate. “Rates for this early hour are doubled,” he said.

  Linus surprised himself. “Shut up, Merle.”

  Merle’s eyes widened.

  Linus didn’t look away.

  Merle broke first. He grumbled as he walked back to the wheelhouse.

  * * *

  The crossing was smooth. The ocean was nearly flat. The sky grew brighter. Zoe didn’t speak. When they reached the village, Merle didn’t even look at them as he lowered the gate. “I expect you to come right back,” Merle said as they exited the ferry. “I have a busy day and—”

  Zoe gunned the engine, and whatever else Merle had to say was lost.

  * * *

  The train hadn’t yet arrived when they reached the platform. The stars were disappearing as the sun started to rise. Linus could hear the distant crashing of the waves as Zoe turned off the car. He flexed his hands on his knees.

  “Zoe, I—”

  She got out of the car and walked around to the back. He heard her open the trunk. He sighed as he pushed the door open. He fumbled with Calliope’s crate but managed to climb out without dropping her. Zoe set his luggage next to the platform before going back to the trunk and slamming it closed.

  “I get it,” he said.

  She laughed, though without humor. “Do you? Because I wonder.”

  “I don’t expect you to understand.”

  She shook her head. “Good. Because I don’t.”

  “I can’t just stay here. There are rules to follow. Regulations that must be—”

  “To hell with your rules and regulations!”

  He gaped at her. Then, he said the only thing he could, “Life, it—it doesn’t work that way.”

  “Why doesn’t it?” she snapped. “Why can’t life work whatever way we want it to? What’s the point of living if you only do it how others want you to?”

  “It’s the best we can do.”

  She scoffed. “And this is your best? This?”

  He said nothing as the whistle of a coming train came from down the tracks.

  “Let me tell you something, Linus Baker,” she said, hands clenched on the top of the driver’s door. “There are moments in your life, moments when chances have to be taken. It’s scary because there is always the possibility of failure. I know that. I know that. Because once upon a time, I took a chance on a man that I had failed before. I was scared. I was terrified. I thought I might lose everything. But I wasn’t living, then. The life I had before wasn’t living. It was getting by. And I will never regret the chances I took. Because it brought me to them. To all of them. I made my choice. And you’re making yours.” She opened the door and got in the car. The engine turned over. She looked back at him just once when she said, “Don’t you wish things could be different?”

  “Don’t you wish you were here?” he whispered, but she wouldn’t have heard him. By the time he finished speaking, she was away, sand kicking up from the tires.

  * * *

  He stared at the orange phone on the platform while he waited for the train, thinking how easy it would be if he picked it up and made a call. To tell whoever answered he wanted to come back home.

  * * *

  “Just you, then?” the attendant asked cheerily as he stepped off the train. “Don’t usually see people leaving this late in the season.”

  “Going home,” Linus muttered as he handed
over his ticket.

  “Ah,” the attendant said. “No place like home, or so I’m told. Me, I like riding the rails. All the wondrous things I see, you know?” He glanced down at the ticket. “Back to the city! I hear there’s quite the storm there. Hasn’t stopped raining in a dog’s age!” He grinned as he handed back the ticket. “Help you with your luggage, sir?”

  Linus blinked against the burn. “Yes. Fine. Thank you. I’ll take the crate. She doesn’t like most other people.”

  The attendant peered down. “Ah, I see. Yes. I’ll take your luggage. The car you’re in is right this way, sir. And luckily for you, it’s empty. Not another soul in sight. Could get some sleep, if you need it.”

  He whistled as he lifted the suitcase and carried it onto the train.

  Linus looked down at the crate. “Ready to go home?”

  Calliope turned around and presented him with her backside.

  Linus sighed.

  * * *

  Two hours later, the first drops of rain began to fall.

  EIGHTEEN

  It was raining heavily back in the city when he stepped off the train.

  He pulled his coat tightly around him, squinting up at the metal-gray sky.

  Calliope hissed as water began to drip through the slats on the top of her crate.

  He picked up his suitcase and walked toward the bus stop.

  * * *

  The bus was late.

  Of course it was.

  He took off his coat and put it on top of Calliope’s crate.

  It did the job. For now.

  He sneezed.

  He hoped he wasn’t getting sick. That would be just his luck, wouldn’t it?

  * * *

  Twenty minutes later, the bus came, tires sluicing water.

  The doors slid open.

  Linus was soaked as he stepped onto the bus.

  “Hello,” he said to the driver.

  The driver grunted in response as Linus struggled to swipe his pass.

  The bus was mostly empty. There was a man in the back, head pressed against the window, and a woman who eyed Linus suspiciously.