The House in the Cerulean Sea

by TJ Klune

  He shrugged. “The usual suspects. But it’s getting easier to ignore them. Children are remarkably resilient when they need to be.”

  She frowned. “They shouldn’t have to be. I promised I would do my best to make sure nothing like that happened again.”

  “You’ve done wonders,” he assured her. “But these things take time.”

  And not everyone wanted things to change, though he didn’t think he needed to tell her that. Since she’d come to the island to see things for herself, Helen had made it her mission to make the village a welcoming place for all. First came down the SEE SOMETHING, SAY SOMETHING posters around town. That had been met with minimal resistance. But there had been greater grumblings when she’d announced her intention to position the village of Marsyas as a vacation spot for all, humans and magical beings alike. It wasn’t until she’d reminded the business owners that more people meant more money for the village that the grumblings began to lessen. Linus was grimly amused by how prejudice didn’t seem to be a match for profit, especially seeing as how the payments the village had been receiving for their silence regarding the island had been cut off. He took it as a victory when the village council had voted in favor, however hollow it could be.

  It was a start.

  And then, after Christmas, came the surprising announcement from the Department in Charge of Magical Youth about how Extremely Upper Management had all resigned after an external investigation revealed the schools they’d run had been deemed discriminatory. The investigation had been sparked by an anonymous report that outlined unsavory practices involving magical youth, citing specific examples of children under the guidance of DICOMY who had been treated as second-class citizens. A new governing board had been appointed, and while they spoke of grand and sweeping changes, the wheels of bureaucracy did indeed grind slowly, especially when met with vocal resistance. Overhauling decades of preconceptions would take time. But if they could start with DICOMY, it could lead to other departments that dealt with magical beings beginning to change with the times.

  They had to start somewhere.

  A reporter had come to the island in February, apparently having tracked down Linus after hearing of his dramatic exit from DICOMY. She’d asked if he’d known anything about the anonymous report that had sent shock waves through the government. “A whistleblower,” she said. “Someone with insider knowledge about the workings of the Department in Charge of Magical Youth.”

  He laughed nervously. “Do I look like the type to cause a ruckus?”

  She wasn’t fooled. “I’ve learned never to judge what a person is capable of based upon appearances alone. And I would protect your anonymity.”

  “Would you?”

  “You have my word. I guard my sources fiercely.”

  He thought of all the other children out there in the world in places just like Marsyas. The ones he’d met, and the thousands he’d never had the pleasure of meeting, though he’d read about many of them in the files he’d stolen away. Perhaps this would help the fire to continue to burn as brightly as it could. A quiet man, yes, with a quiet heart, but he thought of the phoenix, wings spread in a darkened cellar and then on a dock for all the world to see. If this reporter could find him, chances are others could as well. But Linus thought he was done hiding in the shadows. “Then listen well, for the story I have to tell you will be unlike anything else you’ve heard.”

  She smiled.

  When she left five hours later, her eyes were sparkling, and she looked hungry. She said she had enough for an entire series and would let them know when it was set to be published. She believed she would be ready as soon as the summer. “Do you know what this will do?” she asked them, standing in front of the house. “Do you have any idea what this will mean?”

  “More than you know,” Arthur said.

  She watched him for a long moment before nodding. She turned toward her car, but stopped with her hand on the door handle. She glanced back at them. “One last question.”

  “Bloody reporters,” Linus muttered.

  She ignored him, only having eyes for Arthur. “I heard from a source that a man unlike any other has agreed to testify about his own experiences of being under the purview of the Department in Charge of Magical Youth. Would you know anything about that?”

  “A man unlike any other,” Arthur said. “How curious.”

  “Is it true?”

  “I expect time will tell.”

  She shook her head. Something crossed her face that Linus couldn’t quite parse. She said, “I must remain objective. My job is to report the facts, and nothing more.”

  “But?” Arthur asked.

  “But as a human being, and someone who has seen glimpses of light in all the darkness, I would hope this man knows that there are many, many people who believe that what he has to say will bring about the change this world so desperately needs. Good day.”

  She left then, heading back toward the ferry.

  They stood on the porch as her car disappeared down the dirt road, hands joined between them.

  Linus said, “I told you.”

  Arthur smiled. “You did, didn’t you? Perhaps you were right, after all. Do you really think they’ll listen?”

  Linus wasn’t a fool; he knew that DICOMY was most likely watching him as much as they were the other residents of the island. While he wasn’t magical in the slightest, he had left DICOMY and come to a place still technically considered classified, though it was something of a joke now. The children didn’t hide who they were. And while they were still met with some conflict, they were welcome in the village whenever they wished. Helen made sure of that.

  Oh, he wasn’t naïve enough to think it would be like this everywhere. He still saw the anger and the vitriol magical beings received in the bigger cities. There were rallies and marches in favor of registration, but what made him hope that things were changing were the counterprotesters who gathered in greater numbers. They were mostly young people, a mixture of the magical and humans alike, and Linus knew the old guard would soon be standing on their last legs.

  It was simply a matter of time.

  “Yes,” he said. “Eventually.”

  Arthur nodded. “You believe in me.”

  Linus blinked. “Of course I do. I believe in all of you. But you’re a phoenix, Arthur. You know fire. It’s time to burn it all down and see what can grow from the ashes.”

  “A ruckus,” Arthur said, and he chuckled quietly. “If only they knew what we’re capable of.”

  Linus smiled. “They will.”

  * * *

  He was waiting to see if DICOMY would send a new caseworker to the island, especially after the petition Arthur had recently submitted. So far, there hadn’t been word of such a thing, though Helen was here now. Maybe she’d learned something and had come to warn them.

  “I’ll keep working on it,” she told him.

  He smiled softly at her. “We know. And we’re grateful for it.”

  He led her into the house. He could hear the sounds of a home filled with happiness around them. It creaked and groaned as a house does when it’s old and well lived-in. He saw the tip of a tail thumping happily from underneath the couch. As they climbed the stairs, there came the sound of typewriter keys clacking furiously, of a cheerful “How do you do?” coming from Chauncey’s room. He was practicing more and more these days, especially after he’d been asked by the manager of the hotel if he’d like to spend one day a month working with their bellhop. It seemed the man who’d given Chauncey his cap was getting on in years and would soon be looking to retire. Chauncey had collapsed in a quivering puddle, something Linus and Arthur hadn’t known he was capable of. Eventually, when he pulled himself together, he tearfully accepted. He had his first day on Saturday.

  Linus heard Lucy exclaiming loudly as they reached the bedroom door. He glanced back at Helen, who arched an eyebrow at him. “Lucy was the first to say something to Arthur about what he was,” Linus explained.
“Everyone else pretty much already knew, but Lucy decided to be more forthcoming about it. He’s been asking Arthur to light things on fire for a few weeks now.”

  “Oh boy,” Helen said.

  He pushed open the door.

  “—and just think about it, Arthur! Think about all the things that burn! Paper! Cardboard! Trees! Wait. No. Not trees. Phee will kill me if we burn trees. But we could if we wanted to. Between the two of us, we can light so many things on fire— Hi, Linus!”

  Linus shook his head. “Lucy. We’ve talked about this.”

  Lucy scowled. “I know. But you also told me the only way we can learn new things is if we ask about them.”

  Arthur smiled. “You did say that, didn’t you?”

  “I regret everything,” Linus muttered.

  “You’re fibbing,” Lucy said. “You love me.” That smile took on a sinister curve. “Just like you loooove Arthur.”

  Linus felt himself turning red, but he didn’t try and argue. Everyone in the room would know he was lying. “Be that as it may, I think there’s a plate of biscuits with your name on it in the kitchen. Why don’t you see if Sal and Chauncey want to join you?”

  Lucy stared up at him suspiciously. “Are you kicking me out to talk about me? Because if you are, I didn’t do whatever you think I did.”

  Linus’s eyes narrowed. “Did you do something I should be aware of?”

  “Biscuits!” Lucy crowed, running from the room. “Hi, Helen! Bye, Helen!” He hollered for his brothers as he slammed the door shut behind him. A painting on the wall—that of a lemur in a confoundingly salacious pose that Arthur found inexplicable delight in—was knocked crooked.

  “A little devil, isn’t he?” Helen asked, staring at the closed door in wonder.

  “Quite literally,” Arthur replied. “Helen, I don’t think we were expecting you.”

  “Sorry about that,” she said. “I—it couldn’t wait. I needed to see you.” She glanced at Linus. “Both of you. It’s important.”

  “By all means,” Arthur said, nodding to the chair Lucy had vacated. She sat while Linus moved to stand next to Arthur. He turned redder when Arthur reached up and took his hand, kissing the back of it. He didn’t pull away.

  “Getting on then, are you?” Helen asked, a spark in her eyes that Linus didn’t like.

  “We’re taking it one day at a time,” Linus said stiffly.

  “Oh, sure. I understand that. Talia told me last weekend that you haven’t slept in the guest house since Christmas. And that they’ve had quite a few sleepovers with Zoe, though I don’t think she quite understands why.”

  Arthur laughed as Linus groaned. “Meddling little things.”

  “It’s a good look on you,” she said quietly. “The both of you. I’m happy you found each other.” She sobered. “I’ve waited to come to you with this. I wanted to make sure, but I think it’s almost time.”

  Linus was confused. He glanced down at Arthur before looking back at Helen. “What are you talking about?”

  “A child,” Arthur said. “Isn’t it? You’ve found a new child.”

  Linus felt goose bumps on the back of his neck.

  Helen nodded. “He’s undocumented. But he has no one else. He’s staying with … some friends. People I trust, but they don’t have enough room, and it was always meant to be temporary. And given … what he is, he’ll need more than they could ever provide.” She smiled, though it trembled. “I know it’s asking a lot, and it might bring down more attention on you than you want, but he has nowhere else to go. They’ve looked for relatives, but haven’t been successful. I think he’s alone. He’s shy, and scared, and doesn’t talk much. Reminds me a little of Sal, in fact. Or, rather, how he used to be. I don’t think I’ve ever heard that boy talk as much as he has in the last few months.”

  “Regular chatterbox,” Linus said faintly. “What’s his name?”

  “And that’s how I know this could be the place for him,” Helen said, her smile growing. “Because you didn’t ask me what he was, just who he is. I don’t know that anyone has ever done that for him.” She reached inside a pocket on her overalls and pulled out a photograph. She glanced down at it before handing it over. “His name is David. He’s eleven years old. And he’s a—”

  “A yeti,” Linus said in awe. He stared at the photo in Arthur’s hand. In it, there was a smiling boy covered in thick, white hair. But it was his eyes that Linus noticed more than anything.

  They were cerulean.

  “We’ll take him,” Linus said immediately. “Whenever he’s ready. Can we get him today? Where is he? Does he have much? Oh, we’ll have to figure out where he should sleep. The guest house might work but—wait. Will he be all right here? Won’t he like the cold more than anything? I suppose we can work something out. Anything we can do to make him comfortable—”

  He felt Arthur squeeze his hand.

  He looked down. “Gone off, have I?”

  And Arthur said, “You dear, dear man. How I adore you.”

  Linus coughed. “Uh. Yes. You too. The same.”

  Helen was grinning at them. “I knew it. I knew I was doing the right thing. And yes, he likes cold, though he’s survived more without having it.”

  “He shouldn’t just be surviving,” Linus said irritably. “He should be living.”

  “The cellar,” Arthur said, and Linus gaped at him. “We could convert the cellar into a cold room. Just for him.”

  “Are you sure?”

  Arthur nodded. “Yes. It’s time, I think. To let the past rest. Take something filled with anger and sadness and make it better.”

  Linus Baker loved Arthur Parnassus more than he could ever put into words.

  “Will it cause problems with your petition for adopting the others?” Helen asked, sounding worried. “I don’t want that to be put into jeopardy.”

  Arthur shook his head. “I don’t see why it would. This place is still considered an orphanage, though DICOMY is reviewing their guidelines, or so they say. And he is … unusual, just like the rest of us. If he finds that he likes it here, and wants to stay, we’ll do what we can to go through the proper channels. And if he doesn’t, we’ll find him a place to belong.”

  Helen looked relieved. “There’s more, you know. So many more.”

  “We know,” Linus said. “And while we may not be able to help them all, we’ll do as much as we can for all those put in our path.”

  * * *

  She left them a little later with a promise of getting in touch soon. There were plans to be made, and she thought it would be best if Arthur and Linus were to go to David first so as not to overwhelm him with all the others.

  They agreed.

  Linus watched the truck through the bedroom window. Helen was speaking with Zoe through the open window. They were both smiling. Linus hadn’t seen their relationship blossoming, though he seemed to be the only one. It wasn’t until he’d stumbled upon them kissing that he figured out why Helen seemed to be at the island more and more.

  Zoe kissed the back of Helen’s hand before stepping away. The truck turned over, the engine rumbling as she began to drive down the road back toward the dock. Linus startled when arms wrapped around his waist. He turned his head slightly to brush his nose against Arthur’s cheek.

  “You can do this,” he whispered. “Bring him here. Make him happy.”

  “We can do this,” Arthur corrected gently. “Because he’ll need you just as much as he needs me. He’ll need all of us, I think. And we’ll be ready.”

  Linus turned. He kissed the tip of Arthur’s nose. “Thank you.”

  “For what?”

  “This. Everything. All this color.”

  Arthur knew what he meant. “It was his eyes, wasn’t it? That’s what you saw first.”

  Linus nodded. “They reminded me of the sea. It’s a sign. He belongs here. And we’ll do everything we can to make sure he knows that.”

  “Do you think we should tell the children?”<
br />
  “About David? Of course. They need to—”

  He shook his head. “About the petition of adoption. About how your name is on it too.”

  Linus hesitated. “Not yet. Not until we’re sure it’ll go through with the both of us on there. I’d hate to say something only to have it need to be amended to just you if DICOMY rejects it because we’re…” He coughed roughly. “You know.” Linus wished he could sink into the floor. He hoped Arthur would ignore him.

  Arthur didn’t. “Because we’re unmarried.”

  “Yes. That.” And no, Linus absolutely had not been thinking about that at all. Not in the slightest. Why, the very idea was preposterous. Not only was it far too soon, there was—

  “We may have to change that, then.”

  Linus gaped at him as Arthur stepped away toward the door. “Excuse me?”

  Arthur glanced back at him over his shoulder. “Coming, dear Linus?”

  “Now, see here! You shouldn’t—you can’t just say something like—what on earth—”

  Arthur opened the bedroom door. He held out his hand for Linus.

  Linus, still sputtering of course, took what was offered.

  * * *

  It turned out they needn’t have worried. By the time they reached the bottom of the stairs, the children and Zoe had gathered in the kitchen, and Lucy was already explaining with ferocious excitement that Linus was going to be their father too, and that Arthur and Linus were to be married. They would have to talk to him again about eavesdropping.

  As the children jumped on the both of them, shouting their happiness with no small amount of tears, Linus found he wasn’t upset at all.

  Sometimes, he thought to himself in a house in a cerulean sea, you were able to choose the life you wanted.

  And if you were of the lucky sort, sometimes that life chose you back.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Writing can be a solitary and lonely journey. Writers are often wrapped up in their own heads as they feverishly put their thoughts down in words. It’s not until we get ready to put our stories out into the world that it becomes clear we don’t have to go through this scary and exhilarating journey alone.