The ferry was waiting at the docks when Ms. Chapelwhite stopped her car. Linus could see Merle moving about on deck. He waved at them irritably, a scowl on his face. “Quite the impatient fellow, isn’t he?” Linus mused as the gate lowered from the ferry.
“You don’t know the half of it,” Ms. Chapelwhite muttered. “Man acts like he has business elsewhere. Mr. Parnassus is the only one who pays him for use of that rickety old boat, and he knows it. We don’t even need to use it, but we do to keep the peace.”
“How would you— You know what? I don’t want to know. Shall we, then?”
She sighed. “If we must.”
“I fear we must,” Linus said wisely.
She glanced at him as she put the car in drive and pulled forward slowly. He thought she was going to say something, but she didn’t speak. He wondered if he was projecting.
The ferry listed slightly as the car boarded, and though Linus felt queasy, it wasn’t as it’d been when he’d first arrived a week ago. That gave him pause. Had it really only been a week? He’d arrived on a Saturday, and … yes. It’d been exactly a week. He didn’t know why that surprised him. He was homesick still, but it was a dull ache in the pit of his stomach.
That probably wasn’t a good sign.
Ms. Chapelwhite turned off the car as the gate rose again behind them. The horn blew from somewhere above them, and they were off. Linus stuck his hand out of the car, letting the sea breeze blow between his fingers.
They had only been aboard a few minutes when Merle appeared. “You have my money?” he demanded. “And remember, the fee has doubled.”
Ms. Chapelwhite snorted. “I do, you old codger.” She leaned over to reach into the glove compartment.
Linus panicked. “Who’s piloting the ferry?”
Merle frowned at him. “These things can mostly handle themselves.
Computers, wouldn’t you know.”
“Oh,” Linus said without thinking. “What’s the point of you, then?” Merle glared. “What did you say?”
“Your fee,” Ms. Chapelwhite said sweetly, thrusting an envelope into his hands. “And Mr. Parnassus asked that I relay a message to you. He hopes the fee doesn’t double yet again in the foreseeable future.”
Merle’s hand was shaking as he snatched the envelope from her hand. “I bet he does. Price of doing business, I’m afraid. It’s a tough economy.”
“Is it? I hadn’t noticed.”
Merle’s smile was cruel. “Of course you hadn’t. Your kind thinks it’s better than all the rest of us—”
“You would do well to stand down,” Linus advised. “And be careful not to drink that fee away. I’d hate to think how you’d survive this tough economy if you did.”
Merle glared at him before spinning on his heels and stomping back to the wheelhouse.
“Bastard,” Linus muttered. He glanced over at Ms. Chapelwhite, only to find her staring at him. “What?”
She shook her head. “You— It doesn’t matter.” “Out with it, Ms. Chapelwhite.”
“Call me Zoe, would you? This Ms. Chapelwhite business is getting old.”
“Zoe,” Linus said slowly. “I … suppose that’s all right.” “And you’ll be Linus.”
“I don’t know why it matters so much,” he grumbled, but he didn’t tell her no.
 |
She dropped him off in front of the post office, pointing a few blocks down to the storefront for the grocer’s. “Come down when you’re finished. I’ll try to make it quick. I want to get back to the island so we’re not late.”
“For what?” he asked, one hand on the door handle, a large, flat envelope in the other.
She grinned at him. “It’s the second Saturday of the month.” “So?”
“We go on adventures with the children. It’s a tradition.” Linus didn’t like the sound of that. “What sort of adventures?”
She looked him up and down. “I’ll need to get a few things for you. What you’re wearing simply won’t do, and I assume that’s all you brought. What’s your waist size?”
He balked. “I don’t know that it’s any of your business!”
She shoved him out of the car. “I have a good idea. Leave it to me. I’ll see you at the grocer’s!”
The tires screeched as she peeled off. People on the sidewalk stared at him as rubber smoke billowed. He coughed, waving his hand in front of his face. “How do you do?” he asked a couple walking arm in arm. They lifted their noses at him and hurried across the street.
He looked down at himself. He wore slacks and a dress shirt and a tie, his usual attire. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know what Ms. Chapelwhite— Zoe—had in mind. No matter. He would tell her as much when he met her later.
|
Much like the rest of the village, the interior of the post office was bright and sunny. It was painted in light pastels, lines of oversize shells along the walls. There was a bulletin board with a familiar flyer: SEE SOMETHING, SAY SOMETHING. REGISTRATION HELPS EVERYONE!
A man stood behind the counter, watching him warily. His eyes were small, and he had thick, gnarled hair sticking out of his ears. His skin was weathered and tan. “Help you?”
“I believe so,” Linus said, stepping up to the counter. “I need to mail this off to the Department in Charge of Magical Youth.” He handed over the
envelope that held his first weekly report. It was extensive, probably more so than was necessary, but he hadn’t made many revisions to its twenty- seven handwritten pages.
“DICOMY, is it?” the man asked, staring down at the envelope with barely disguised interest that made Linus nervous. “Heard a representative was here. About damn time too, if you ask me.”
“I didn’t,” Linus said stiffly.
The man ignored him. He set the envelope on a scale before looking back at Linus. “I hope you’re going to do the right thing.”
Linus frowned. “And what would that be?” “Close that place down. It’s a menace.”
“How so?” He was proud how even his voice was.
The man leaned forward as he dropped his voice. His breath smelled cloyingly of elderberry mints. “There’s rumors, you know.”
Linus struggled not to recoil. “No, I don’t. What rumors?”
“Dark things,” the man said. “Evil things. Those ain’t children. They’re monsters who do monstrous things. People go to that island and never return.”
“What people?”
The man shrugged. “You know. People. They go on out there and are never heard from again. That Parnassus too. A queer fellow, if there ever was one. Lord knows what he’s got them doing out there all by themselves.” He paused. Then, “I’ve even seen some of them.”
“The children?”
He snorted. “Yeah, if you can call them that.”
Linus cocked his head. “Sounds like you watched them closely.”
“Oh yeah,” the man said. “They don’t come here anymore, but when they did, you can bet I kept my eye on them.”
“Interesting,” Linus said. “I’m sure I can amend my report to let DICOMY know that a man of your age took an unhealthy interest in orphaned children. Would that do? Especially if they already pay you to keep quiet, which doesn’t seem something you’re capable of.”
The man took a step back, eyes widening. “That’s not what I—”
“I’m not here for your opinion, sir. I’m here to mail out that envelope.
That’s all that’s required of you.”
The man’s eyes narrowed. “Three twenty-five.”
“I’ll need a receipt,” Linus said as he paid. “To be reimbursed. Money doesn’t grow on trees, after all.”
The man slammed the receipt on the counter. Linus signed it, took his copy, and had turned to leave when, “You’re Linus Baker?”
He glanced back. “Yes.” “Have a message for you.”
“If it’s anything like the message you just relayed, I don’t need it.”
The man shook his head. “Foolish. It ain’t from me, though you would do well to listen so you aren’t the next to disappear. It’s all official. From DICOMY.”
He wasn’t expecting anything, at least so soon. He waited as the man dug around through a crate next to him before finding a small envelope and handing it over. It was from DICOMY, just as the man had said. Official seal and all.
He was about to tear into it when he felt the man’s eyes on him again.
A thought struck him. “Say, you wouldn’t know anything about raft building, would you?”
The man looked confused. “Raft building, Mr. Baker?”
Linus smiled tightly. “Forget I asked.” He turned and left the post office.
Once out on the street, he opened the envelope. Inside was a single sheet of paper.
He unfolded it. It read:
DEPARTMENT IN CHARGE OF MAGICAL YOUTH MEMO FROM EXTREMELY UPPER MANGEMENT
Mr. Baker:
We are looking forward to your reports. As a reminder, we expect you to leave nothing out.
Nothing.
Sincerely,
 |
CHARLES WERNER EXTREMELY UPPER MANAGEMENT
Linus stared down at it for a long time.
|
He found Zoe in the grocer’s, right where she’d said she’d be. She had a full cart in front of her, and appeared to be arguing with the butcher over a large piece of meat. “All right?” he asked, coming to stand beside her.
“Fine,” Zoe muttered, glaring at the butcher. “Just dickering.”
“No dickering,” the butcher said in a thick accent that Linus couldn’t place. “No dickering. All price go up!”
Zoe’s eyes narrowed. “For everyone?” “Yes!” the butcher insisted. “For everyone!” “I don’t believe you.”
“I take meat back, then.”
Zoe reached out and snatched it from the countertop. “No. It’s fine. But I’ll remember this, Marcel. Don’t you think I won’t.”
He flinched but didn’t say another word.
She dropped the meat in the cart and began to push it away. Linus followed.
“What’s all that about?”
She gave him a tight smile. “Nothing I couldn’t handle. Get your report sent off?”
“I did.”
“And I don’t suppose you’ll tell me what was in it.”
He gaped at her. “Of course not! That is a privileged communication meant for—”
She waved him off. “Might as well try.”
“—and furthermore, as outlined in RULES AND REGULATIONS, page 519, paragraph twelve, subparagraph—”
She sighed. “I have no one to blame but myself.”
He thought about telling Zoe (odd, that, calling her by her first name; most unusual) what the man at the post office had said, but he didn’t. He wasn’t sure why. Perhaps it was because he felt it wasn’t anything she hadn’t heard before. And besides, he told himself, the sun was shining. It was such a lovely day. There was no need to put a damper on it with the words of a bigot.
|
There was a damper put on the day almost immediately after their return to the island.
Really. He should have expected it.
Merle hadn’t said much beyond muttering how they took longer than expected, but they ignored him. As they were ferried back to the island, Linus watched a seagull following them overhead, and he remembered his mouse pad at DICOMY, the picture of the beach asking if he wished he was here.
He was. He was here.
And that was dangerous thinking. Because this was not a holiday, a trip well deserved after all his hard work. He was still working, and regardless of where he was, he couldn’t forget that. He had already gone far beyond what he was used to—this Zoe and Arthur business certainly wasn’t professional—but it would only be for three weeks more. His house waited for him, as did his sunflowers. Calliope certainly wanted to go home, no matter how often she could be found lying out in the sunlight in the garden for hours without moving. And so what if she had meowed at him for the first time when he’d traced a finger between her ears, wondering if he was about to lose a hand? It meant nothing.
Linus had a life.
A life which, unfortunately, seemed to be bent on stretching the boundaries of his sanity.
He stood in front of the mirror in the bedroom of the guest house and stared at his reflection. “Oh dear.”
Zoe had shoved a bag into his hand, telling him she’d gotten him an outfit for the adventure that afternoon. She had ignored his protests as she’d hoisted every single grocery bag out of the back of the car as if they weighed nothing. She’d left him standing in the driveway.
He planned on leaving the bag unopened in the guest house.
If he pretended it wasn’t there, then he wouldn’t need to look inside.
To distract himself, he put away the clothes that had been cleaned and laid out on his bed. There was a note placed on top of them that read: Your weekly washing service is complete! Thank you for staying at Marsyas Island! Your bellhop, Chauncey. The fact that Chauncey seemed to have washed all his clothes, including his underthings, definitely wouldn’t do. Linus would have to speak to him about boundaries. No doubt he’d angle for a tip.
It was while he was straightening out his ties that he realized only three minutes had passed, and he was still thinking about the bag.
“Just a peek,” he muttered to himself. He peeked.
“What in the world?” he asked no one in particular. “Surely not. This is most inappropriate. Why, I never. Who does she think she is? Sprites. Useless, the lot of them.”
He closed the bag and tossed it back on the floor in the corner.
He sat on the edge of the bed. Perhaps he could open his copy of RULES AND REGULATIONS to give himself a refresher. He obviously needed it. He was getting too … familiar with the people here. A caseworker needed to retain a degree of separation. It allowed them to be objective and not let their opinions be colored or swayed. It could be to the detriment of a child. He had to be professional.
He stood, meaning to do just that. Perhaps he could sit on the porch in the sun while he read. That sounded perfect.
He was surprised when instead of picking up the heavy tome, he lifted the bag from the floor again. He opened it, looking in. The contents hadn’t changed.
“Probably wouldn’t even fit,” he muttered to himself. “She can’t just eyeball me and figure out my size. She shouldn’t be eyeballing me anyway. It’s rude.”
And with that, of course, he felt the need to prove her wrong. That way, when he saw Zoe again (later, and certainly not after going on some kind of frivolous adventure), he could tell her that she should avoid a career as a personal shopper, seeing how bad she was at it.
Yes. He would do just that. He put on the clothes.
They fit perfectly.
He sputtered as he stared at himself in the mirror.
It looked as if he were outfitted for a safari in the wilds of the Serengeti or exploring the jungles of Brazil. He wore tan shorts and a matching tan collared shirt. The buttons toward the top of the shirt had been removed (almost as if they’d been torn off), so it was open at his throat, revealing smooth, pale skin. In fact, he was showing more skin than he could remember, and his legs were as white as a specter. To make matters worse, there were brown socks that rose halfway up his calves, and sturdy boots that felt uncomfortable, as if they’d never been worn.
But the most terrible thing of all was the helmet-style hat that completed the outfit. It felt strange on his head.
So there he stood, staring at his reflection, wondering why instead of looking like an explorer from the adventure stories he’d read as a child (his mother had hated them, so they had to be hidden under his bed and read late at night with a flashlight under his comforter), he looked more like a brown egg with limbs.
“No,” he said, shaking his head. “Absolutely not. I won’t. I really won’t.
This is ridiculous. All of this is—”
There was a pounding at the front door.
He frowned as he looked away from the mirror. The pounding came again.
He sighed. Just his luck.
He went to the door, took a deep breath, and opened it.
There, standing on the porch, were five children, all of whom were dressed in similar explorer outfits. Even Theodore wore a tan vest of sorts that had been tailored to leave room for his wings. He reared back and chirped at Linus loudly before spinning excitedly in a circle.
“Whoa,” Talia breathed, looking him up and down. “You are round.
Like me!”
Phee bent over to inspect his kneecaps critically, wings fluttering behind her. “Why are you so pale? Do you not go outside? Ever? You’re almost as clear as Chauncey is.”
Chauncey’s eyes bounced on the end of his stalks. “Hello! I hope you found your clothes properly laundered. If you notice an item missing, it’s because I accidentally lost it and feel really sorry about it. Please still consider rating my service a ten.” He held out a tentacle.
Linus arched an eyebrow at him.
Chauncey sighed as he pulled his tentacle back. “Aw, man.”
Lucy grinned up at Linus over a fake mustache far too large for his face. He, too, wore an explorer outfit, though his was red and he had an eyepatch for reasons Linus didn’t want to know. “Hello, Mr. Baker. I am the leader of this expedition to find the treasure of the island sprite. I’m glad you’ve decided to join up! Most likely, you’ll die a horrible death at the hands and mouths of cannibals who will roast you alive on a spit and then lick the juices from your cracking skin. If you’re lucky, the necrotizing fasciitis will get to you first from a terrible bug bite, and your body will rot out from underneath you until you’re nothing but a pile of bones and bloody pus. It’s going to be wonderful.”
Linus gaped at him.
“Children,” another voice said. “Do give Mr. Baker some room, won’t you?”
Linus looked up to see Arthur standing in front of the guest house, with Sal peering nervously from behind him. Sal was similarly dressed as the other children, and he appeared to be trying to hide his bulk behind Arthur when he saw Linus looking at him. He was unsuccessful, of course, given his size and that Arthur was as thin as a whisper.
Linus felt his throat clog slightly at the sight of the dashing figure Arthur cut in his own ensemble. Instead of tan like the others, his pants and shirt were black, with a red sash across his chest. There was what appeared to be a machete in a scabbard at his waist. He had a mustache like Lucy’s, though it looked far less ridiculous on him. It wiggled slightly as Arthur smiled at him. Linus flushed and looked away. He was suddenly very warm. A warm, round egg with pale limbs.
He’d never cared much about his appearance before. He certainly didn’t need to start now. This was a visit like any other he’d done in the past.
Investigation, he reminded himself. Not a visit.
He opened his mouth to decline whatever invitation had been offered (and not because he actually believed there would be cannibals, though with Lucy, he couldn’t be sure).
But before he could utter a single word, Lucy jumped from the porch and posed grandly, hands on his hips. “Let the adventure begin!” he bellowed. He began to march toward the thick trees, knees kicking up high with every step he took.
The other children followed. Theodore took flight, hovering above their heads. Sal glanced quickly at Linus and then ran after the others.
“Coming, Linus?” Arthur asked.
“Your mustache is ridiculous,” Linus muttered as he stepped off the porch and stalked after the children.
He pretended he didn’t hear the quiet laughter behind him.
|
“Okay,” Lucy said, stopping at the edge of the trees. He turned back toward the group, eyes wide. “As you all know, there is an evil sprite—”
“Hey!” Phee cried.
“Lucy, we don’t call people evil,” Arthur reminded him as Theodore settled on his shoulder. “It isn’t polite.”
Lucy rolled his eyes. “Fine. I take it back. There is a murderous sprite…” He paused, as if waiting for any objections. There were none. Even Phee seemed gleeful. Linus felt the point had been missed entirely,
but thought it wise to keep his mouth shut. “A murderous sprite who has a treasure hidden deep in the woods that is ours for the taking. I cannot promise your survival. In fact, most likely even if you make it to the treasure, I will betray you and feed you to the alligators and laugh as they crunch your bones—”
“Lucy,” Arthur said again.
Lucy sighed. “It’s my turn to be in charge.” He pouted. “You said I can do this the way I want.”
“I did,” Arthur agreed. “But that doesn’t mean betrayal.” “But I’m secretly a villain!”
“Maybe we could all be villains,” Chauncey warbled.
“You don’t know how to be bad,” Talia told him. “You’re too nice.” “No! I can be bad! Watch!” His eyes pivoted wildly until they landed on
Linus. “Mr. Baker! I won’t do your laundry next week! Ha ha ha!” Then, in a panicky voice, he whispered, “I’m just kidding. I will. Please let me. Don’t take that away.”
“I want to be a villain,” Phee said. “Especially since we’re facing a murderous sprite. In case you didn’t know, I’m also a sprite, and I should be murderous too.”
“I’ve always wanted to murder someone,” Talia said, stroking her beard. “Do you think I have time to go back and get my shovel?”
Theodore bared his teeth and hissed menacingly.
“Sal?” Lucy asked morosely. “You want to be a villain too?” Sal peeked over Arthur’s shoulder. He hesitated, then nodded.
“Fine,” Lucy said, throwing up his hands. “We’ll all be bad.” He grinned at them. “And maybe I can still betray you all by being secretly good and—” He grimaced, face twisting as he stuck out his tongue. “No, that sounds terrible. Ugh. Ick. Blech.”
Linus had a very bad feeling about this.
|
Lucy led the way, shouting so loudly that birds squawked angrily as they took flight from their perches in trees. He asked Arthur if he could use his machete to hack through the thick vines that hung from the trees, something
Linus found particularly alarming. He was relieved when Arthur declined, saying that children shouldn’t handle such things until they were older.
It didn’t appear to be necessary, however. Whenever they seemed to be stuck, unable to move forward due to the growth of the forest, Phee would step forward. Her wings glistened brightly, shaking as she raised her hands. The vines slithered up the trees as if alive, revealing the path ahead.
The children exclaimed in delight, as Phee looked on smugly. Linus got the idea that she’d made the path difficult to begin with so she could be called upon. Even Sal was smiling as the vines whipped up into the trees.
Linus learned rather quickly that even though he’d experienced more of the outdoors in the last week than he had in the past year, it did not mean he was in any kind of shape. Shortly, he was huffing and puffing, sweat dripping from his brow. He brought up the rear with Arthur, who seemed inclined to take a leisurely pace, something Linus was grateful for.
“Where are we going?” Linus asked after what he was sure had been hours, but in actuality had been less than one.
Arthur shrugged, looking as if he wasn’t winded in the slightest. “I haven’t the foggiest. Isn’t it delightful?”
“I think you and I have very different definitions of delightful. Is there any kind of structure to this outing?”
Arthur laughed. Linus was uncomfortable with how much he liked that sound. “Day in and day out, they have structure. Breakfast at eight on the dot, then classes. Lunch at noon. More classes. Individual pursuits in the afternoon. Dinner at half past seven. Bed by nine. I believe that a break in routine every now and then does wonders for the soul.”
“According to RULES AND REGULATIONS, children shouldn’t have
—”
Arthur stepped easily over a large log, green moss growing up the side.
He turned back and held out his hand. Linus hesitated before taking it. His movements were far less graceful, but Arthur kept him from falling on his face. Arthur dropped his hand as the children shouted a little ways ahead. “You live by that book, I think.”
Linus bristled. “I do not. And even if I did, there’s nothing wrong with that. It provides the order needed to create happy and healthy children.”
“Is that right?”
Linus thought he was being mocked, but it didn’t seem malicious. He doubted Arthur Parnassus had a cruel bone in his entire body. “It exists for a reason, Arthur. It’s a governance that guides the world of magical youth. Experts from various fields all weighed in—”
“Human experts.”
Linus stopped, hand against a tree as he caught his breath. “What?”
Arthur turned his face toward the canopy of the forest. A shaft of sunlight had pierced the leaves and limbs, and illuminated his face. He looked ethereal. “Human experts,” he repeated. “Not a single magical person had any say in the creation of that tome. Every word came from the hand and mind of a human.”
Linus balked. “Well … that’s … that certainly can’t be true. Surely there was someone in the magical community who provided input.”
Arthur lowered his head to look at Linus. “In what position? No magical being has ever been in a position of power. Not at DICOMY. Not in any role in the government. They aren’t allowed. They’re marginalized, no matter their age.”
“But … there are physicians who are magical. And … lawyers! Yes, lawyers. Why, I know a very pleasant lawyer who is a banshee. Very respectable.”
“And what sort of law does she practice?”
“She works with magical beings attempting to fight … their registration.
…”
“Ah,” Arthur said. “I see. And the physicians?”
Linus felt his stomach tighten. “They treat only magical beings.” He
shook his head, trying to clear his muddled thoughts. “There’s a reason for all things, Arthur. Our predecessors knew the only way to help assimilate magical persons into our culture was to have stringent guidelines set in place to assure a smooth transition.”
Arthur’s gaze hardened slightly. “And who said they needed to be assimilated at all? Was any choice given?”
“Well … no. I don’t suppose it was. But it’s for the greater good!”
“For whom? What happens when they grow up, Linus? It’s not as if things will change. They’ll still be registered. They’ll still be monitored. There will always be someone looking over their shoulder, watching every move they make. It doesn’t end because they leave this place. It’s always the same.”
Linus sighed. “I’m not trying to argue with you on this.”
Arthur nodded. “Of course not. Because if we were arguing, it would mean that we were both so set in our ways, we weren’t amenable to seeing it from another side. And I know I’m not that stubborn.”
“Precisely,” Linus said, relieved. Then, “Hey!” But Arthur was already walking through the trees.
Linus took a deep breath, wiped his brow, and followed.
“It goes back to Kant,” Arthur said as Linus caught up with him.
“Of course it does,” Linus muttered. “Bloody ridiculous, if you ask me.” Arthur chuckled. “Whether or not he was right is something else entirely, but it certainly brings about an interesting perspective on what is or
isn’t moral.”
“The very definition of immorality is wickedness,” Linus said. “It is,” Arthur agreed. “But who are we to decide what’s what?”
“Millions of years of biological evolution. We don’t stick our hand in fire because it would burn. We don’t murder because it’s wrong.”
Arthur laughed as if elated. “And yet people still do both. Once, in my youth, I knew a phoenix who loved the way the fire felt against his skin. People murder other people every day.”
“You can’t equate the two!”
“You already did,” Arthur said gently. “My point remains the same as it is in my sessions with Lucy. The world likes to see things in black and white, in moral and immoral. But there is gray in between. And just because a person is capable of wickedness, doesn’t mean they will act upon it. And then there is the notion of perceived immorality. I highly doubt Chauncey would even consider laying a tentacle on another person in violence, even if it meant protecting himself. And yet people see him and decide based upon his appearance that he is something monstrous.”
“That’s not fair,” Linus admitted. “Even if he does hide under my bed one morning out of every three.”
“Only because he’s still wrestling with what he was told he was supposed to be versus who he actually is.”
“But he has this place,” Linus said, ducking under a branch.
Arthur nodded. “He does. But he won’t always. The island isn’t permanent, Linus. Even if you in your infinite wisdom decide to allow us to remain as we are, one day he will go out into the world on his own. And the best thing I can do is to prepare him for that.”
“But how can you prepare him if you never let him leave?”
Arthur whirled on Linus, a frown on his face. “He’s not a prisoner.”
Linus took a step back. “I never—that wasn’t what I—I know that. I apologize if it came across any other way.”
“I prepare them,” Arthur said. “But I do shelter them, somewhat. They … for all that they are, for all that they can do, they’re still fragile. They are lost, Linus. All of them. They have no one else but each other.”
“And you,” Linus said quietly.
“And me,” Arthur agreed. “And while I understand your point, I hope you can see mine. I know how the world works. I know the teeth that it has. It can bite you when you least expect it. Is it so bad to try and keep them from that as long as possible?”
Linus wasn’t sure, and he said as much. “But the longer they remain hidden, the harder it will be when the time comes. This place … this island. You said it yourself. It isn’t forever. There’s a whole wide world beyond the sea, and while it may not be a fair world, they have to know what else is out there. This can’t be everything.”
“I am aware,” Arthur said, looking off into the trees with an inscrutable expression. “But I like to pretend it is, sometimes. There are days it certainly feels like it could be.”
Linus didn’t like the way he sounded. It was almost … morose. “For what it’s worth, I never thought I’d be discussing moral philosophy while wearing tan shorts in the middle of the woods.”
Arthur burst out laughing. “I find you fascinating.”
Linus felt warm again. He told himself it was the exertion. He swallowed thickly. “You knew a phoenix, then?”
Arthur’s gaze was knowing, but he didn’t seem inclined to push. “I did. He was … inquisitive. Many things happened to him, but he still kept his head held high. I often think about the man he became.” Arthur smiled tightly, and Linus knew the conversation was over.
They continued through the woods.
|
They came to a beach on the far side of the island. It was small and made of white and brown rocks rather than sand. The waves rolled through them, and they clacked together enjoyably.
“Easy, men,” Lucy said, scanning the beach. “There’s something foul afoot.”
“We’re not all men,” Talia said with a scowl. “Girls can be explorers too. Like Gertrude Bell.”
“And Isabella Bird,” Phee said. “And Mary Kingsley.”
“And Ida Laura Pfeiffer.” “And Robyn—”
“Okay, okay,” Lucy grumbled. “I get it. Girls can do everything boys can. Jeez.” He looked back at Linus, the devilish smile on his face. “Do you like girls, Mr. Baker? Or boys? Or both?”
The children turned their heads slowly to stare at him. “I like everyone,” Linus managed to say.
“Boring,” Talia muttered.
“I’m a boy!” Chauncey exclaimed. He frowned. “I think.”
“You are whoever you want to be,” Arthur told him, patting him between the eyes.
“Can we please get back to the task at hand?” Lucy pleaded. “You’re going to get us all viciously murdered if you keep talking.”
Sal looked around nervously, Theodore perched on his shoulder, tail wrapped around his neck loosely. “By who?”
“I don’t know,” Lucy said, turning back to the beach. “But as I was saying, there is something foul afoot! I can smell it.”
All the children sniffed the air. Even Theodore craned his neck, nostrils flaring.
“The only thing that smells foul here is Mr. Baker,” Phee said. “Because he’s sweating a lot.”
“I’m not used to so much exertion,” Linus snapped.
“Yeah,” Talia said. “It’s not his fault he’s round. Right, Mr. Baker? Us round people need to stick together.”
That didn’t make Linus feel any better. But he said, “Exactly.” Talia preened.
Lucy rolled his eyes. “It’s not something you can smell. Only I can. Because I’m the leader. It’s coming from over there.” He pointed toward a copse of trees just off the beach. It looked dark and foreboding.
“What is it, Lucy?” Chauncey asked. “Is it the cannibals?” He didn’t sound very enthused at the prospect.
“Probably,” Lucy said. “They could be cooking someone as we speak. So we should definitely go over there and check it out. I’ve always wanted to see what a person looked like while being cooked.”
“Or maybe we can stay here,” Talia said, reaching up and taking Linus’s hand. He stared down at her, but didn’t try and pull away. “That might be for the best.”
Lucy shook his head. “Explorers don’t back down. Especially the lady explorers.”
“He’s right,” Phee said grimly. “Even if there are cannibals.”
Theodore whined and stuck his head under his wing. Sal reached up and stroked his tail.
“Bravery is a virtue,” Arthur said. “In the face of adversity, it separates the strong from the weak.”
“Or the stupid from the smart,” Talia muttered, squeezing Linus’s hand. “Boys are dumb.”
Linus couldn’t help but agree, though he kept it to himself.
Lucy puffed out his chest. “I’m brave! And since I’m the leader, my brave order will be that Arthur goes first to make sure it’s safe while the rest
of us wait right here.” Everyone nodded. Including Linus.
Arthur arched an eyebrow at him.
“He has a point,” Linus said. “Bravery is a virtue, and all that.” Arthur’s lips twitched. “If I must.”
“You must,” Lucy told him. “And if there are cannibals, yell back at us when they start to eat you so we know to run away.”
“What if they eat my mouth first?”
Lucy squinted up at him. “Um. Try not to let that happen?”
Arthur squared his shoulders. He pulled out his machete and hopped up onto a large boulder, waves crashing around him. He made for a dashing figure, like a hero of old. He pointed the machete toward the copse of trees. “For the expedition!” he cried.
“For the expedition!” the children shouted in response.
Arthur winked at Linus, jumped down from the boulder, and ran for the trees. The shadows swallowed him whole … and then he was gone.
They waited. Nothing happened.
They waited a little longer. Still nothing.
“Uh-oh,” Talia whispered. “I think they probably started with his mouth.”
“Should we go back?” Chauncey warbled, eyes bouncing.
“I don’t know,” Lucy said. He looked up at Linus. “I’m glad you’re here.”
Linus was touched. “Thank you, Lucy—”
“If the cannibals start chasing after us, they’ll see you first. We’re little, and you’ve got all that meat on your bones, so it’ll give us time to get away. Your forthcoming sacrifice is appreciated.”
Linus sighed.
“What should we do?” Phee asked worriedly. “I think we should go in after him,” Sal said. They all looked at him.
He met Linus’s gaze for a moment before looking away. His mouth twisted down. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “He would come for us.”
Theodore chirped, pressing his snout against Sal’s ear.
“He’s right,” Lucy said. “Arthur would come after us. I’m making a decision. We shall go after Arthur, and Mr. Baker will go first.”
“You know, for a leader, you seem to delegate more than actually lead,” Linus said dryly.
Lucy shrugged. “I’m six years old. Well, this body is. Mostly, I’m ancient, but that’s neither here nor there.”
Linus felt the ground sway beneath his feet slightly, but he managed to stave it off. “If you insist.”
“I do,” Lucy said, sounding relieved. “So much insisting.”
Talia let go of his hand and waddled behind Linus, beginning to push on the backs of his legs. “Go. Go, go, go! Arthur could be getting eaten right this second, and you’re just standing here!”
Linus sighed again. “I’m going.”
It was ridiculous, of course. There were no cannibals on the island. It was just a story Lucy had made up. It wasn’t even a very good story.
But that didn’t stop Linus from sweating profusely as he walked across the beach toward the trees. They were of a different sort than in the forest they’d walked through. They appeared far older and denser. And even though there were no cannibals, Linus could see why they would choose this copse if they did exist. It looked like the perfect place to consume human flesh.
The bravery of the children was unmatched. They followed him, but at a good fifteen paces behind him, all huddled together, eyes wide.
Linus absolutely did not feel fond at the sight of them.
He turned back toward the trees. “Hello, Arthur!” he called out. “Are you in there?”
There was no response.
Linus frowned. Surely this was a game that Arthur was taking too seriously.
He called out again.
Nothing.
“Uh-oh,” he heard Lucy say behind him. “He’s probably been quartered already.”
“What’s that mean?” Chauncey asked. “He’s getting paid? I like quarters.”
“It means getting chopped up,” Talia said. “Into pieces.” “Ooh,” Chauncey said. “I don’t like that at all.”
This was stupid. There were no cannibals. Linus stepped up to the trees, took a deep breath, and crossed into the forest.
It was … cooler inside the tree line. Cooler than it should have been in the shadows. The humidity seemed to have faded away, and Linus actually shivered. There was a thin path ahead, winding its way through the trees. It didn’t look as if anything had been hacked (either vines or Arthur). Linus took that as a good sign.
He walked farther, only pausing to look back over his shoulder once more. The children stood at the entrance to the copse, apparently having decided they could go no farther.
Phee gave him a thumbs-up.
Lucy said, “You’re not dead!” He sounded strangely disappointed. “Leaders give positive reinforcement,” Talia told him.
“Oh. Good job not dying!” “That was better,” Talia said.
Chauncey’s stalks lowered until his eyes were sitting on top of his body. “I don’t like this.”
“Come on,” Sal said as Theodore nibbled on his ear. “We all go together.” He took a step into the trees, and the children followed, huddled around him.
It caused Linus’s heart to ache sweetly.
He turned back around, schooling his face. What was wrong with him?
This wasn’t supposed to be this way. He wasn’t supposed to—
The path was suddenly blocked by a large tree sprouting in front of him with a roar, dirt spraying up in a large plume.
Linus yelped as he stumbled back. The children screamed.
A voice rang out, echoing around them as the tree groaned. “Who dares to step inside my woods?”
Linus recognized it as Zoe almost immediately. He sighed. He was going to have so many words with both her and Arthur later.
The children rushed ahead and stood around Linus, looking up at him with wide eyes.
“Who is it?” Lucy whispered furiously. “Is it the cannibals?”
“I don’t know,” Linus said. “Could be. And while I might be a complete meal, they could be full after consuming Arthur and are only interested in something a little more … snack-sized.”
Talia gasped. “But … but I’m snack-sized.” “We all are,” Phee moaned.
“Oh no!” Chauncey said, trying to move between Linus’s legs with varying degrees of success.
Sal was looking at the trees around them, eyes narrowed. Theodore had shoved his head inside Sal’s shirt. “We need to be brave,” Sal said.
“He’s right,” Lucy said, stepping so he stood next to Sal. “The bravest.” “I’m just going to be brave right here,” Chauncey said from underneath
Linus.
“I should have brought my shovel,” Talia muttered. “I could have smashed the stupid cannibals in the head.”
“What should we do?” Phee asked. “Should we charge?”
Lucy shook his head before bellowing, “I demand to know who resides here!”
Zoe’s voice was deep, but Linus could hear the smirk. “Who are you to demand anything of me, child?”
“I am Commander Lucy, the leader of this expedition! Reveal yourself, and I promise to cause you no harm. Though, if you attack and are still hungry, Mr. Baker here has offered to sacrifice himself so that we may live.”
“I offered no such thing—”
“The Commander Lucy?” Zoe asked, words echoing around them. “Oh my, I’ve heard of you.”
Lucy blinked. “You have?”
“Yes, indeed. You’re famous.”
“I am? I mean, I am! That’s me! The famous Commander Lucy!” “What is it you seek from me, Commander Lucy?”
He looked back at the others. “Treasure,” Phee decided. “And Arthur,” Chauncey said.
“What if we can only pick one?” Talia asked. She was holding Linus’s hand again.
“We pick Arthur,” Sal said, sounding more sure of himself than Linus had ever heard him.
“Aw, really?” Lucy said, kicking the dirt. “But … but, treasure.” “Arthur,” Sal insisted, and Theodore chirped his agreement from
underneath Sal’s shirt. When Linus had begun to understand those chirps, he didn’t know.
Lucy sighed. “Fine.” He turned back around. “We seek Arthur Parnassus!”
“Is that it?” Zoe asked, voice booming.
“Well, I mean, I wouldn’t say no to treasure—” “Lucy!” Chauncey hissed.
Lucy groaned. “Just Arthur!” “Then so be it!”
The tree shrank back down into the ground in a flash. The pathway was clear.
“Would you like to lead the way, Commander Lucy?” Linus asked.
Lucy shook his head. “You were doing such a good job of it, and you look like you don’t hear that often enough. I don’t want to take that away from you.”
Linus prayed for strength as he led the way, Talia still holding his hand. The other children gathered behind them, with Sal and Theodore bringing up the rear.
They didn’t have to travel far; soon, the path led to a small clearing. And in this clearing sat a house. It was a single level, made of wood and covered with ivy. It looked ancient, grass growing thickly at its base. The
door was open. Linus thought of the stories from his youth, of witches luring children inside. But the witches he knew weren’t cannibals.
Well. Mostly.
It struck him, then, just who this house belonged to, and how much of an honor this would be. For an adult sprite, their dwelling was their most important possession. It was their home where all their secrets were kept. Sprites were notorious for their privacy, and he had no doubt that Phee would one day be the same, though he hoped she would remember the time spent at Marsyas in her youth. She wouldn’t have to be so alone.
The fact that Zoe Chapelwhite was inviting them in was not lost on Linus. He wondered if Arthur had been here before. (Linus thought he had.) And why Zoe had allowed Linus on her island to begin with. And who the orphanage house belonged to. All questions he didn’t have the answers to.
Was it his place to ask? He wasn’t sure. It didn’t have any bearing on the children, did it?
“Whoa,” Lucy breathed. “Look at that.”
Flowers were beginning to bloom along the vines amongst the ivy. It looked as if they were growing from the house itself. Bright colors—pink and gold and red and blue like the sky and ocean—raced along vines. It took only moments for the entire house to be covered in them, even stretching up and over the roof.
Phee sighed dreamily. “So pretty.”
Linus couldn’t help agreeing. He’d never seen anything like it. He thought how muted his sunflowers must seem in comparison. He didn’t know how he’d ever thought they were bright.
Going home was going to be quite the shock. A figure appeared in the doorway.
The children moved closer to Linus.
Zoe stepped into the sunlight. She wore a white dress that contrasted beautifully with her dark skin. The flowers in her hair matched the ones that grew along her house. Her wings were spread wide. She smiled at them. “Explorers! I’m pleased to see you’ve found your way.”
“I knew it!” Lucy crowed, throwing his hands up. “There were no cannibals. It was Zoe the whole time!” He shook his head. “I wasn’t scared,
but everyone else was. Big babies.”
The other children, it would seem, disagreed with this vehemently, if their indignant cries were any indication.
“Is Arthur alive?” Chauncey asked. “Nobody ate him or anything?” “Nobody ate him,” Zoe said. She stepped out of the doorway. “He’s
inside, waiting for all of you. Perhaps there is lunch. Maybe even a pie. But you’ll have to find out for yourself.”
Any lingering fear they might have had apparently disappeared immediately with the promise of food, as they all charged through the doorway, even Sal. Theodore squawked, but managed to hold on to the bigger boy.
Linus stayed right where he was, unsure of what he should do next. Zoe had offered an invitation, but it’d been to the children. He didn’t know if that extended to him.
Zoe pushed away from the house. With every step she took, the grass grew under her feet. She stopped in front of him, eyeing him curiously.
“Zoe,” he said with a nod.
She was amused. “Linus. I heard you had quite the adventure.” “Indeed. A bit out of my comfort zone.”
“I expect that’s how most explorers feel when they step out of the only world they know for the first time.”
“You often say one thing while meaning another, don’t you?” She grinned. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
He didn’t believe her at all. “Arthur all right?” Her eyes narrowed slightly. “Arthur is fine.”
Linus nodded slowly. “Because he’s been here before, I take it.” “Is there a question you’d like to ask, Linus?”
There were so many. “No. Just … making conversation.” “You’re not very good at it.”
“That’s not the first time I’ve heard that, if I’m being honest.”
Her expression softened. “No, I don’t believe it is. Yes. He’s been here before.”
“But not the children?”
She shook her head. “No. This is the first time.”
“Why now?”
She stared at him, eyes alight with something he couldn’t quite place. “This island is theirs just as much as it’s mine. It was time.”
He frowned. “Not for my benefit, I hope.”
“No, Linus. Not for your benefit. It would have happened whether you were here or not. Would you like to come inside?”
He tried to cover his surprise, but failed miserably. “This island isn’t mine.”
She hesitated. “No. But I wouldn’t leave you out here by yourself.
There might be cannibals, after all.”
“Could be,” he agreed. Then, “Thank you.” “For?”
He wasn’t quite sure. “Most things, I suspect.” “That’s all-encompassing.”
“I find it’s best to be that way, lest I forget one thing in particular.”
She laughed. The flowers along her hair and house grew brighter with the sound. “You’re very dear, Linus Baker. There’s a surface to you that’s hard but cracked. Dig a little deeper, and there is all this life teeming wildly. It’s a conundrum.”
He flushed. “I don’t know about all that.”
“I heard you philosophized in the woods. I think Arthur rather enjoyed himself.”
Linus began to sputter. “It’s not—I suppose we—it wasn’t anything much.”
“I think it was quite a lot, actually.” And with that, she turned and headed inside the house, leaving Linus to stare after her.
|
The interior of the house appeared to be an extension of what could be found outside. Instead of a floor, there was exposed earth, the grass forming a thick carpet. Pots filled with flowers hung from the ceiling. Tiny blue crabs and snails with shells of green and gold clung to the walls. The windows were open, and Linus could hear the ocean in the distance. It was
a sound he had grown accustomed to. He would miss it when it was time for him to leave.
Food had been spread out for them on a wooden counter. The children held what appeared to be large shells, stacking food high on them. There were sandwiches and potato salad and strawberries so red Linus thought they had to be fake until Theodore bit into one, eyes rolling back in his head in ecstasy.
Arthur Parnassus sat in an old chair, hands folded in his lap as he watched with amusement as the children began to gorge themselves, even as Zoe warned them to slow down. Expeditions were hungry work; Linus’s stomach was growling too.
“I’m glad to see you survived,” Linus said, shifting awkwardly as he stood next to the chair.
Arthur tilted his head back to look up at him. “Quite brave of me, I know.”
Linus snorted. “Indeed. They’ll write epic poems about you.” “I should like that, I think.”
“Of course you would.”
The corners of Arthur’s eyes crinkled. “Before they descended upon their bounty, I was told you were a good caretaker in my absence.”
Linus shook his head. “Lucy was probably having one over on you—” “It came from Sal.”
Linus blinked. “Come again?”
“Sal said you held Talia’s hand without her needing to ask. And that you listened to all of them, letting them make their own decisions.”
Linus was flustered. “It wasn’t—I was just going along.”
“Well, thank you, regardless. As I’m sure you know, that’s quite high praise coming from him.”
Linus did know. “He’s getting used to me, I guess.”
Arthur shook his head. “It’s not that. It’s … He sees things. Perhaps more than the rest of us. The good in people. The bad. He’s come across all kinds in his short life. He can see what others cannot.”
“I’m just me,” Linus said, unsure of where this was going. “I don’t know how to be anyone but who I already am. This is how I’ve always
been. It’s not much, but I do the best I can with what I have.”
Arthur looked at him sadly. He reached out and squeezed Linus’s hand briefly before letting go. “I suppose the best is all one could ask for.” He stood, smiling, though his smile wasn’t as bright as it usually was. “How is the bounty, explorers?”
“Good!” Chauncey said, swallowing an entire sandwich in one bite. It sank down inside of him and began to break apart.
“It would be better if there were actual treasure,” Lucy muttered.
“And what if the treasure was the friendships we solidified along the way?” Arthur asked.
Lucy pulled a face. “That’s the worst treasure in the world. They already were my friends. I want rubies.”
Theodore perked up and chirped a question.
“No,” Talia said through a mouthful of potato salad. Bits of egg and mustard dotted her beard. “No rubies.”
His wings drooped.
“But there is pie,” Zoe said. “Baked especially for you.” Lucy sighed. “If I must.”
“You must,” Arthur said. “And I do believe you will enjoy it as much as any rubies.” He glanced back at Linus. “Are you hungry, dear explorer?”
Linus nodded and joined the others.
|
It was in the din of food (Chauncey facedown in his pie) and laughter (Chauncey spraying bits of pie when Lucy told a rather ribald joke that was highly inappropriate for someone his age) when Linus noticed Zoe and Phee slipping out the door. Arthur and the other children were distracted (“Chauncey!” Lucy cried happily. “You got pie in my nose!”) and Linus felt the strange and sudden urge to see what the sprites were up to.
He found them just inside the tree line beyond the house. Zoe had her hand on Phee’s shoulder, their wings glistening in the shafts of light that pierced the canopy.
“And what did you feel?” Zoe was asking. They didn’t glance in his direction, though he thought they knew he was there. The days where Linus
could move quietly were far behind him.
“The earth,” Phee said promptly, her hair like fire. “The trees. Their root system beneath the sand and dirt. It was like … it was like it was waiting for me. Listening.”
Zoe looked pleased. “Precisely. There is a world hidden underneath what we can see. Most won’t understand it for what it is. We’re lucky, I think. We can feel what others cannot.”
Phee looked off into the forest, her wings fluttering. “I like the trees.
Better than I like most people.”
Linus snorted, unable to stop himself. He tried to cover it up, but it was too late. They turned their heads to look at him slowly. “Sorry,” he said hastily. “So sorry. I didn’t mean—I shouldn’t have interrupted.”
“Something you’d like to say?” Zoe asked, and though there was no heat to her words, it still felt pointed.
He started to shake his head, but stopped himself. “It’s just that … I have sunflowers. At my home in the city.” He felt a sharp pang in his chest, but he rubbed it away. “Gangly things that don’t always do what I want them to, but I planted them myself, and cared for them as they grew. I tend to like them more than I like most people.”
Phee narrowed her eyes. “Sunflowers.”
Linus wiped his brow. “Yes. They’re not … Well. They’re nothing so grand as what’s in Talia’s garden, nor as the trees here, but it’s a bit of color in all the gray of steel and rain.”
Phee considered him. “And you like the color?”
“I do,” Linus said. “It’s something small, but I think the smaller things can be just as important.”
“Everything has to start somewhere,” Zoe said, patting the top of Phee’s head. “And as long as we nurture them, they can grow beyond anything we thought possible. Isn’t that right, Linus?”
“Of course,” Linus said, knowing both of them would be listening to his every word. The least he could do was be truthful about it. “I admit I miss them more than I expected to. It’s funny, isn’t it?”
“No,” Phee said. “I would miss this place if I ever had to leave.”
Oh dear. That wasn’t what he was going for. He’d stepped in it now. “Yes, I can see that.” He looked up into the trees. “Certainly has its charms, I’ll give you that.”
“Populus tremuloides,” Phee said.
Linus squinted at her. “I beg your pardon?”
Zoe covered up a laugh with the back of her hand.
“Populus tremuloides,” Phee said again. “I read about them in a book. Quaking aspens. If you ever see them, you’ll find them in large groves. Their trunks are mostly white, but their leaves are a brilliant shade of yellow, almost gold. Like the sun.” She looked off into the forest again. “Almost like sunflowers.”
“They sound lovely,” Linus said, unsure of what else to say.
“They are,” Phee said. “But it’s what’s underneath that’s most important. The groves can be made up of thousands of trees, sometimes even in the tens of thousands. Each of them is different, but the secret is that they’re all the same.”
Linus blinked. “How so?”
Phee crouched down to the ground, her fingers leaving trails in the loose soil. “They’re clones of each other, a single organism managed by an extensive root system underneath the earth. All the trees are genetically the same, though they each have their own personality, as trees often do. But before they grow, their roots can lay dormant for decades, waiting until the conditions are right. It simply takes time. There’s one clone that’s said to be almost eighty thousand years old, and is possibly the oldest living organism in existence.”
Linus nodded slowly. “I see.”
“Do you?” Phee asked. “Because even if you wiped out the grove, if you tear down all the trees, unless you get to the roots, they’ll just be reborn again, and grow as they had before. Maybe not quite the same, but eventually, their trunks will be white, and their leaves will turn gold. I would like to see them one day. I think they’d have much to tell me.”
“They would,” Zoe said. “More than you can even possibly know. They have a long, long memory.”
“Have you seen them?” Linus asked.
“Perhaps.”
“Sprites,” Linus muttered to himself. Then, “If they’re all the same, how can you tell them apart?”
“You have to see what’s underneath it all,” Phee said. She dug her hands into the earth. “You have to put in the time to learn what the differences are. It’s slow going, but that’s what patience is for. The roots can go on forever, waiting for the right time.” She frowned at the ground. “I wonder if I can…”
Linus took a step forward when she grunted as if wounded. Zoe shook her head in warning, and he stopped in his tracks. There was a subtle shift in the air, as if it’d become slightly heavier. Phee’s wings began to flutter rapidly, light refracting off them in little rainbows. She pushed her hands into the soil until they were covered completely. Sweat dripped from the tip of her nose onto the ground. Her brow furrowed. She sighed as she pulled her hands from the ground.
Linus was speechless when a green stalk grew from the earth. Leaves unfurled, long and thin. The stalk swayed back and forth underneath Phee’s palms, her fingers twitching. He was stunned when a yellow flower bloomed, the petals bright. It grew a few more inches before Phee lowered her hands.
“It’s not a sunflower,” she said quietly. “I don’t think they’d survive here for long, even with the best of intentions. It’s called a bush daisy.”
Linus struggled to find his voice. “Did you … was that … did you just
grow that?”
She shuffled her bare feet. “It isn’t much, I know. Talia is better with the flowers. I prefer trees. They live longer.”
“Isn’t much?” Linus said incredulously. “Phee, it’s wonderful.” She looked startled as she glanced between Linus and Zoe. “It is?”
He rushed forward, crouching down near the flower. His hand was shaking when he reached out to touch it gently, half convinced it wasn’t real, just a trick of the eye. He gasped quietly when he rubbed the silky smooth petal between his fingers. It was such a little thing, yet it was there when only moments before there had been nothing at all. He looked up at Phee, who was staring down at him, gnawing on her bottom lip. “It is,” he
said firmly. “Absolutely wonderful. I’ve never seen such a thing. Why, I’d even say it’s better than the sunflowers.”
“Let’s not go that far,” Phee grumbled, though it looked as if she were fighting a smile.
“How did you do it?” he asked, the petal still between his fingers.
She shrugged. “I listened to the earth. It sings. Most people don’t realize that. You have to listen for it with all your might. Some will never hear it, no matter how hard they try. But I can hear it as well as I can hear you. It sang to me, and I promised it in return that I would care for it if it should give me what I asked for.” She glanced down at the flower. “Do you really like it?”
“Yes,” Linus whispered. “Very much.”
She grinned at him. “Good. You should know I’ve named it Linus. You should feel honored.”
“I am,” Linus said, absurdly touched.
“It’s a perfect name for it,” she continued. “It’s a little flimsy, and honestly isn’t much to look at and will probably die if someone doesn’t take care of it regularly.”
Linus sighed. “Ah. I see.”
“Good,” she said, her smile widening. She sobered slightly as she looked down at the flower. “But it’s still nice, if you think about it. It wasn’t there, and now it is. That’s all that really matters in the long run.”
“You can make something out of nothing,” Linus said. “That’s impressive.”
“Not something out of nothing,” she said, not unkindly. “It was just … hidden away. I knew what to look for because I listened for it. As long as you listen, you can hear all manner of things you never thought were there to begin with. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go put so much pie in my mouth, I’ll probably choke. And then I’ll eat some more. I swear, if Lucy didn’t leave any for me, I’m going to grow a tree out of his ears.”
And with that, she headed toward the small house, wings fluttering behind her.
Linus stared after her. “That … was an effective threat.” Zoe laughed. “It was, wasn’t it?”
“She’s capable.”
“They all are, if only one can see past the flourish above to the roots beneath.”
“A little on the nose, that,” he said.
“I suppose it is,” Zoe said. “But something tells me that subtlety is lost on you.” She turned toward the house, stepping into Phee’s footprints in the soil. “Coming, Linus? I do believe you deserve another piece of pie after your lesson.”
“In a moment,” he said. He looked to the flower again as Zoe went inside. He pressed a finger against the center as lightly as he could. He pulled it away, the tip yellowed with pollen. Without thinking, he stuck his finger against his tongue. The pollen was wild and bitter and oh so alive.
He closed his eyes and breathed.
