Though the curiosity was begging to kill the cat, Linus ignored it.
He ignored it as he walked back to the van. He ignored it as he climbed inside.
He ignored it as Arthur smiled at him, asking him if he was ready to go home.
“Yes,” he said evenly. “I’m ready.”
The children were high on sugar and the day’s outing, and babbled most of the way to the ferry. Merle scowled at them when he opened the gate, but they ignored him. By the time they were halfway across the channel to the island, the children were asleep, with the exception of Sal. Theodore was curled in his lap, wing over his head to block out the sunlight.
“Did you have a good time?” Linus heard Zoe ask him.
“I think I did,” Sal replied. “Mr. Baker helped me. He told me I can be scared, but to remember there’s more to me than that.” He sighed. “People can be rude, and they can think dumb things about me, but I have all of you, and that’s what’s most important. Right, Mr. Baker?”
Linus thought it was far too late to shield his heart.
 |
The children blinked slowly as they woke when Arthur switched off the van in front of the house. Lucy yawned and stretched, accidentally hitting Talia in the face with his elbow. She shoved his arm away. “Sorry,” he said.
“Perhaps we’ll have dinner a little earlier tonight,” Arthur announced. “I don’t think some of us will last much longer after. Let’s go inside, and take
your things. Make sure they’re put away safely. Talia, you may go to the gazebo if that’s where you’d like to store your new tools.”
She shook her head as Zoe slid the van door open. “I’m going to keep them with me tonight. It’s a Gnomish thing. The tools must be in my bed the first night so they know they’ll belong to me.”
Arthur flashed a smile. “Funny, I’ve never heard that before.”
“Very ancient gnomish tradition. Very secretive. You’re lucky I’m even telling you about it.”
“Is that right? I’ll remember that from this point on.” And with that, he opened his door and exited the van.
It took Linus a moment to realize he was the only one left. He startled when his door was jerked open. He looked out to find Zoe watching him. “Coming?”
He nodded, gripping the folder in his hands. He noticed she glanced down at it, and her brow furrowed slightly.
He got out of the van.
She closed the door behind him. “You were awfully quiet on the ride home.”
“Long day,” he said. “Is that all?”
He nodded. “Not as young as I used to be.”
“No,” she said slowly. “I don’t suppose you are. Coming inside?”
He smiled weakly. “I should check on Calliope. Make sure she’s fed and watered. Give me a bit of peace and quiet before dinner.”
“Of course. I’ll send one of the children to fetch you when it’s time to eat.” She reached out and squeezed his arm. “You did well today, Linus. I don’t know that we could have done this without you. Thank you.”
For the first time since he arrived on the island, he wondered if he was being used.
It hurt more than he expected.
He smiled. “I don’t know if that’s true.”
She watched him for a moment. Then, “Are you sure you’re all right?” “Just tired,” he said. “All that sunlight. I’m used to only rain.”
She looked as if she were going to say something more, but Phee called out to her, telling her it was her night to help with dinner, and she had some ideas.
Zoe left him standing by the van.
He watched them disappear in the house.
Arthur was the last. He looked back over his shoulder. “See you soon?” Linus could only nod.
|
He paced in front of the bed, glancing every now and then at the file he’d placed there.
“It’s nothing, right?” he asked Calliope, who watched him from her perch on the windowsill. “Absolute rubbish, most likely. Why wouldn’t they have given me this information before, if it were so necessary? And they accused me of losing objectivity. Me, of all people! I’ve never heard of such a ridiculous notion. The nerve of those people, sitting all high and mighty.”
Calliope meowed at him.
“I know!” he exclaimed. “It’s preposterous. And even if it wasn’t, I can still appreciate the qualities of the people here. It doesn’t have to mean anything. It doesn’t mean anything.”
Calliope’s tail twitched.
“Precisely! And obviously Arthur has secrets. Everyone does! I have secrets.” He stopped pacing and frowned. “Well, that’s probably not true. Just because I haven’t said something doesn’t make it a secret. But I could have one! And it would be the most secret!”
Calliope yawned.
“You’re right,” Linus decided. “Why does it matter at all? It’s probably nothing. A scare tactic. And even if it’s not, it won’t change anything. I don’t have any untoward feelings about anyone, and in a week, we’ll leave this place, and in time, we’ll think back fondly about our stay here, and nothing more. We certainly won’t regret not saying anything to anyone about feelings that don’t exist!”
Calliope put her head on her paws and closed her eyes.
She had a good idea. Maybe Linus should sleep on it. A nap, perhaps. Or even ignore it until tomorrow. He hadn’t lied when he’d said it’d been a long day. He was tired. Many things had happened, and while not all of them had been good, it certainly hadn’t been a disaster that ended up with Lucy causing someone to explode or Talia braining another person with her new spade.
“Yes,” he said to himself. “A shower and then a nap. I might not even wake up until tomorrow. I can certainly miss a meal, especially after having cherry ice cream.” He paused, considering. “Which I didn’t even like!”
That was a lie. It’d been delicious. It’d tasted like childhood. He turned to walk toward the bathroom.
Instead, his feet led him to the edge of the bed. He looked down at the file. The key sat next to it. He told himself to leave it alone.
That if there was anything to know, he could just ask. He remembered the flash in Arthur’s eyes.
The way his skin had felt so hot.
He remembered the way Arthur smiled, the way he laughed, the way he existed here on this island as if he had everything in the world he could ever want. It pulled at him, and he thought of how his world had been cold and wet and gray until he’d come here. It felt like he was seeing in color for the first time.
“Don’t you wish you were here?” he whispered.
Oh yes. He thought he might wish that more than anything.
He had to stop it. Because he didn’t think he could take it if it all turned out to be a lie.
He opened the file. It began just as the previous one had.
NAME: ARTHUR PARNASSUS AGE: FORTY-FIVE YEARS OLD HAIR: BLOND
EYE COLOR: DARK BROWN
This was the same as the first file. The rest had been an outline of Arthur Parnassus, giving a vague idea of who he was and how long he’d been master of the Marsyas Orphanage.
This file, however, continued as the others had.
MOTHER: UNKNOWN (BELIEVED DECEASED)
FATHER: UNKNOWN (BELIEVED DECEASED)
What had Helen said?
It was my first job. I was seventeen. It was a different parlor back then, but I expect I still know how to work a scoop. It’s how I know Arthur here. He would come in here when he was a child.
And then he read the next line, the one that said SPECIES OF MAGICAL BEING, and everything changed.
|
Dinner was, in a word, awkward.
“Aren’t you hungry, Mr. Baker?” Talia asked. “You’re not eating.” Linus choked on his tongue.
Everyone stared at him.
He wiped his mouth with a napkin. “I seem to be quite full from the ice cream.”
Lucy frowned. “Really? But you have so much room. I ate all my ice cream, and I’m still hungry.” As if to prove a point, Lucy attempted to stick an entire pork chop in his mouth. He wasn’t very successful.
Linus smiled tightly. “It is as it is. I may have … so much room, as you say, but that doesn’t mean I need to fill it.”
Theodore peered over at him, a bit of fat hanging from his mouth. “You’re being awfully quiet too,” Phee said, chasing a small tomato
with her fork. “Is it because Lucy almost killed a man today?”
“I didn’t almost kill him! I wasn’t even trying very hard. If I wanted to, I could have exploded him with the power of my mind.”
That certainly didn’t make Linus feel any better, though it didn’t frighten him as much as it would have a couple of weeks ago. He wondered if this was what Extremely Upper Management meant in their letter. Against his better judgment, he was almost charmed. That wasn’t a good sign.
“You shouldn’t kill people,” Chauncey said. He had yet to remove his bellhop cap. Arthur had told him he could wear it to dinner just this once.
“Killing people is bad. You could go to jail.”
Lucy attacked his pork chop viciously. “No jail could hold me. I would escape and come back here. No one would dare come after me because I could make their organs melt.”
“We don’t melt people’s organs,” Zoe reminded him patiently. “It’s not polite.”
Lucy sighed through a mouthful of meat, cheeks bulging.
“You should eat,” Sal told Linus quietly. “Everyone needs to eat.”
And how could he refute that coming from Sal? Linus made a show of taking a big bite of the salad on his plate.
That seemed to appease everyone. Almost everyone. Arthur was watching him from across the table. Linus was doing his best not to meet his gaze. It seemed safer that way.
He didn’t know what Arthur was capable of.
|
Linus begged off after dinner, saying he was more exhausted than he expected. Lucy looked a little disappointed that Linus wouldn’t be listening to the new records he’d purchased, but Linus promised him that tomorrow was a new day.
“You do look a little flushed,” Zoe said. “I hope you’re not coming down with something.” She had a strange glint in her eyes. “Especially seeing as how it’s your last week here and all.”
Linus nodded. “I’m sure it’s nothing.”
She took his plate from him, still nearly full. “Well, get some rest, Linus. We’d hate to see you sick. We need you, you know.”
Ah. Did they? Did they really?
Linus was almost to the door when Arthur said his name.
He closed his eyes, hand on the doorknob. “Yes? What is it?” “If you need anything, all you have to do is ask.”
He thought the knob would crack under his fingers. “That’s very kind of you, but there’s nothing I need.”
Arthur placed a hand on his shoulder. “Are you sure?”
Oh, how easy would it be to turn around? To look upon the man who had twisted his heart so? The man who, in not so many words, had kept so much from him?
“I’m sure,” Linus whispered.
The hand fell away. “Be well, Linus.”
He was out the door and into the night as quick as he coul d go.
|
He stared at the ceiling in the dark, the comforter pulled up to his chin. Sleep was impossible. That blasted file had made sure of that. Even now, he could feel its presence underneath the mattress where he’d shoved it earlier. He didn’t want Chauncey finding it if he came in to take Linus’s laundry.
Which brought another wave crashing over him.
Did they know? Did the children know about who Arthur was? About
what he was?
He could see it clearly in his mind, though he didn’t want to. Arthur in the classroom, telling the children that a man was coming from the mainland. A man who would be there to evaluate them, to investigate them. A man from the Department in Charge of Magical Youth who had the power to take this all away from them. Lucy, of course, would offer to make the intruder’s skin crack from his bones. Theodore could eat what remained and then regurgitate it into a hole Talia had dug. The hole would be filled in, and Phee would grow a tree on top of it. When someone came to ask after this interloper, Chauncey would offer to take their luggage, and Sal would say earnestly that they had no idea who Linus Baker was.
Arthur, of course, would tell them in no uncertain terms that murder wasn’t the answer. Instead, he whispered in Linus’s head, you must make him care about you. You must make him think for perhaps the first time in his life that he has found a place to belong.
It was ridiculous, these thoughts. All of them. But thoughts late at night when sleep is nothing but a fleeting notion usually were. In the dark, all of it seemed as if it could be real.
It was after midnight when he sat up in the bed. Calliope yawned from her spot near his feet.
“What if it’s all a lie?” he asked her in the dark. “How did I get to the place where I wouldn’t be able to stand that?”
She didn’t answer.
Life before had been mundane and ordinary. He had known his place in the world, though every now and then, the dark clouds parted with a ray of sunshine in the form of a question he barely allowed himself to ponder.
Don’t you wish you were here?
More than anything.
And then another thought struck him, one so foreign that he was barely able to grasp onto it. It was so outside the realm of what he thought possible that it boggled the mind.
What if, he thought, it’s not Arthur who is lying? What if it’s not the children?
What if it’s DICOMY?
There would be a way to prove that. One way.
“No,” he said, lying back down on the bed. “Absolutely not.” Calliope purred.
“I’ll just go to sleep, and in six days, we’ll go home, and all of this won’t matter. What did the letter call me? Susceptible? Bah. Why, the very idea is ridiculous.”
He felt better.
He closed his eyes.
And saw how Chauncey had hid under his bed the first morning, how Talia had looked sitting on the floor of a record shop with her tools, how Theodore took the buttons as if they were the greatest gift, how Phee had lifted a trembling Sal from a pile of clothes, how Lucy had cried after breaking his music, how Zoe had welcomed him into her home.
And, of course, Arthur’s smile. That quiet, beautiful smile that felt like seeing the ocean for the first time.
Linus Baker opened his eyes. “Oh dear,” he whispered.
|
The night air was cold, much colder than it’d been since he arrived. The stars were like ice in the black sky above. The moon was barely a sliver. He shivered as he pulled his coat tighter over his pajamas. He reached down to his pocket, making sure the key was still there.
It was.
He stepped off the porch.
The main house was dark, as it should have been at this late hour. The children would be asleep in their beds.
He barely made a sound as he walked toward the garden. For a man his size, he could be light on his feet when he needed to be. The air smelled of salt and felt heavy against his skin.
He followed the path through the garden. He wondered what Helen would think when she came. He thought she’d be impressed. He hoped so. Talia deserved it. She’d worked hard.
He rounded the back of the house. He stumbled over a thick root, but managed to stay upright.
There, in front of him, was the cellar door.
The scorch marks made a terrible amount of sense now.
His throat clicked as he swallowed. He could, Linus knew, turn around right now and forget about all of this. He could go back to his bed, and for the next six days, keep a professional distance and do what he’d been sent here to do. Then he would board the ferry for the last time, and a train would be waiting to take him home. The sunlight would fade behind dark clouds, and eventually, it would start to rain. He knew that life. That was the life for a man like Linus. It was dreary and gray, but it was the life he’d led for many, many years. This last month, this bright flash of color, would be nothing but a memory.
He took the key from his pocket.
“It probably won’t even fit the lock,” he muttered. “It’s most likely been changed.”
It hadn’t. The key slid into the rusted padlock perfectly. He turned it.
The lock popped open with the smallest of sounds. It fell to the weeds.
“Last chance,” he told himself. “Last chance to forget all this foolishness.”
The door was heavier than he expected, so much so that he could barely lift it. He grunted as he pulled it open, arms straining at the weight. It took him a moment to figure out why. Though the outside of the cellar doors were wooden, the inside was a sheet of thick metal, as if it’d been reinforced.
And in the starlight, he could see shallow grooves carved into the metal. He raised his hand and pressed his fingers against the grooves. There were five of them, close together. As if someone with small hands had
scraped them from the inside.
That caused a cold chill to run down Linus’s spine.
Before him, disappearing into a thick darkness, were a set of stone stairs. He took a moment to let his eyes adjust, wishing he’d remembered to bring a flashlight. Or he could wait for daylight.
He entered the cellar.
Linus kept a hand pressed against the wall to keep his balance. The wall was made of smooth stone. He counted each step he took. He was at thirteen when the stairs ended. He couldn’t see a thing. He felt along the wall, hoping to find a light switch. He bumped into something, a bright snarl of pain rolling up his shin and into his thigh. He grimaced and felt for
—
There.
A switch.
He flicked it up.
A single bulb flared to life in the middle of the room. Linus blinked against the dull light.
The cellar was smaller than he expected. The room in the guest house where he’d spent the last three weeks was bigger, though not by much. The walls and ceiling were made of stone, and almost every inch of them were covered in what appeared to be soot. He looked down at his hands and saw they were black. He rubbed his fingers together, and the soot fell away to the floor.
He’d bumped his knee into a desk set against the wall near the light switch. It had been partially burned, the wood blackened and cracked. There was a twin bed, the metal frame broken. There was no mattress, though Linus supposed that made sense. It would be too easy to burn. Instead, there were thick tarps that Linus expected to be flame retardant.
And that was it.
That was everything in the cellar. “Oh no,” he whispered. “No, no, no.”
Something in the corner caught his eyes. The single bulb in the room wasn’t strong, and there were more shadows than not. He approached the far wall, and as he got closer, he felt his knees turn to jelly.
Tick marks.
Tick marks scratched into the wall.
Four lines in a row. Crossed with a fifth.
“Five,” he said. “Ten. Fifteen. Twenty. Twenty-five.”
He stopped counting when he reached sixty. It was too much for him to handle. He thought they were meant to keep track of days, and the idea caused his heart to ache.
He swallowed past the lump in his throat. The unfairness of it all threatened to overwhelm him.
DICOMY hadn’t been lying. The file had been true.
“I haven’t been down here in years,” a voice said from behind him. Linus closed his eyes. “No. I don’t expect you have.”
“I thought you seemed a little … off,” Arthur said quietly. “After you returned to us from the post office, something had changed. I didn’t know what, but it had. I chose to believe you when you said you were tired, but then at dinner, you looked as if you’d seen a ghost.”
“I tried to hide it,” Linus admitted. “It doesn’t appear I did a very good job of it.”
Arthur chuckled, though it sounded sad. “You’re much more expressive than you think. It’s one of the things I— No matter. That’s neither here nor there. For the moment, at least.”
Linus curled his hands into fists to keep them from shaking. “So it’s true, then?”
“What is?”
“What I read. In the file DICOMY sent to me.”
“I don’t know. I’ve never read my file. For all I know, it’s full of half- truths and outright lies. Or, perhaps, everything is correct. One can never tell with DICOMY.”
Linus turned around slowly as he opened his eyes.
Arthur stood at the foot of the stairs. He was dressed for bed, meaning he wore his shorts and a thin T-shirt. Irrationally, Linus wanted to offer his coat. It was much too cold for Arthur to be out in what he was wearing. He didn’t even have socks on. Or shoes. His feet looked strangely vulnerable.
He was watching Linus, though there didn’t appear to be any anger in his gaze. If anything, he looked slightly stricken, though Linus couldn’t be sure.
“He gave you a key,” Arthur said. It wasn’t a question.
Linus nodded. “There was a key, yes. I— Wait. What do you mean he?” “Charles Werner.”
“How do you—” He stopped and took a deep breath.
But I made this house a home for those I had, and in preparation in case more came. Your predecessor, he … changed. He was lovely, and I thought he was going to stay. But then he changed.
What happened to him?
He was promoted. First to Supervision. And then, last I heard, to Extremely Upper Management. Just like he always wanted. I learned a very harsh lesson then: Sometimes wishes should never be spoken aloud as they won’t come true.
“I’m sorry,” Linus said rather helplessly. “For what?”
Linus wasn’t sure exactly. “I don’t—” He shook his head. “I don’t know what he intended.”
“Oh, I think I do.” Arthur stepped away from the bottom of the stairs. He traced a finger over the burnt surface of the desk. “I suspect he read
something in your reports that caused him concern. This was his way of intervening.”
“Why?”
“Because that’s who he is. People can present themselves as being one way, and once you’re sure you know them, once you’re sure you’ve found what you’re looking for, they reveal themselves for who they really are. He used me, I think. To get him what he wanted. Where he wanted.” Arthur rubbed his hands together. “I was younger, then. Enamored. Foolish, though you wouldn’t have been able to convince me. I thought it was love. I can see now it wasn’t.”
“He said this was an experiment,” Linus blurted. “To see if—if someone like you could—”
Arthur arched an eyebrow. “Someone like me?” “You know what I mean.”
“Then why can’t you say it?”
Linus’s chest hitched. “A magical creature.” “Yes.”
“Perhaps the rarest of them all.” “So it would seem.” “You’re.…”
“Say it. Please. Let me hear you say it. I want to hear it from you.”
You knew a phoenix, then?
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.
Linus Baker said, “You’re a phoenix.”
“I am,” Arthur said simply. “And I believe I’m the last of my kind. I never knew my parents. I’ve never met anyone else like me.”
Linus could barely breathe.
“I couldn’t control it,” Arthur said, looking down at his hands. “Not when I was a child. The master then wasn’t someone I like to think about if I can help it. He was cruel and harsh, more likely to beat you than look at you. He hated us for what we were. I never knew why. Perhaps something had happened to him or his family before he came to this place. Or maybe he had just listened to the words of the people of the world, and let it fill
him like poison. Things were different, then, if you can believe it. Worse for people like us. There are certain laws in place now that didn’t exist back then that are meant to prevent … well. The village wasn’t so bad, but … it was only a tiny place in the big, wide world. It was cherry ice cream from a pretty girl. It made me think that perhaps this island wasn’t the be-all and end-all. And so I made a grave mistake.”
“You asked for help.”
Arthur nodded. “I sent a letter to DICOMY, or at least I tried to. I told them how horribly we were being treated. The abuse we suffered at the hands of this man. There were other children here, though he seemed to have a specific vendetta against me, and I took the brunt of it. But I was okay with that, because the more he focused on me, the less he concerned himself with the others. But even I had a breaking point. I knew that if I didn’t do something, and soon, I was going to hurt someone.”
The more you beat down on a dog, the more it cowers when a hand is raised. If pushed hard enough, a dog might bite and snap, if only to protect itself.
“I thought I was being clever with my letter. I smuggled it out, folded into the top waistband of my pants. But somehow, he found out about it while we were in the village. I snuck off, trying to make it to the post office, but he found me. He took the letter from me.” Arthur looked away. “That night was the first night I spent in here. I burned after that. I burned brightly.”
Linus thought he was going to be sick. “That’s not—that’s not fair. He should have never been in a position to do that to you. He should have never been allowed to lay a hand on you.”
“Oh, I know that now. But then? I was a child.” Arthur held out his hand, palm up. His fingers flexed slightly, and fire bloomed like a flower. Linus, who had seen so many strange and wonderful things in his lifetime, was entranced. “Back then, I thought it was what I deserved for being what I was. He beat that into me enough until I had no choice but to believe him.” The fire began to move then, crawling up his wrist. It wound its way around his arm. When it reached his shirt, Linus was sure it would start to burn.
It didn’t.
Instead, the fire grew until it began to snap and crackle. It rose in the air behind him, spreading out until Linus couldn’t deny what he was seeing.
Wings.
Arthur Parnassus had wings of fire.
They were beautiful. Linus could see burning feathers in the red and orange, and he remembered the night he’d seen the flash outside the guest house after Arthur had left. The wings stretched as much as they could in the small room, and Linus thought they were at least ten feet long from tip to tip. And though he could feel the heat from them, it didn’t feel scorching. The wings fluttered, leaving trails of golden fire. Above his head, Linus thought he could make out the outline of a bird’s head, the beak sharp and pointed.
Arthur closed his hand.
The phoenix curled back down toward the top of his head, wings folding in. The fire snuffed out, leaving thick wisps of smoke, the afterimages of a great bird dancing in Linus’s eyes.
“I tried to burn my way out,” Arthur whispered. “But the master had prepared for that. The metal slats against the door. The walls made of stone. Stone, I learned, can withstand intense heat. It became obvious rather quickly I would choke on the smoke before I ever escaped. So I did the only thing I could. I stayed. He was smart. He himself never brought me food or changed the bucket I used as a toilet. He made one of the other children do it, knowing I would never harm them.”
Though Linus didn’t want to know, he asked, “How long were you down here?” He couldn’t bear to look at the tick marks scratched into the wall.
Arthur looked pained. “By the time I left, I had thought it’d been a few weeks. It turned out to be six months. When you’re constantly in the dark, time gets … slippery.”
Linus hung his head.
“Eventually, someone came. Either because they suspected something was off, or because they decided an inspection was necessary. I was told the master tried to explain away my absence, but one of the other children was
brave enough to speak up. I was found, and the orphanage was shut down. I was sent to one of DICOMY’s schools which was better, though not by much. At least there, I could go outside and spread my wings.”
“I don’t understand,” Linus admitted. “Why would you ever return to this place? After everything that happened to you?”
Arthur closed his eyes. “Because this was my hell. And I couldn’t allow it to stay that way. This house had never been a home, and I thought I could change that. When I went to DICOMY with the idea of reopening the Marsyas Orphanage, I could see the greed in their eyes. Here, they could keep track of me. Here, they could send others who they thought were the most dangerous. They assigned Charles to me, telling me he would help get things in order. He did, but to his own end. Zoe tried to warn me, though I chose not to believe her.”
Anger swelled within Linus. “And where was she? How in God’s name did she not help you?”
He shrugged. “She didn’t know. She hid herself away, fearing reprisal. She was the great secret of this island, and one they would have tried to harness back then. I only met her once before I went into the cellar. I stumbled upon her in the woods, and she nearly killed me until she saw me for what I was. She fled instead. After I returned to the island, she came to me and told me that she was sorry for all that I had endured. That she would allow me to stay, and that she would help if needed.”
“That’s not—”
“She isn’t to be blamed,” Arthur said sharply as his eyes flashed open. “I certainly don’t. There was nothing she could have done that wouldn’t have put herself in danger.”
“They know about her now,” Linus admitted. “I included her in my report.”
“We know. We made the decision after we received notice that DICOMY was sending a caseworker. She was tired of hiding. She accepted the risk because of how important the children are to her. She needed you to see that she was wasn’t going to let them go without a fight.”
Linus shook his head. “I can’t—why on earth would DICOMY allow you this place at all? Why would they agree to put children in your care?”
He blanched and added quickly, “You’re quite capable, of course, it’s just that—”
“Guilt is a powerful tool,” Arthur said. “For all I endured here, it would fall back on DICOMY if word ever got out. They thought they could use it as leverage. For my silence, they would allow me this house. To keep track of me, yes, but in the end, they saw the island as a solitary and desolate place where the only village nearby could be easily bought off. One where they could send who they considered to be the most … extreme. This was their grand experiment. They thought I was a pawn.”
“But you were playing them,” Linus whispered. “Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free.”
Arthur smiled. “Oh yes. I took their huddled masses and gave them a home where they could breathe without fear of retaliation.” His smile faded. “I thought I had everything planned. And maybe I made mistakes. Keeping the children on the island for one. That was born out of fear. I told myself they had enough. That the island and Zoe and I could provide everything they could ever need. I love them more than anything in this world. And I convinced myself that love would be enough to sustain them. But I didn’t account for one thing.”
“What?”
Arthur looked at him. “You. You were the most unexpected thing of all.”
Linus gaped at him. “Me? But why?”
“Because of who you are. I know you don’t see it, Linus. But I see it enough for the both of us. You make me feel like I’m burning up from the inside out.”
Linus couldn’t find a way to believe him. “I’m just one person. I’m just me.”
“I know. And what a lovely person you are.”
This couldn’t be real. “You played them. DICOMY. To get what you wanted.”
Arthur’s eyes narrowed. “Yes.”
Linus had to fight to get the words out. “You could be doing the same to me. To get what you want. To have me—to have me say what you want in
my reports.”
Arthur sucked in a sharp breath. “Oh. Oh, Linus. Do you really think so little of me?”
“I don’t know what to think,” Linus snapped. “You’re not who I thought you were! You’ve lied to me!”
“I withheld the truth,” Arthur said gently. “Is there a difference?”
“I think—”
“Do they know about you? The children?”
Arthur shook his head slowly. “I learned rather quickly how to hide myself from most everyone.”
“Why?”
“Because I wanted them to think there was still good in this world. They were sent to me shattered into the tiniest of pieces. The less they knew about me the better. They needed to focus on their own healing. And I was
—”
“They could have found solidarity with you,” Linus argued. “They could have—”
“And I was instructed by DICOMY never to reveal myself to them.” Linus took a step back. He hit the wall. “What?”
“It was part of the deal,” Arthur said. “One of their conditions before they agreed to allow me to return here. I could reopen Marsyas, but who I am—what I am—would remain a secret.”
“Why?”
“You know why, Linus. Phoenixes are … we—I can burn brightly, and I don’t know if there’s a limit. I believe I could burn the very sky if I pushed myself hard enough. If they couldn’t figure out a way to harness that power, then at the very least, they’d put a muzzle on it. Fear and hatred comes from not being able to understand what—”
“That’s no excuse,” Linus snapped. “Just because you can do things others cannot doesn’t make you something to be reviled.”
He shrugged awkwardly. “It was their way of showing that regardless of what I was getting in return, they still had a hold over me. It was a reminder that all of this could be taken away whenever they wanted. When Charles
left, shortly after Talia and Phee arrived, he told me to remember that. And if he ever got word I had reneged on my promise, or that he even thought I had, he would send someone to investigate. And if need be, shut us down. I’m sure the thought crossed their mind at one point or another that instead of me living quietly on this island with their castoffs, I would instead amass an army. Preposterous, of course. I never wanted anything more than a home I could call my own.”
“It’s not fair.”
“No. It’s not. Life rarely is. But we deal with it the best we can. And we allow ourselves to hope for the best. Because a life without hope isn’t a life lived at all.”
“You have to tell them. They need to know who you are.” “Why?”
“Because they have to see they aren’t alone!” Linus cried, slamming his palms back against the wall. “That magic exists where we least expect it to. That they can grow up to be whoever they choose to be!”
“Can they?”
“Yes! And though it may not seem like it now, things can change. Talia said that you told her in order to change the minds of many, you have to first start with the minds of a few.”
He smiled. “She said that?” “Yes.”
“I didn’t think she was even listening.”
“Of course they listen,” Linus said, exasperated. “They listen to every single thing you say. They look to you because you are their family. You are their—” He stopped, breathing heavily. He shouldn’t say it. It wasn’t right. None of this was. It wasn’t—“You are their father, Arthur. You said you love them more than life itself. You have to know they feel the same about you. Of course they do. How can they not? Look at you. Look at what you’ve made here. You are a fire, and they need to know how you burn. Not only because of who you are, but because of what they have made you into.”
Arthur’s expression stuttered and broke. He lowered his head. His shoulders shook.
Linus wanted to console him, wanted to take Arthur in his arms and hold him tight, but he couldn’t get his feet to move. He was confused, all his thoughts swirling in a storm in his head. He latched on to the only thing he could. “And when—when I go back, when I leave this place, I will do my best to make sure Extremely Upper Management knows this. That the island—”
Arthur’s head snapped up. “When you go back?”
Linus looked away. “My time here was always going to be short. There was always an end date. And while it came much quicker than I anticipated, I have a home. A life. A job. One that is now more important than ever, I think. You have opened my eyes, Arthur. All of you. I will be forever grateful.”
“Grateful,” Arthur said dully. “Of course. Forgive me. I don’t know what I was thinking.” Linus looked up to see him smile, though it seemed to tremble. “Anything you can do to assist us will be more than wonderful. You … you are a good man, Linus Baker. I am honored to have known you. We’ll have to make sure your last week here on the island is one you’ll never forget.” He started to turn, but then paused. “And I promise you, the thought of using you for anything has never crossed my mind. You’re too precious to put into words. I think … it’s like one of Theodore’s buttons. If you asked him why he cared about them so, he would tell you it’s because they exist at all.”
And then he was up the stairs and into the night.
Linus stood in the cellar, staring at the space Arthur had left behind. The air was still warm, and Linus swore he could hear the crackling of fire.
