There were no signs pointing in any direction, but since there was only one road, Linus figured he must be heading the right way. It only took a few minutes of driving away from the ferry landing before he found himself in an old forest, the trees massive, their canopies almost completely blocking out the sky streaked in pinks and oranges. Leafy vines hung from tree limbs, loud birds called from unseen perches.

“I don’t suppose this is some sort of trap?” Linus said to Calliope as it grew darker the deeper into the forest they went. “Maybe this is where everyone goes after they’ve been sacked. They think they’re getting a top assignment, but instead, they get sacrificed in the middle of nowhere.”

It wasn’t a pleasant thought, so he pushed it away.

He couldn’t find the lever for the headlamps, so he leaned forward as close to the windshield as he could get. It was dusk. His stomach rumbled, but he hadn’t felt like eating less in his life. He knew Calliope would probably be looking for a litter box soon, but he didn’t want to stop until he had some idea where he was. His luck would have Calliope running off into the woods, forcing Linus to chase after her.

“And I probably wouldn’t,” he told her. “I’d leave you out here to fend for yourself.”

He wouldn’t, but she didn’t need to know that.

The odometer had turned over two additional miles, and he was about to start panicking—after all, the island couldn’t be that big, could it?—when the forest fell away around him, and he saw it.

There, ahead of him, set against the falling sun, was a house.

Linus had never seen one quite like it before.

It was set up a hill on a cliff overlooking the ocean. It looked as if it were at least a hundred years old. It was made of brick and had a large turret, of all things, set right in the middle of the roof. The side of the house facing Linus was covered in green ivy, growing around multiple white window frames. He thought he could see the outline of a gazebo set off next to the house and wondered if there was a garden. He would like that very much. He could walk through it, smelling the salt in the air and—

He shook his head. He wasn’t here for such things. There would be no time for frivolities. He had a job to do, and he was going to do it right.

He turned the car toward what appeared to be a long driveway that led up to the house. The closer he got, the bigger it grew, and Linus couldn’t be sure how he’d never heard of this place. Oh, not the orphanage, not if Extremely Upper Management didn’t want anyone to know. But surely this island, this house should have been known to him. He wracked his brain, but came up empty.

The driveway widened near the top of the hill. There was another vehicle parked next to an empty fountain, overgrown by the same vines that latched on to the orphanage. It was a red van, surely big enough for six children and the master of the house. He wondered if they took many trips. Not into the village, of course, not if the people there weren’t inviting.

But as he got closer, he saw the van appeared not to have been moved in some time. Weeds grew up through the wheel wells.

It appeared they didn’t take many trips, if any at all.

For a moment, Linus felt a pang, something akin to sorrow. He rubbed a hand against his chest, trying to chase it away.

He’d been right, though. There was a garden. The last rays of sun seemed to be illuminating the flowers to the side of the house, and Linus blinked when he thought he saw movement, a quick flash before it was gone.

He rolled down the window a smidge, just enough to be heard. “Hello?” he called.

There was no answer.

Feeling slightly braver, he rolled the window down halfway. The thick scent of the ocean filled his nose. Leaves rustled on the branches of the trees. “Hello?”

Nothing.

“Right,” he said. “Well. Perhaps we can just stay in here until tomorrow.”

And then he heard the unmistakable giggle of a child. “Or maybe we should leave,” he said weakly.

Calliope scratched the front of the crate.

“I know, I know. But there appears to be something out there, and I don’t know if either of us wants to be eaten.”

She scratched again.

He sighed. She’d been good for the most part. The trip had been long, and it wasn’t fair of him to leave her cooped up.

“Fine. But you will be quiet while I sit here and think and try to ignore childlike laughter coming from the strange house so very far away from everything I know.”

She didn’t put up a fight when he opened the crate and pulled her into his lap. She sat regally, staring out the window, eyes wide. She didn’t make a sound when he stroked her back.

“All right,” Linus said. “Let’s review, shall we? I can either do what I was sent here to do, or I can sit here and hope a better idea comes to me, preferably where I keep all my bits and bobs as they are.”

Calliope dug her claws into his thighs.

He winced. “Yes, yes. I suppose you’re right. It is cowardly, but it also means we stay alive.”

She licked her paw slowly before brushing it over her face.

“No need to be rude,” he muttered. “Fine. If I must.” He reached for the door handle. “I can do this. I will do this. You stay here, and I’ll—”

He didn’t have time to react. He opened the door, and Calliope leapt from his lap. She hit the ground and took off running toward the garden.

“Of all the— You stupid cat! I will leave you here!”

He would do no such thing, but empty threats were better than no threats at all.

Calliope disappeared beyond a line of perfectly maintained bushes. He thought he saw a flash of her tail, but then she was gone.

Linus Baker was not a fool. He prided himself in that regard. He was well aware of his limitations as a human being. When it was dark, he preferred to be locked safely inside his house, wearing his monogrammed pajamas, a record playing on the Victrola, holding a warm drink in his hands.

That being said, Calliope was essentially his only friend in the entire world.

So when he climbed out of the car, rocks crunching under his feet in the driveway, it was because he understood that sometimes, one had to do unsavory things for those one cared about.

He followed where she’d run off to, hoping she hadn’t gotten far. The sun was almost gone, and while the house itself was still foreboding even though lights appeared to be on inside, the sky above was lit in colors he wasn’t sure he’d ever seen before, at least not mixed together as they were. He could hear the waves crashing far down below the cliff, and seagulls screamed overhead.

He reached the line of bushes that Calliope had disappeared behind. There was a small stone path that led into what he thought was the garden, and he hesitated only briefly before entering.

The garden was far bigger than it had first appeared. The gazebo that he’d seen from the road was farther ahead, strung with red and orange paper lanterns that swung in the breeze. Their lights flickered softly, and there came the distant sound of chimes.

The garden itself was blooming wildly. He didn’t see any sunflowers, but there were calla and Asiatic lilies. Dahlias. Celosias. Chrysanthemums, orange gerberas, and Chinese bellflowers. There were even beautyberries, something he hadn’t seen since he was a child. The air was thick and redolent, and it made him slightly dizzy.

“Calliope,” he called softly. “Come now. Don’t make this difficult.” She didn’t appear.

“Fine, then,” he said irritably. “I can always make a new friend. After all, there are many cats who need to be adopted. A new kitten would fix this

problem quite easily. I’ll just leave you here. It’s for the best.” He would do no such thing, of course. He continued on.

There was an apple tree growing near the house, and Linus blinked when he saw red and green and pinkish apples, all different varieties growing on the same limbs. He followed the trunk down toward the ground and saw—

A little statue.

A garden gnome.

“How quaint,” he murmured as he moved toward the tree.

The statue was bigger than the ones he had seen before, the tip of its pointed cap about waist-high. It had a white beard, and its hands were clasped at its front. The paint job that had been done on the statue was remarkably detailed, almost lifelike in the fading light. The eyes were bright blue, and its cheeks were rosy.

“Strange statue, aren’t you?” he said, hunkering down in front of it.

Had Linus been in his right mind, he would have noticed the eyes.

However, he was tired, out of sorts, and worried about his cat.

Therefore, the noise that came out of him wasn’t that surprising when the gnome statute blinked and said rather haughtily, “You can’t just say something like that about a person. It’s rude. Don’t you know anything?”

His scream was strangled as he fell backward, hand digging into the grass underneath him.

The gnome sniffed. “You’re awfully loud. I don’t like it when people are loud in my garden. If you’re loud, you can’t hear the flowers talking.” And she (because she was a she, beard and all), reached up and straightened her cap. “Gardens are quiet spaces.”

Linus struggled to find his voice. “You’re … you…” She frowned. “Of course I’m me. Who else would I be?”

He shook his head, managing to clear the cobwebs before latching on to a name. “You’re a gnome.”

She blinked owlishly at him. “Yes. I am. I’m Talia.” She bent over and picked up a small shovel that had been laying on the grass next to her. “Are you Mr. Baker? If you are, we’ve been expecting you. If not, you’re trespassing, and you should leave before I bury you here in my garden. No

one would ever know because the roots would eat your entrails and bones.” She frowned again. “I think. I’ve never buried anyone before. It would be a learning experience for the both of us.”

“I’m Mr. Baker!”

Talia sighed, sounding incredibly disappointed. “Of course you are. No need to shout about it. But is it too much to ask for a trespasser? I’ve always wanted to see if humans make good fertilizer. It seems like they would.” She eyed him up and down hungrily. “All that flesh.”

“Oh dear,” Linus managed to say.

She huffed out a breath. “We don’t get trespassers here. Unless … I saw a cat. Did you bring it as a gift for the house? Lucy will be excited about that. And maybe when he’s done with it, he’ll let me use what’s left. It’s not the same as a human, but I’m sure it’ll work.”

“She’s not an offering,” Linus said, aghast. “She’s a pet.” “Oh. Darn.”

“Her name is Calliope!”

“Well, we better find her before the others do. I don’t know what they’ll think of her.” She grinned at him, her teeth large and square. “Aside from looking tasty, that is.”

Linus squeaked.

She waddled toward him, her stubby legs moving quickly. “Are you going to lie there all night? Get up. Get up!”

He did. Somehow, he did.

He was sweating profusely as he followed her farther into the garden, listening as she muttered under her breath. It sounded as if she were speaking Gnomish, her grunts low and guttural, but Linus hadn’t ever heard it spoken aloud before, so he couldn’t be sure.

They reached the gazebo, which creaked as they stepped onto it. The paper lanterns were brighter now, swinging on their lines. There were chairs with thick, comfy cushions. Underneath them was an ornate rug, the edges of which were curled.

Talia went to a small chest that was set off to the side. She pushed open the lid and hung her shovel on a hook inside, next to other gardening tools.

Once she seemed satisfied that everything was in place, she nodded and closed the lid.

She turned back toward him. “Now, if I were a cat, where would I be?” “I … don’t know.”

She rolled her eyes. “Of course you don’t. Cats are cunning and mysterious. That doesn’t seem like something you’d understand.”

“I beg your—”

She stroked her beard. “We need help. Fortunately, I know just who to ask.” She looked at the ceiling of the gazebo. “Theodore!”

Linus frantically thought back to the files he hadn’t looked at. Oh, what a fool he’d been. “Theodore. Who is—”

From somewhere above came a cry that sent shivers down Linus’s spine.

Talia’s eyes were sparkling. “He’s coming. He’ll know what to do. He can find anything.”

Linus took a step back, ready to grab Talia and run if needed.

A dark shape swooped into the gazebo, landing artlessly on the floor. It squawked angrily as it tripped over its too-big wings, rolling end over end until it crashed into Linus’s legs. Linus did his best not to shriek, but unfortunately, his best wasn’t good enough.

A scaly tail twitched as its owner stared up at him with bright orange eyes.

Linus had never actually seen a wyvern in person before. They were quite rare and thought to be descended from ancient reptiles that once roamed the earth, though they were barely larger than a housecat. Many considered them to be nuisances, and for a long time, they were hunted down, their heads used as trophies, their skin made into fashionable shoes. It wasn’t until laws were enacted protecting all magical creatures that the barbaric acts ceased, but by then, it’d almost been too late, especially in the face of empirical evidence that wyverns were capable of emotionally complex reasoning that rivaled even humans. Their numbers had dwindled alarmingly.

So, it was with fascination (tinged, of course, with horror) that Linus stared down at the wyvern at his feet, a tail beginning to wrap around his

ankle.

It—he, Linus reminded himself—was smaller than Calliope, though not by much. His scales were iridescent, the light from the lanterns above casting a kaleidoscope of colors. His hind legs were thickly muscled, the claws at the tips of his feet black and wicked sharp. He didn’t have front legs; instead, his wings were long and leathery like a bat’s. His head was curved downward, the snout ending in twin slits. His tongue snaked out and flicked against Linus’s loafers.

His orange eyes blinked slowly. He jerked his head up toward Linus, and … chirped.

Linus’s heart was thundering in his chest. “Theodore, I presume?”

The wyvern chirped again. He wasn’t unlike a bird. A very large, scaly bird.

“Well?” Talia asked.

“Well, what?” Linus croaked out, wondering if it was rude to try to kick the wyvern away. The tail was tightening around his leg, and Theodore’s fangs were awfully big.

“He’s asking you for a coin,” Talia said, as if it were obvious. “A … coin?”

“For his hoard,” Talia said, as if he were daft. “He’ll help you, but you have to pay him.”

“That’s not … I don’t…”

“Ohhhh,” Talia said. “Do you not have a coin? That isn’t good.” He looked up at her frantically. “What? Why?”

“Perhaps I’ll have human fertilizer after all,” she said ominously.

Linus immediately reached for his pockets. Surely he had—there had to be something—

Aha!

He pulled his hand out triumphantly. “There!” he crowed. “I have a … button?”

Yes, a button. It was small and made of brass, and for the life of him, Linus couldn’t remember where it’d come from. It wasn’t really his style. Linus tended toward muted colors, and this was bright and shiny and—

Theodore clicked in the back of his throat. He almost sounded as if he were purring.

Linus looked down again to see Theodore picking himself up from the floor. He seemed to have a bit of trouble; his wings were far too big for something of his size. His legs kept getting caught in them, causing him to stumble. Theodore chirped angrily, before using his tail wrapped around Linus’s calf as support. He managed to right himself before letting Linus go, never taking his eyes off the button. As soon as he was upright, he began to bounce on his legs around Linus, opening and closing his jaws.

“Well, give it to him,” Talia said. “You can’t just offer a wyvern a gift and then keep it from him. The last time someone did that, he lit them on fire.”

Linus looked up at her sharply. “Wyverns can’t breathe fire.”

She grinned again. “You’re not as gullible as you look. And you look

really gullible. I’ll have to remember that.”

Theodore was jumping higher and higher, trying to get his attention, wings fluttering. He was chirping loudly, and his eyes were blazing.

“All right, all right,” Linus said. “You’ll get it, but I won’t have you making a scene. Patience is a virtue.”

Theodore landed on the ground and spun himself in a circle before arching his neck up toward Linus. He opened his mouth and waited.

His fangs were very big. And very sharp.

“You have to put it in his mouth,” Talia whispered. “Quite possibly your whole hand.”

Linus ignored her. Swallowing thickly, he reached down and set the tip of the button in Theodore’s mouth. The wyvern bit down slowly, taking the button. Linus pulled his hand away as Theodore fell onto his back, wings spreading out on the floor. His stomach was pale and looked soft. He raised his back legs to his mouth until he could clutch the button. Holding it in his claws, he lifted the button toward his head, studying it carefully, spinning it around to see either side. He chirped loudly as he flipped himself over. He glanced back at Linus before spreading his wings and clumsily taking off. He almost tripped, but at the last moment, managed to fly off toward the house.

“Where’s he going?” Linus asked faintly.

“To put it with the rest of his hoard,” Talia said. “Something you’ll never find, so don’t even think about it. A wyvern is very protective over his hoard and will maim anyone who tries to take it from him.” She paused, considering. “It’s underneath the sofa in the living room. You should go check it out.”

“But you just said— Ah. I see.” She stared innocently at him.

“He was supposed to help us find Calliope,” he reminded her.

“He was? I never said that. I just wanted to see what you’d give him. Why do you have buttons in your pocket? That’s not where they go.” She squinted at him. “Do you not know that?”

“I know where—” He shook his head. “No. I won’t. I am going to find my cat with or without your help. And if I have to tromp through your garden to do it, I will.”

“You wouldn’t dare.” “Wouldn’t I?”

She sniffed. “Phee.” “Bless you,” Linus said.

“What? I didn’t sneeze. I was— Phee!”

“Yeah, yeah,” another voice said. “I heard you the first time.” Linus whirled around.

There was a dirty girl of perhaps ten years of age standing behind them. She had smudges of dirt on her face that almost covered the bright freckles dotting her pale skin. She blew out a breath, and a lock of fire-red hair fluttered off her forehead. She was wearing shorts and a tank top. She was barefoot, and her toenails had grime underneath them.

But it was the thin wings that rose from her back that caught Linus’s attention the most. They were translucent, lined with veins, and they curled around her shoulders, much larger than he would expect from one her size.

A sprite, like Ms. Chapelwhite, though there were marked differences. There was an earthy sent emanating from her that reminded Linus of the drive through the trees to get to the house, dense and thick. He thought it was possible they were her doing.

A forest sprite.

Linus had only met a handful of sprites before. They tended to be solitary creatures, and the younger they were, the more dangerous. They weren’t in full control of their magic. Once, Linus had seen the aftermath of a young lake sprite who had felt threatened by a group of people on a boat. The water level had risen almost six feet, and what remained of the boat had floated on the choppy surface in pieces.

He didn’t know what had happened to that sprite after he filed his report. That information was above his pay grade.

This sprite however—Phee—reminded him of the lake sprite from years before. She was looking at him distrustfully, her wings twitching. “This him?” she asked. “Doesn’t seem like much.”

“He’s not gullible,” Talia said. “So he has that going for him at least. He brought a cat that escaped.”

“Better not let Lucy find it. You know what he’ll do.”

Linus had to regain control of the situation. They were just children, after all. “My name is Linus Baker. And her name is Calliope. I’m—”

Phee ignored him as she walked by him, the tip of her left wing smacking him in the face. “It’s not in the woods,” she told Talia.

Talia sighed. “I didn’t think so, but figured I’d ask.”

“I need to go get cleaned up,” Phee told her. “If you haven’t found it by the time I’m done, I’ll come back and help.” She glanced back at Linus before walking out of the gazebo toward the house.

“She doesn’t like you,” Talia said. “Don’t feel too bad about it, though. She doesn’t like most people. It isn’t personal, I don’t think. She would just rather you weren’t here. Or alive.”

“I’m sure,” Linus said stiffly. “Now, if you could point me toward—”

Talia clapped her hands in front of her beard. “That’s it! I know where we need to look! They were supposed to be getting it ready for you, and I bet Sal’s got her. He’s good with strays.”

She waddled toward the opposite end of the gazebo before looking over her shoulder at him. “Come on! Don’t you want to get your cat?”

Linus did.

And so he followed.

Talia led them through the garden around the side of the house that he hadn’t been able to see from the road. The light was fading, and he could see stars appearing overhead. The air was cool now, and he shivered.

Talia, for her part, pointed out every single flower they came across, telling him their names and when she’d planted them. She warned him not to touch them, or she’d have to hit him upside the head with her shovel.

Linus didn’t dare try her. She obviously had a propensity for violence, and he needed to remember that for his reports. This investigation wasn’t off to a great start. He had many concerns. Specifically, that all these children appeared to be scattered about.

“Where is the master of the house?” Linus asked as they left the garden behind. “Why isn’t he keeping an eye out for you?”

“Arthur?” Talia asked. “Why on earth would he?”

“Mr. Parnassus,” Linus insisted. “It’s only polite to refer to him by a proper name. And he should be, because you’re a child.”

“I’m 263 years old!”

“And gnomes don’t reach an age of maturity until they’re five hundred,” Linus said. “You may think me a fool, but that would be a mistake.”

She grumbled something in what Linus was now convinced was Gnomish. “From five in the afternoon until seven, we’re given time for personal pursuits. Arthur—oh, excuse me, Mr. Parnassus—believes we should explore whatever interests us.”

“Highly unusual,” Linus muttered.

Talia glanced at him. “It is? Don’t you do things you like after you get done working?”

Well … yes. Yes, he did. But he was an adult, and that was different. “What if one of you gets hurt while in your personal pursuit? He can’t be lazing about while—”

“He’s not lazing about!” Talia exclaimed. “He works with Lucy to make sure he doesn’t bring about the end of the world as we know it!”

It was about this time that Linus felt his vision gray yet again at the thought of—of this child. This Lucy. He couldn’t believe that such a creature existed without his knowledge. Without the world’s knowledge.

Oh, he understood why there was secrecy and could even comprehend the need for it. But the fact that there was a weapon of mass destruction in the body of a six-year-old and the world wasn’t prepared was simply shocking.

“You’ve gone awfully pale,” Talia said as she squinted up at him. “And you’re swaying. Are you ill? If you are, I think we should go back to the garden so you can die there. I don’t want to have to drag you all the way back. You look really heavy.” She reached up and poked his stomach. “So soft.”

Strangely, that simple action managed to clear his vision. “I’m not ill,” he snapped at her. “I’m just … processing.”

“Oh. That’s too bad. If your left upper arm starts to hurt, would you let me know?”

“Why would I—that’s a sign of a heart attack, isn’t it?” She nodded.

“I demand you take me to Mr. Parnassus this instant!”

She cocked her head at him. “But what about your cat? Don’t you want to find her before she gets eaten and all that’s left is her tail because it’s too fluffy to choke down?”

“This is very perturbing and irregular. If this is the way this orphanage is run, I will need to inform—”

Her eyes widened before she grabbed him by the hand and began to pull him. “We’re fine! See? Everything is fine. I’m not dead, and you’re not dead, and nobody is hurt! After all, we’re on an island with no way on or off aside from a ferry. And the house has electricity and working toilets, something we’re very proud of! What could possibly happen to any of us? And Zoe keeps an eye on us when Mr. Parnassus is otherwise detained.”

“Zoe?” Linus demanded. “Who is—”

“Oh! I meant Ms. Chapelwhite,” Talia said hastily. “She’s wonderful. So caring. Everyone says so. And distantly related to a fairy king named Dimitri, if you can believe that! Though, he’s not from around these parts.”

Linus’s mind was a whirlwind. “What do you mean, fairy king? I’ve never—”

“So you see, there is absolutely nothing to worry about. We’re always monitored with everything we do, so no need to inform anyone of anything.

And would you look at that! I knew Sal would have your cat. Animals love him. He’s the best. See? Calliope looks so happy, doesn’t she?”

And indeed, she did. She was rubbing up against the legs of a large black boy sitting on the porch of a small house set away from the big house, her back arched as he traced a finger down her spine, tail swishing lazily from side to side. The boy smiled down at her, and then wonder of all wonder, Calliope opened her mouth and meowed, a sound Linus couldn’t ever remember hearing her make before. It was rusty and deep, and it nearly stopped him in his tracks. She purred, of course—usually her distaste—but she never talked.

“Yes,” the boy said, voice low. “Such a good girl, aren’t you? Yes, you are. Prettiest girl.”

“Okay,” Talia said quietly. “No sudden movements, okay? You don’t want to—”

“That’s my cat!” Linus said loudly. “You there, how did you get her to do that?”

“—scare him,” Talia finished with a sigh. “Now you’ve gone and done

it.”

The boy looked up fearfully at the sound of Linus’s voice. His big

shoulders hunched as he appeared to sink inward. One moment, there was a handsome boy with dark eyes, and the next, the clothes he’d been wearing fell to the porch as if the body wearing them had disappeared from the face of the earth.

Linus stopped, jaw dropping.

Except even as he watched, the pile of clothes began to shift. There was a flash of white hair, and then the clothes fell away.

Sal, the large boy who had to weigh at least 150 pounds, was gone. But not completely.

Because he had turned into a five-pound Pomeranian.

A fluffy five-pound Pomeranian. The hair around his head was white, shot with rusty orange that extended down his back and legs. His tail was curled up behind his back, and before Linus could process the fact that he’d seen an actual shifter change before him, Sal gave a high-pitched bark and turned and ran into the guest house.

“My word,” Linus breathed. “That was…” He didn’t know how to finish.

“I told you not to scare him,” Talia said crossly. “He’s very nervous, you know. He doesn’t like strangers or loudness, and here you are being both.”

Calliope seemed to agree, as she glared at Linus before she climbed the steps and disappeared into the house as well.

The house itself was tiny, even smaller than Linus’s own. The porch wasn’t big enough for a rocking chair, but it looked charming, flowers growing along the front underneath windows that had a warm and inviting light pouring out of them. It, too, was made of brick, much like the main house, but it didn’t exude the dread Linus had felt upon arrival.

He could hear barking coming from inside the house. There was a response that sounded high-pitched and garbled, as if someone was throwing a wet sponge on the floor repeatedly.

“Chauncey’s here too,” Talia said, sounding delighted. “He probably grabbed your luggage for you while we were in the garden. He’s very hospitable, you know. He wants to be a bellhop when he gets older. The uniform with the little hat and everything.” She looked up at him with wide, innocent eyes that Linus distrusted immediately. “Do you think he’d be good at that, Mr. Baker?”

And because Linus believed in the power of positive thinking, he said, “I don’t see why not,” even though he wondered what Chauncey could possibly be.

Talia smiled sweetly as if she didn’t believe a single word.

The inside of the house was just as endearing as the outside. There was a sitting room with a comfortable-looking chair in front of a brick fireplace, and a table sitting in a nook in front of one of the windows. The barking sound came from farther down the hall, and for a moment, Linus was slightly disoriented, because there didn’t seem to be—

“Where’s the kitchen?” he asked.

Talia shrugged. “There isn’t one. Whoever owned the house before seemed to think everyone should eat together in the main house. You get to

eat with all of us. Probably for the best, so you can see we eat only the healthiest foods and are civilized or whatever.”

“But there’s—”

“Sir!” a wet and warbled voice exclaimed from behind him. “Might I take your coat?”

Linus turned to see—

“Chauncey!” Talia said, sounding delighted.

There, standing (sitting?) in the hallway, a tiny dog peering out around him, was an amorphous green blob with bright red lips. And black teeth. And eyes on stalks that stuck high above his head, seemingly moving independently of each other. He didn’t have arms so much as tentacles with tiny little suckers along their lengths. He was not quite see-through, though Linus could make out the faint outline of Sal hiding behind him.

“I’m not wearing a coat,” Linus heard himself say, though he hadn’t actually instructed his brain to say it.

Chauncey frowned. “Oh. That’s … disappointing.” His eyes wiggled around as he seemed to brighten. As in literally brighten, because he became a lighter shade of green. “No matter! I’ve already attended to your luggage, sir! It’s been placed in your room, as has the barbaric cage I assume is for your cat that is now sleeping on your pillow.” He held out one of his tentacles.

Linus stared at it.

“Ahem,” Chauncey coughed, flipping the tip of his tentacle toward him twice.

“You have to pay him,” Talia hissed from behind him.

Again, independent of any thought, Linus felt himself reach back for his wallet. He opened it up, found a single, and handed it over. It instantly soaked through as Chauncey’s tentacle closed over it. “Wow,” he whispered as he pulled the bill close, eyes drooping on their stalks to look it over. “I did it. I’m a bellhop.”

Before Linus could respond to that, a chilling voice rang out, sounding as if it were coming from everywhere. The air, the floors, the very walls that surrounded them.

“I am evil incarnate,” the dastardly voice said. “I am the blight upon the skin of this world. And I will bring it to its knees. Prepare for the End of Days! Your time has come, and the rivers will run with the blood of the innocents!”

Talia sighed. “He’s such a drama queen.”