Chapter Fifteen

FIFTEEN

Word spread—and spread quickly—about the banishment of the DICOMY inspector from Marsyas Island. This was not unexpected; Arthur, Linus, and Zoe thought that would be the case. Regardless of the shroud of silence the government believed it acted under, it was not immune to springing a leak. A small one, but in Arthur’s estimation, it functioned as a crack in a great stone dam, a weakness that would only grow stronger. He wondered if it’d been Doreen Blodwell’s doing, wherever (and who ever) she was.

As such, reporters returned to the village with a vengeance, all but demanding access to the island. Per Helen, Merle flat out refused to ferry anyone across, saying the children had had enough interruption.

The Baker-Parnassus family had emerged victorious over Miss Marblemaw, but it was a temporary win. Rowder had shown she was willing to do anything to get her claws on Lucy. She wouldn’t let Miss Marblemaw’s banishment stop her. With such a thing hanging over them, Arthur thought the mood on the island would be muted, heavy.

It was anything but.

The children. The children, bless them, were proud, excited, full of vim and vigor, the likes of which Arthur hadn’t seen before. In the days that followed the departure of the inspector, summer-warm mornings and afternoons seemed endless, the children spreading their wings, the pall of the DICOMY inspection falling away. They laughed and ran and learned and played and created and made comments that would cause even the heartiest men to shiver.

Chauncey asked if he could clean the guesthouse as practice for the hotel. Linus volunteered to help, only to have the blobby boy ask if he was trying to get him fired? Linus was not, and therefore agreed to let Chauncey handle it on his own.

Theodore nearly wept when Linus returned a familiar brass button. Taking it gently in his claws, he immediately went to his hoard under the couch, tail sticking out and thumping against the floor as he chirped and clicked happily to himself.

Talia, ever the hard worker, decided that the scene on the dock needed to be replicated in shrubbery form. She spent the weekend growing and molding the bushes until she got them exactly as Lucy described. Granted, she only had Lucy’s telling to go on, so Arthur was not surprised when she revealed her work, only to have the shrub version of Lucy eating Miss Marblemaw, bits of leaves and sticks poking out of his shrubby mouth. It was quite the sight, and everyone agreed it was the best bit of garden art they’d ever had the pleasure to witness.

Phee and Arthur took to the skies, a sprite and phoenix crisscrossing high above the island. Before long, they were joined by Theodore, who alighted upon the phoenix’s back, laughing in that lovely way he had. Tilting his head back, he let loose a stream of green fire, and Phee swirled around it, her wings glinting in the sunlight.

Sal had decided he wanted to learn more about the day-to-day operations of the island. Joining Arthur in his office, they pored over records and books, Sal learning about the significant investments Arthur had made over the years with the monies he’d been awarded, and everything else needed to keep the island… well, afloat. Sal kept Arthur on his toes with clever questions, and as they worked late into the night, Sal asked if they could keep going for just a little longer. Who was Arthur to refuse?

David was as relaxed as Arthur had ever seen him. The few days before the inspector had arrived had only offered them glimpses into the yeti. Now that she was gone, he blossomed even more, an inquisitive boy with a mind like a steel trap. Nothing got by him, and they spent a glorious afternoon watching David carve an ice sculpture with nothing but his claws. Granted, he did so as part of a play he’d written, directed, and starred in, a bittersweet tale of an ice sculptor slash retired master thief who gets involved in One Last Job. The play itself was breathtaking, full of twists and turns (the true villain? Greed ), and when David finished, thunderous applause followed, none louder than Arthur’s.

Lucy was the exception, proving to be quieter than normal. When asked if anything was amiss, he was quick with a smile and an off-color joke, but Arthur—who perhaps knew him best—wasn’t fooled. He kept a close eye on Lucy, making sure he was ready and available if and when his son decided to give voice to his thoughts.

It felt like healing, in a way, this, for all of them. None were so foolish as to think they’d heard the last of DICOMY, but in the days following Miss Marblemaw’s banishment, a peace returned to the island that had gone missing these last weeks. The suffocating weight of her presence receded like the waves listening to the moon.

Arthur and Linus themselves kept busy, one eye trained on the horizon, watching, waiting. Zoe spent her days navigating the shores of the island from dawn until dusk. When Sal asked what she was doing one evening as she was visiting him in his room, she replied, “Relearning. Listening. Planning.”

Arthur stood outside Sal’s room, a tea tray in his hands, not yet having made himself known.

“Lucy said Turnip called you ‘your majesty,’” Sal said.

Zoe hesitated, but it was brief. “Yes. He did.”

Of all the questions Sal could’ve asked—What? How? Why?—he went in a direction Arthur should have expected, especially from Sal. “Is that what you want?”

Zoe said, “I…” Then, “For centuries, I’ve hidden myself away. I’ve allowed my anger to define me, to mire me in cynicism. It wasn’t until…” She chuckled quietly. “It wasn’t until your dad came back that I realized I wasn’t living. I was in stasis, frozen.”

“And he brought the fire,” Sal murmured.

“He did,” Zoe agreed. “But it was more than that. He brought all of you, and I finally understood what life was supposed to be like. Color, joy. Togetherness. Knowing people are there to have your back even when you’re at your darkest.”

“You haven’t answered my question.”

“No, I don’t suppose I have. And even yesterday, I don’t know what answer I’d have given you. Being forced to hide changes us in ways we don’t always realize, but that time is over now. For you. For the other children. For Linus and Arthur. For Helen. And for myself, too. I needed healing the same as you, though our history is different. I don’t know that I’m quite there yet—and maybe I’ll never be—but that doesn’t mean I can’t try. And I’m going to because you all have taught me how.”

“We had a pretty good teacher,” Sal said, and as Zoe laughed, Arthur closed his eyes and smiled.

The end—for it could not be described as anything but—came on an early Sunday afternoon toward the end of June in the tiny seaside village of Marsyas. Deciding they needed a day in town after surviving the previous day’s adventure—Talia’s turn, and she’d wanted to rehome the group of feral pixies who had been eating their way through her garden—they piled into the van for a day in the village, the children’s pockets full of their allowance, waiting to be spent on whatever caught their eyes.

The group of reporters immediately swarmed them as the Baker-Parnassuses’ van drove off the salt road onto the beach. Cameras flashed and shuttered, questions shouted, most asking if there was any truth to the rumor that Arthur Parnassus and Linus Baker had defied the will of DICOMY. David slid open the nearest window, leaned his head out, and roared loudly. The reporters scattered as the children laughed hysterically.

“See?” David said. “Scared them but didn’t hurt them. It’s not that hard.”

“That you did,” Linus said. “Well done, you.”

David preened as the others reached over the seat to pat him on the shoulder.

Given the events of the past few weeks, Arthur and Linus didn’t let them separate as they normally did. Instead, they parked behind Helen’s shop—Zoe and Helen inside, where they’d meet up later for lunch—and moved as a single group, the children leading the way.

The reporters kept their distance, obviously wary, but that didn’t stop them from following the family around town, taking picture after picture, Talia and Lucy posing dramatically. Every now and then, one would shout a question, but it always went ignored. They weren’t allowed to follow the group into any of the shops, the staff locking the doors behind them, letting the family peruse at their leisure.

It was a good day, a quiet day, a day they all needed without even realizing it. The sun was bright, the sidewalks crowded, people laughing and waving as they shopped or headed for the beach.

Before they headed to J-Bone’s shop (he’d apparently found a rare copy of Elvis Presley’s first recorded music, a demo with the songs “My Happiness” and “That’s When Your Heartache Begins”—Lucy had practically lost his mind when J-Bone called him), Arthur made a stop at the ferryman’s dock.

“Ahoy, Merle!” he called, standing next to the ferry, the others gathered behind him. A moment later, Merle appeared over the railing, a scowl on his face.

“I told you I wasn’t going to take you to the— Mr. Parnassus! Ahoy, there!”

He smiled. “Hello, my good sir. How be the seas?”

“Good and calm,” Merle called down. “Need a ride back?” He scowled at the reporters gathered at the end of the dock. “They bothering you? You want me to give ’em the ol’ what for?”

“That won’t be necessary,” Arthur said. “And we’re not ready to return quite yet, but when we are, I think I’d like a trip on your ferry, if you have the time.”

“For you, I have the time.” He peered down at them once more. “And the kiddos? They all well?”

“I made mud people!” Lucy exclaimed. “And now they live in the forest!”

Merle shrugged. “Don’t know about all that, but good for you.” He frowned. “If you don’t need a ride back and you don’t want me to deal with the vultures, what can I do for you?”

“I wanted to say thank you,” Arthur said. “It’s a long time in coming, and you have my most sincere apologies for not seeking you out sooner.”

Merle reared back, gripping the railing. “You want to thank me ? What the hell for?”

“That I do,” Arthur said. “I’ve heard you’ve been very particular as to whom you give passage to the island. Without you, I fear we might have been overrun. Your kindness has not gone unnoticed, and for that, you have our gratitude.”

Merle spat over the railing into the ocean. “Yeah, well, your kids aren’t as scary as some people make them out to be. Why, I’ve never been frightened of them in my life.”

“Oh boy,” Linus muttered.

“Duly noted,” Arthur said. “And with that, we’re off! We’ll return later this afternoon. Come, children. I expect J-Bone isn’t a man who appreciates being kept waiting.”

“I doubt he even knows what time it is,” Phee whispered to Sal. “Think we can get the machete this time?”

“He said he’s the best at Crazy Eights,” Sal whispered back. “So, yeah, we’re gonna get that machete. Right, bud?”

Theodore spread his wings and agreed the machete was all but theirs.

They walked down the main thoroughfare of the village toward the record shop, David and Lucy leading the way. As they came to a stop at an intersection, a small crowd of vacationers amassed around them, all heading in the same direction. No one whispered about the children, nor did anyone look down upon them with anything but amusement, even as reporters—still keeping a somewhat respectful distance—continued to shout questions, their cameras clicking and flashing. A boxy van filled with frozen treats pulled through the light, tinny music streaming from the speaker attached above the windshield.

“Phee!” one of the reporters shouted as cars moved through the intersection. “Who are you wearing!”

Phee rolled her eyes and said, “What a weird question to ask a kid. I’m wearing clothes from my bedroom. Obviously.”

“It’s hard being famous,” Talia said with a sniff. “Why can’t they realize that celebrities are people too? I have dreams and feelings just like everyone else.”

“This must be how Jesus felt before they put him on the cross,” Lucy said. “Surrounded by paparazzi and sex workers.”

“I beg your pardon,” Linus said with a frown.

Lucy tilted his head back to look up at Linus. “I didn’t make that up! It’s in the Bible. Like, for a book about God and trying not to sin, there is a lot of stuff in there that makes me look like an angel. For example! Lot’s daughter wanted to have a kid of her own, so she got her father drunk and—”

Linus covered Lucy’s mouth with his hand as the strangers around them snorted in laughter. “I think that’s quite enough. I can’t believe I’m going to say this, but we might need to consider removing all Bibles from the island. Too many things in its pages children should not have access to.”

Lucy’s eyes filled with red as he pulled his head away. “We could have a good old-fashioned book burning.”

“Something to consider,” Linus agreed. “But we’ll talk about it at home. For now, let’s focus on— Ah, the light has changed. Onward!”

David stepped off the sidewalk first, glancing back over his shoulder to say something to Lucy. He didn’t get far before Lucy’s arm shot out, keeping David back.

David almost fell, tripping over the curb as the other vacationers moved on around them. “Why did you do that?”

Lucy ignored him. He took a step down the sidewalk, head cocked. Arthur tried to see what he was looking at, but all he saw was the road leading out of town toward the train station. Dunes of white sand rose like shifting hills, marram grass swaying in the salty breeze. It looked the same as it always did, as far as Arthur could tell.

And then, in the distance, a flash of light, as if the sun had reflected off something metal or glass. A black smudge appeared on the horizon, followed by another, and then another, and then another . At least a dozen in all, kicking up a cloud of dirt and dust, giving the appearance of an approaching storm.

“Arthur?” he heard Linus ask from somewhere behind him. “What is it?”

“They’re coming,” Lucy whispered.

That broke Arthur from his stupor. He scooped up Lucy in his arms, taking a step back. He startled when he bumped into someone, whirling around. Linus stood there, hands on his hips. “What’s happened? You look as if you’ve seen a ghost.”

“DICOMY,” he said as the rumble of approaching engines grew louder. “They’re here.”

Linus didn’t hesitate. He turned toward the others. “Change of plans,” he said quickly. “Back to the van, children! We’ll come to the village another day.”

“What’s going on?” Phee asked, standing on her tiptoes as she tried to see what Lucy and Arthur had. “I thought we were going to the record store.”

“We were,” Linus said, gently but firmly pushing the children back the way they’d come. “However, something has come up that needs our immediate attention. We’ll return to the village another day, you have my—”

And then they were surrounded by a different set of black sedans—ones they hadn’t noticed approaching—with large, sharp tailfins and metallic grilles that looked like gaping mouths filled with fangs. They screeched to a halt on the street in front of them, two from the left and two from the right. The doors flew open, and large, burly men climbed out, dressed in black suits with white dress shirts and black ties. Each wore a pair of sunglasses, the lenses mirrored. On their right biceps, a white armband with the word DICOMY printed around it.

Leaving their car doors open, the men didn’t approach. Instead, they formed a semicircle around Arthur, Linus, and the children, their arms behind their backs as they stood at parade rest. None of them spoke.

“What are they doing?” Chauncey asked, sounding worried. “Are they going to take us?”

“Let them try,” Phee said in a low voice.

“What is the meaning of this?” Linus demanded, stepping in front of the children. “Who are you?”

Silence, only broken by the sound of approaching engines, a persistent buzzing like a hive of furious wasps. In the shops around them, people peered out through the windows. Beyond the men, more people stepped off the sidewalk and stared in their direction, including the gaggle of reporters. They tried to get closer, only to have two of the men break off from the semicircle to stand in front of them, arms folded. The reporters shouted questions, but the men did not answer, nor did they move.

“You there!” Linus snapped, stepping toward the closest man. Arthur could see Linus’s reflection in the man’s sunglasses, his face stretched as if on the surface of a bubble. “Explain yourselves!”

Rather than answering, the man lifted a finger to his ear, waited a beat, then said, “Yes, ma’am. We have them.” He paused. Then, “Understood.” He dropped his hand and stared straight ahead.

“Now, see here,” Linus said sternly. “I don’t know who you think you are, but it’s quite rude to appear out of nowhere and harass citizens going about their day. I suggest you remove yourselves immediately.”

The man said nothing.

“Bloody gits,” Linus muttered, turning around and stomping back to the sidewalk. “Of all the— How dare they— We were going to the record shop! That’s it . We’ve done nothing wrong, and I refuse to allow anyone to suggest otherwise.” When he reached Arthur (still holding on to Lucy), he didn’t face the men surrounding them. Instead, he stood shoulder to shoulder with Arthur, facing the opposite direction. In a low voice he said, “It’s almost time.”

“I know,” Arthur murmured, the sounds of the engines getting louder and louder. “Still, I’m frightened.”

“I am too,” Linus said. “But we are not letting them win. We must have hope because—”

“Hope is the thing with feathers,” Arthur whispered.

Linus surprised him, then, and Arthur loved him more than he could put into words. “‘That perches in the soul and sings the tune without the words, and never stops—at all.’ Emily Dickinson. Yes, Arthur. It never stops.” He puffed out his chest. “You hear that?” he called to the men around them. “It. Never. Stops .”

The children gathered closer as the other vehicles approached, and Arthur could barely keep himself from snatching them all up and taking to the sky in a tornado of fire. David hid behind Sal and Theodore, both of them glaring at the men before them. Talia and Phee stood on either side of Chauncey, each holding one of his tentacles. Lucy lifted his head from Arthur’s shoulder, frowning. “Do you feel that?” he asked Arthur.

“What?” Arthur asked.

Lucy shook his head. “I don’t know. It’s… empty?”

Before Arthur could ask for clarification, the oncoming vehicles reached the intersection and stopped. At least a dozen in all, the sedans were uniform: black with silver door handles and little flags attached to the front on either side of the hood. Only one car was different: fifth in line, it was white with heavily tinted windows. A man wearing the same suit as the others climbed out of the driver’s seat and, without looking at them, went to the rear passenger door. He opened it, and a short, pale leg poked out, the foot wrapped in a sensible heel.

When Jeanine Rowder stood upright, blinking against the bright sunlight, Arthur felt the phoenix lift its head in his chest, eyes narrowed. While still not as strong as it’d been before the explosion above the island, it was champing at the bit to get at her, to blacken her skin until it cracked and broke off. Arthur won out, but barely. Rowder wasn’t dressed as if she were on vacation in a tropical paradise: instead, she wore a mauve pantsuit, her coat unbuttoned, revealing a white blouse underneath. Tilting her head toward the driver, she listened intently as he spoke quietly. When he finished, she didn’t reply, merely nodding her head.

The other passenger door opened, and Harriet Marblemaw climbed out. It appeared she had somehow freed her upper lip from the mustache Lucy had gifted her. In Arthur’s approximation, she’d done herself no favors.

“Booooo!” the children bellowed at the sight of her.

Marblemaw glared at them, her lip twitching into a sneer.

Rowder’s heels clicked and clacked against the pavement as she walked down the street past the vehicles. Her steps were careful; she moved as if she had all the time in the world, and the outcome had already been decided.

When she stepped out into the intersection and saw the reporters behind held back by two of her men, Rowder shook her head and sighed. “The press, Mr. Parnassus? Really? I would have thought you’d want nothing to do with them, especially after the coverage you received from the hearing.”

“Last I checked,” Arthur said evenly, “they’re allowed to gather same as anyone else. Unless, of course, the government has decided to interfere with journalistic freedom.”

More people came into the streets, pouring from the shops and the restaurants, all of them eyeing the government officials warily. Parents held their children close. Friends whispered behind their hands. Vacationers, residents, human and not, all gathering into a rumbling crowd. He recognized some, but not all: Merle, rubbing his dirty hands with an even dirtier rag. Martin Smythe—Helen’s nephew—who had once attempted to exorcise Lucy in a locked room, now glaring at the backs of the officials. Mr. Swanson, Chauncey’s boss and idol (a bellhop of great renown), followed by the hotel’s cleaning staff: the cooks, the concierge, the managers, the desk attendants, the maintenance workers. J-Bone, wearing a tie-dyed shirt with lettering on the front that proclaimed DON’T PANIC! IT’S ORGANIC . Employees of the businesses: the ice cream parlor, the restaurants, the bookstore, the library. The antique shop owner, the mechanics who’d once worked on the van after Talia accidentally grew flowers through the engine (“It’s performance art!”). Magical people: a family of banshees, their hair white as snow; two broonies, short, elf-like creatures with crinkly smiles and wizened eyes; a trio of naiads, water nymphs, towels wrapped around their torsos; a dryad, a slender, tall fellow made of aspen with a crown of yellow leaves that grew from branches not dissimilar to antlers. He carried a metal detector, along with a tote bag that read: BEACH BETTER HAVE MY MONEY .

Rowder eyed them all with barely disguised disdain. “Disperse!” she said loudly. “This is official government business. It does not concern you. Go about your day!”

“We are,” J-Bone called out. “This is the time of day when we all come outside and bask in the glory that is the village of Marsyas.”

“That’s right,” Mr. Swanson said, crossing his arms. An older, tall man with sharp eyes and white hair slicked back immaculately, the master bellhop cut an imposing figure. “Coming outside to enjoy everything our home has to offer. Isn’t that right, lads?”

His coworkers nodded behind him.

Merle spat on the ground. “And it’s our right to peacefully assemble where we see fit. It’s the law.”

Rowder’s eyes narrowed briefly before she smiled a politician’s smile: condescending, knowing, and more than a little smarmy. “If that’s how it’s going to be, fine.” Raising her voice so it carried over the crowd, she said, “My name is Jeanine Rowder. I am the interim head of the Departments in Charge of Magical Youth and Adults. I am here to complete the inspection of the Marsyas Island Orphanage. Please do keep in mind that if anyone decides to hinder me, they’ll be arrested immediately and charged with whatever I can think of, up to and including interfering with a government official, which carries a hefty fine and potential imprisonment.”

Silence, only interrupted by the calls of seabirds.

“Now then,” Rowder said, turning back toward Arthur, Linus, and the children. “Mr. Parnassus. Mr. Baker.” She tilted her head in an approximation of a bow. “I’ll make this as simple as I can.” She held out her hand, snapping her fingers. Marblemaw hurried toward her, pulling out a folder from her coat, handing it over. Rowder snatched it from her without acknowledgment. “In my hand, I hold an order. This order, based upon the report from Inspector Harriet Marblemaw and signed by me, mandates that you, upon receipt of said order, remand the children known as Lucifer, Talia, Chauncey, Phee, Theodore, and Sal into the custody of DICOMY.”

“No, thank you,” Chauncey said.

“If you would like to challenge the validity of the order to the courts,” Rowder continued, “you have thirty days to do so in writing. In the meantime, the children will be moved into foster care until permanent accommodations can be made.”

Arthur said, “No.”

Nonplussed, Rowder replied, “No? Unfortunately, you do not get to say no, Mr. Parnassus. From all I’ve heard from the inspector, the children are not safe in your hands. Not only is the island apparently run without structure or purpose, you continue to ignore the requirements of someone who is employed by DICOMY.”

“I am no longer employed by DICOMY,” Arthur said. “Surely you received my letter of resignation sent after Miss Marblemaw left the island?”

“I didn’t leave, ” Miss Marblemaw snapped. “I was threatened and then forcibly removed!”

“Actually,” Linus said, “you were permanently banished after you declined to follow the rules we have in place at our home. Semantics, to be sure, but as a former employee of DICOMY, I know management can be a stickler for details.”

“Be that as it may,” Rowder said, speaking around them rather than to them, “until we can be sure that Arthur Parnassus and Linus Baker aren’t harming and/or weaponizing children, we’ll do what we must to protect the populace.” She smiled down at the children. “There is nothing to be afraid of. We’ll be going on a train trip to the city! Won’t that be fun?”

“We don’t talk to strangers,” Chauncey said. “Even if they offer us candy, because Dad and Papa said that’s how they’ll get ya.”

The skin under Rowder’s left eye twitched. “But I’m not a stranger. My name is Jeanine Rowder. I work for the government. I’m here to be your friend.”

“See something, say something,” Arthur said coldly.

Rowder cracked—and though she covered it up quickly, Arthur saw the flash of anger, black and severe. She was on edge, and Arthur thought it had nothing to do with him, or Linus.

When she smiled again, Arthur couldn’t stop himself from taking a step back. She looked like a predator on the prowl. “Yes,” she said. “Funny you should mention that. Did you ever hear who came up with that particular bon mot?” Without waiting for an answer, she continued. “An intern. An unpaid one, even. Why am I bringing this up now? Let me tell you.” She looked at each of the children in turn, then Linus, then Arthur. “Have you ever wondered why these children? Why, out of every magical child in the world, you were given these six?”

“Because they needed a home,” Arthur said, exactly what he’d said when asked the very same question in the hearing.

“It was a test,” Rowder said with no small amount of glee. “An experiment, one in which you were all subjects. The purpose of said experiment was to see if the Antichrist was capable of learning from others, and what that would look like. All of this? Your entire lives? Cooked up by a middle manager during a quarterly meeting upon receipt of your written request. Nothing more, nothing less.”

“I knew I was famous!” Lucy crowed.

“We’re never going to hear the end of this,” Talia muttered.

Arthur paused, cocking his head. Then, “Oh. Well. Thank you.”

Rowder stared at him. “Come again?”

“There appears to have been an unintended result from the experiment. I seem to have found myself with a family. Children, please thank Miss Rowder and the government for bringing us together.”

“Thank you, Miss Rowder and the government,” the children all said at the same time, neat as you please.

“More games, Mr. Parnassus?” Rowder asked, red spreading across her cheeks. “I should’ve known you’d—”

“Why do you want me?” Lucy said, and Arthur looked down to find him looking at Rowder.

Rowder flinched, glancing around at the large men standing on either side of her. Once she was certain she wasn’t alone, she smiled at Lucy. “You are very special. There is no one like you in all the world.”

He shrugged. “There’s no other Talia. Or Chauncey. Or David or Sal or Theodore or Phee. Why don’t you care about them?”

“I do,” Rowder said. “But with you, it’s different.”

“Why?”

“Because of what you are.”

“The Antichrist?”

“Yes,” she said as her men shifted uncomfortably, Marblemaw pulling a face, the tip of her tongue sticking out between her teeth.

Lucy nodded slowly, brow furrowed. Though everything in Arthur screamed to stop him, he didn’t move when Lucy took a step toward her. Given the hundreds of people standing in the streets, the near silence was extraordinary, only interrupted by the distant crash of waves.

Rowder did her best to appear unafraid, but even she couldn’t keep it hidden. Her mouth thinned, her hands trembled before she flattened them against her trousers. Her gaze darted side to side as she bumped shoulders with the men she’d brought with her, men who undoubtedly would grab the children if and when she gave the order.

But she didn’t, eyes growing wider and wider as Lucy stared up at her. The silence stretched on for ages.

Then a remarkable thing happened: as Arthur looked on, Lucy bowed his head, sniffling as a single tear tracked down his cheek. When he spoke, it was soft, quiet, barely carrying beyond the semicircle around them.

“I can see things,” he said, voice cracking, and it was then Arthur knew this wasn’t for show. “I don’t mean to. It just… happens, I guess. Good things, like knowing my dad was a phoenix before he told us. I knew the first time I saw him, waiting for me on the island. I knew because I saw something magical. Two suns. One in the sky, and one on the beach.”

His eyes welled, and he brushed the back of his hand over them. “But sometimes, I see other things. Bad things. Like… not the sun. The opposite: darkness. A black hole. Papa taught us about them. You can’t see them with the naked eye, but even the smallest of them can suck in all light.” He looked up at her once more. “That’s what I see in you. Your insides don’t have light. It’s all dark.”

Rowder laughed, but it sounded harsh, forced. She pointed at him, a long red nail at the tip of her finger. “I don’t know what game you think you’re playing, but it—”

“I’m sorry about what happened to your dad.”

Rowder’s finger began to tremble. It worked its way to her hand, her arm, her shoulder. It was as if the very muscles under her skin had turned to tectonic plates, rumbling awake after an ancient slumber. It spread through her, and her face turned white as her bottom lip quivered.

“It shouldn’t have happened,” Lucy told her. “The person who… hurt him didn’t do it because—no. That’s not fair. She had… spiders, in her brain. And she couldn’t make them sleep. It wasn’t him. Your dad. He didn’t do anything wrong. It was an accident. She lost control of her magic and…” He sighed, a long, breathy thing that sounded like the wind. “You get to be mad. And sad. And anything else because that’s what it means to be human. To have—”

Arthur couldn’t move in time. For all that he was, he was bound to the seconds and minutes and hours just the same as anyone else. Rowder’s hand flew up, viper quick, fingers extended and pressed together. She swung, meaning to slap Lucy across the face.

Only Lucy disappeared into thin air, the momentum spinning her around, causing her to strike the man next to her in the stomach. Lucy reappeared next to Arthur. “Holy crap, ” he breathed. “I can teleport ?” His arms went up and over his head as he jumped up and down. “Yes. Yes! This is the best day ever! I can’t wait for puberty. I bet I’ll be able to create universes and a delicious happy birt breakfast without making a mess of either!”

Arthur felt the fire in him explode. The phoenix spread its wings in his chest and screamed to be let out, to end this once and for all. With all his strength, he kept the bird at bay, not wanting to give Rowder the satisfaction.

“Easy, old boy,” Linus murmured, touching the back of his hand. “We’re in the end game now.”

“Make no mistake, Rowder,” Arthur said, his molten fury bubbling just underneath his skin, “that near miss still counts. That is twice an employee of the Department in Charge of Magical Youth has abused one of my children in the last week, and I am done with you and your ilk. All of you.”

“So David is a child!” Marblemaw shrieked. “I knew it! They lied! He’s not a forty-seven-year-old whose growth was stunted after being trapped between rocks for seven years!”

A beat of silence, and then everyone in the crowd burst into laughter. “What are you, brand new?” J-Bone called. “Who would ever believe something like that?”

“Right?” Sal said. “What are you even talking about, Miss Marblemaw? David’s just a kid.”

“Yeah,” Phee said. “We told you that a thousand times.”

“Remember when I inked on you?” Chauncey called. “That was on purpose! Ha, ha. Okay, no, it wasn’t, but I didn’t know what else to say, so… uh. Ella Fitzgerald, scaddidily doo dippity bip.”

“Whoa,” Lucy whispered with stars in his eyes. “That was so righteous. Look at you, scat man!”

“Enough!” Rowder thundered, a vein throbbing in her forehead.

“Yes,” Arthur said. “I quite agree. Enough. Here it is, Rowder, at last. An offer that you should not refuse.”

“I will have the children,” she snapped. “You have nothing else to give.”

He nodded. “See, that’s where you’re wrong. The children will not be leaving my side, or the side of my husband-to-be. We are a family, you see. The Baker-Parnassuses.”

“Bit of a mouthful,” Merle said with a sniff. “Still, family discount and all that.”

“My offer is this: here, now, we can make a difference. All of us, together. It won’t be easy, but you have my word that I will do everything in my not so inconsiderable power to ensure we come together in the spirit of unity and the desire for change. To break that which is already broken counts for naught. It must be rebuilt from the ground up by all of us.” He looked at the people around them, the residents, the visitors, both magical and not. And to the reporters, all of whom watched breathlessly, cameras trained in their direction. “As you can see, the world is watching. What will you do, I wonder?”

“You planned this,” Rowder whispered. “All of it.”

“Did I?” he asked. “Here I was, thinking I was enjoying a day out with my family. Even if I had planned this very moment, it should come as no surprise to you. After all, I did warn you that a war against me was one you’re not prepared for. Will you except my offer?”

“Never,” Rowder spat. “You played your part, Parnassus, and you played it well. But this fanciful future that you dream of is just that: a dream. We live in the real world, where people—”

“Huh,” Arthur said, glancing at Linus. “Gave it my all.”

“So you did,” Linus said with a huff. “Quite impressive, if you ask me.”

“You flatter me, my dear. Though, I must admit I really thought I had her with the bit about breaking that which is already broken.”

“Delivered with a finesse even the greatest orators in history wouldn’t have found fault with. I myself was moved to—”

“Get them,” Rowder snarled, and the men started forward.…

… only to be met with the might of the crowd around them, people moving closer, eyes narrowed, arms folded across their chests. Mr. Swanson and J-Bone moved to either side of Arthur, Linus, and their family. Merle brought up the rear, backed by dozens of people, including Martin Smythe. His aunt, one Helen Webb, appeared at Arthur’s side as if by magic. “Say the word,” she whispered in his ear. “She’s ready.”

Arthur nodded as Mr. Swanson said, “You want them, you’ll have to go through us.”

“Damn right,” J-Bone said, people in the crowd nodding along. “You don’t get to come in here and break up a family.”

“You will all be arrested!” Rowder shouted. “If you do not stand aside now, I will make it my mission to ensure this village and its inhabitants will never again know a moment’s peace, especially when you’re harboring monsters—”

“If,” Arthur said, “you won’t take a proffered hand in good faith, then perhaps you’ll bow before royalty.”

Rowder gaped at him, and then began to laugh. Before long, her men started to chuckle, and even Marblemaw looked amused. “Royalty?” Rowder said, her mirth evident. “ You? I know you’re a phoenix, Mr. Parnassus, but it would seem being the last of your kind has given you delusions of grandeur.”

“Nah, you got it all wrong,” Sal said, stepping forward to stand next to Arthur. He leaned his elbow on his father’s shoulder, resting comfortably as he crossed one shoe over the other, toe pointed against the ground. But he never looked away from Rowder. “Dad wasn’t talking about himself. See, that part’s over. You had your chance.” Sal grinned, wild and beautiful, and in it, Arthur saw the man he would become. “Now it’s her turn.”

She descended from above in a cascade of shimmering sparks, her wings buzzing ferociously. As her bare feet hit the ground, the pavement cracked, verdant grass shooting up. A tiny daisy sprouted between the toes of her left foot, little white petals resting against brown skin.

Zoe Chapelwhite was a vision: her dress appeared to be a living oil painting, the swirling blue and green and yellow crossing along the fabric, streaking like shooting stars. Her arms and legs—hands and feet still exposed—were covered in thin metal that looked as if it had been fashioned specifically for her. The metal itself was barely visible as dozens of multicolored seashells were stuck to it, each about the size of a button. It took Arthur a moment to see it for what it was: a suit of armor.

And atop her head, white Afro styled around it, a crown. Silver, with dangling chains that hung onto the sides of her head. The top of the crown was dramatic: ten pearl spikes rose across the front, five on either side of a large pink-and-white conch shell that rested in the center of the crown. In the opening of the conch shell lay a glittering cerulean-blue gemstone the size of Lucy’s fist.

“Holy freaking crap, ” Phee breathed. “Look at her.”

Oh, did he. Arthur remembered the woman in the forest when he was a child, the island sprite who had hidden herself away. The woman who had come for him when he’d returned, unsure, her guilt weighing heavily upon her shoulders. The woman who had picked up a piece of sandpaper and gotten to work building a home out of the remains. The woman who had been with him every step of the way, seeing his plan come to life before his very eyes. His friend—no, his best friend, his sister, this extraordinary queen who had welcomed the children to her island with open arms. She’d laughed with them. She’d cried with them. She’d lifted them up, carried them when they could no longer walk, helped them feel alive for the first time since they could remember.

And now, here she was, standing tall and proud between her people and those who had deemed themselves superior. She took a step toward Rowder, leaving behind a perfect imprint of grass in the shape of her foot on the street. When she spoke, her voice was clear, crisp. “You are not welcome here.”

Rowder recovered first. Looking side to side to confirm her men hadn’t fled, she nodded and cleared her throat. “And who might you be?”

“Zoe Chapelwhite,” Marblemaw called, still standing away from them as if she knew something the others didn’t. “The unregistered island sprite.”

Rowder snorted. “Of course she is.” Then, “Miss Chapelwhite, as required by law put forth by the Department in Charge of Magical Adults, you are hereby ordered to register with—”

“No,” Zoe said.

“Ah!” Rowder said, clapping her hands. “I see where the mistake came from. You thought that was a request. Rest assured, it was not. Stand aside before you do something you’ll regret.”

“I have many regrets,” Zoe said, the colors on her dress swirling brighter and faster, the shells on her armor beginning to spin with a low whir. “But one rises above all the others.” She turned in a slow circle, looking at everyone standing around her. At least two hundred, with more coming every minute. “We were happy,” she said. “Here. All of us. My friends. My family. I was happy. For thousands of years. And then we were told we were dangerous.”

Silence, even from the reporters, all watching with bated breath.

“Lies!” Rowder cried. “Slander! If this were true, there would be documented evidence of—”

Zoe shook her head. “No. You can’t deny me my history. I lived it.”

“I don’t know what game you’re playing, but it won’t work!” Rowder said shrilly. “If what you say happened, then how are you here, standing before us? How is it that you out of all the sprites managed to escape unscathed?”

“Unscathed,” Zoe repeated. “ Unscathed? I hid myself under the body of my grandmother. I held my breath when your government stood above us, checking for any signs of life. I tasted her blood on my lips. When they were distracted, I fled to the farthest reaches of the forest and closed it off behind me. It was then I made a promise to myself: I would never again concern myself with the horror that is humanity.”

“Do you hear that?” Rowder said, raising her voice to the crowd. “ That’s what they think of you. Even though none of us would’ve been alive when this occurred, we’re still supposed to pay the price of those who came before us? Balderdash! Were mistakes made? Yes, of course. But that doesn’t mean we’re not in the right now .”

“It’s like they can’t hear themselves talk,” Linus murmured.

“But life found me again,” Zoe said. “And though it could be argued I was dragged kicking and screaming into it, my time of hiding away was over. It was then I made a new promise to myself: that no matter what happened, I would do everything I could to ensure the magical people who found my shores were safe. I would do for them what was not done for me: I would give them a chance to live.”

“This is all well and good,” Rowder said, “but it changes nothing.”

“It does,” Zoe said. “More than you realize. My grandmother? She was the sprite queen. And since I’m the last one left, that title now falls to me. I am Queen Zoe Chapelwhite.” Without looking away from Rowder, she added, “And you are standing upon my land without my permission.”

Rowder’s eyes bulged. “Your land? Your land ? Oh, that crown seems to be a little tight on your head. It’s making you believe things that certainly aren’t true. Here, let me clear this up for you. This is the village of Marsyas. You are from the island of Marsyas. There is a considerable difference.”

“That’s where you’re wrong,” Zoe said. “Have you ever wondered why the village and the island are called by the same name?”

“I don’t see what that has to do with anything. You’re stalling.”

“They are called the same name,” Zoe said, “because once, Marsyas was not an island. Once, it was a peninsula, a single stretch of land that the sprites called home. In a last-ditch effort to keep the humans from advancing, my grandmother—one of the most powerful sprites the world had ever seen—flooded the peninsula, creating the island. They are one and the same.”

“And yet you call yourself an island sprite,” Rowder said.

Zoe cocked her head, the chains of her crown dangling next to her ear. “I lied. I am the Sprite of Oceans, the Queen of Marsyas, and I have grown tired of your presence in our home.”

“Bollocks!” Marblemaw bawled. “If I’m banished from the island, that would mean I’m banished from—”

“The village, yes,” Zoe said. “And you will be.” She smiled. “I just need to wake it up.” Suddenly, she dropped to her knees, her hands flat against the pavement. She breathed in, she breathed out, a ripple of rainbow crossing her wings.

And then Arthur felt a tsunami of magic crash into him, greater than anything he’d ever felt before. It knocked the breath from his chest as every hair on his arms stood on end. The ground rumbled beneath their feet, people gasping as pavement started to crack apart underneath the queen’s hands. But it wasn’t destruction Zoe was after: instead of the street breaking completely, a design formed on the road, the rushing lines connecting and creating a large shape that was at least six feet long and three feet wide.

A nautilus seashell, carved into the pavement, curved lines creating the many chambers that made up the interior. As Zoe stood, the cracks filled with blinding white, and balls of blue light began to rise up around her. Her wings buzzed as she rose into the air, the nautilus growing brighter. “I am done hiding,” Zoe said, her voice deep, echoing. “I’m done letting others decide who we are allowed to be. You have been warned again and again, but you do not listen. This land is not yours. It belongs to a free people, stewards and caretakers who will ensure that the might of Marsyas will never again falter.”

“You don’t have the right, ” Rowder snapped.

“I do,” Zoe said. “As queen, I do. But perhaps this will help change your mind.” She clapped her hands together, palms pressed together. She exhaled and spread her hands.

A space where there had been nothing now held a wrapped scroll, tied off with a string of shells. Zoe snatched it out of the air and flung it toward Rowder. As the scroll flew toward her, the shells disintegrated, the parchment unfurling. It stopped and hovered two feet in front of Rowder’s face. She squinted at it. The blood drained from her face. “Is… is… that…”

Zoe chuckled. “A decree from one of your former kings relinquishing all rights to the lands of Marsyas to the sprites, signed in the year 1332? Yes, yes, it is. Not that we needed his legitimacy, but apparently you do. As such, when humans came and destroyed my people centuries later, they went against their own king’s ruling. And I will not stand for it any longer.” She turned to look at the crowd gathered below her. “The government has come here to take one of our own. Though they claim to be after all the children, there is one in particular they are desperate to get their hands on. This woman wants to use a child to control everyone and everything, and she has threatened the safety of the other children to see her plan through.”

Silent, still, as if everyone held their breath, the only sound coming from the distant crashing of waves.

“She has come for Lucy,” Zoe thundered. “A seven-year-old child . And if she thinks she’ll lay a single hand on him, then she is mistaken.”

Below her, the shell carved into the street pulsed three times in quick succession.

“Ah, good,” Zoe said. “The magic has awoken. Let’s see about that banishment, shall we?” Almost quicker than Arthur could follow, she plucked shells from her arms and legs, her hands a blur of movement. It took only the space between heartbeats for a large pile to appear on her extended palm. As her wings wrapped around her, Zoe sucked in a great breath, spinning in a furious circle, blowing on the shells.

They shot out with perfect precision. The men in suits stumbled back as shells passed through their heads and came out the other side before disappearing in a puff of powder. Marblemaw stood frozen, a stunned expression on her face.

A single shell—tiny, cream and white in color—floated in front of Rowder’s forehead. She took a step back, raising her hands in front of her face. “Don’t. Don’t you dare .”

“I dare,” Zoe said, eyes narrowed. “I dare for every child you have hurt. I dare for every adult who was forced to hide their true self because of ‘see something, say something.’ I dare for all of them. I do this for them, for Helen and Arthur and Linus, for every single person here and around the world who has had enough . Jeanine Rowder, you have proven to be an enemy of magical people—my family . It is within my rights as Queen of Marsyas to order your head removed from your body.”

“Hurray! Then we can find out if she has rabies!” Lucy cried.

“Alas, that would make me no better than you,” Zoe said. With that, she flicked her hand dismissively. The shell hurtled through Rowder’s head without leaving a mark, shooting out the back and rising in the air above her where it shattered, particles raining down on Rowder.

“Lucy?” Zoe called without looking away from Rowder, who was slapping her forehead repeatedly. “Come here, please.”

“The queen has summoned me,” Lucy whispered. “Hell yes !” Without hesitation, he skipped toward Zoe and Rowder. “At your service, your majesty! What would you ask of me? Are you going to knight me? Or will you give me a country estate where I can let the government people run free in a five-minute head start before I hunt them all down? Either way is good with me!”

Marblemaw looked around wildly as if searching for an opening to flee.

Zoe’s lips quirked. “A knight? I do suppose Marsyas will need protection. Yes, that will do just fine. Lucifer Baker-Parnassus, I hereby name you as a knight of Marsyas. If you are ready, I have your first order.”

Lucy snapped to attention. “Yes, my queen!”

Zoe nodded, tapping her chin. “Since you are now capable of teleporting, I wonder if that extends to teleporting others. Say, a group of people who have come uninvited and have overstayed their welcome.”

“I can do that!” Lucy said, obviously excited. “Where do you want them to go? The moon? Inside an active volcano? Wait! I got it!” His eyes took on an ominous glow, burning coals in endless pits. When he grinned, he seemed to have far more teeth than any other seven-year-old. “I can send them to meet my real dad. I’m sure he’d welcome them with open arms.” He giggled as two locks of his hair flipped up, almost like horns. “And when they see his true face, everything that makes them who they are will be gone .”

“Or,” Zoe said, “we can teleport them directly to where Prime Minister Herman Carmine currently is. Let them explain how they have failed, and that the might of Marsyas will rise once again.”

“Aw, man,” Lucy said, scuffing his shoe against the pavement. “I never get to send anyone to Hell. It’s so unfair.” He sighed heavily. “Fine. I guess we can do it your way. You’re the queen, after all.”

“We will return,” Rowder snarled, “and in greater numbers. You think this will stop us? You have made a powerful enemy this day, and I will spend every second of the time I have left on this earth making your lives miserable. Remember, your majesty, that you were given a chance. From here on, any blood spilled will be on your hands.”

Zoe nodded toward the reporters, hanging on every word. “I can’t wait to see tomorrow’s headlines. Lucy.”

“No!” Rowder cried. “Don’t! You can’t—”

Lucy raised his little hands toward her. “As the great Cab Calloway once said: skeetle-at-de-op-de-day!”

Tiny explosions, little pops! that sounded like stomping on bubble wrap. One of the suited men disappeared in a cloud of blue smoke. And then another. And then another. Some tried to run, but they did not make it far. Marblemaw let out an anguished wail before she, too, popped and vanished.

Rowder, now alone, her hair hanging in wisps around her face, panted, mouth hanging open. “This means war, ” she snarled.

Arthur Parnassus stepped forward, moving until he stood next to his son and his queen, who landed on the ground next to him, taking his hand. Lucy did the same on his other side, and Arthur felt as strong as he ever had. Fire and feather, the phoenix lifted its head in Arthur’s chest, clacking its beak. “Bring your war,” he told her. “Whatever else has happened here, take your banishment knowing this: we will no longer hide. We will not stop. We will remake this world into one it should have been: welcome to all. And since you’re not with us, you’re against us. Lucy.”

Rowder opened her mouth once more, but before she could speak, her forehead began to bulge, then she, too, exploded in a cloud of shimmering dust.

When the cheers started, Arthur wasn’t quite sure what was happening. Later, he’d think that Mr. Swanson was the culprit, followed swiftly by the other employees from the hotel. Regardless, it—infectious, unbridled joy—spread quickly, becoming a roar unlike anything Arthur had heard before. He turned in a slow circle, skin buzzing, heart in his throat as the people of the village—human and magical alike—hugged one another, shook hands, jumped up in the air, their fists pumping. Martin Smythe high-fived J-Bone, both of them talking excitedly. And even better—though perhaps a little stranger—Merle, dancing a jig in the street, his ornery smile bright.

Arthur startled when someone took his hand. He looked over. Linus, watching him with a quiet smile. “It’s starting,” he whispered in awe.

“I am so, so proud of you,” Linus said. “You and Zoe and Lucy. The other children. All of you. This, Arthur. This is what you’ve been working towards. This is what you’ve been building. Can’t you see? You have changed minds .”

Linus was right. They had. Perhaps it was on a small scale, and its reverberations might not be felt outside the borders of Marsyas, but, as he’d taught their children, even the smallest things can change the world, if only one is brave enough to try. It wasn’t unlike the seeds they’d planted at Linus’s former, dreary home. Darkness and shadows, never-ending rain, and yet, color persisted, bursting through and rising, rising toward a blackened sky.

But the queen wasn’t yet finished. As Arthur looked on, she walked through the crowd, the people parting in hushed reverence, some bowing. A child—from the cyclops family—performed a neat curtsy, causing Zoe to laugh in delight and squeeze her shoulder as she passed.

It did not take her long to reach her destination. Standing in front of the reporters, their cameras flashing, microphones extended toward her, Zoe raised her hands to quiet their shouted questions. They fell silent. Everyone did.

Except for Zoe. “Thank you for coming to our home. It’s not normally this exciting, but we do have many things to offer. Which is why I will say this, and you can quote my every word: as Emma Lazarus wrote, ‘Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free, the wretched refuse of your teeming shore. Send these, the homeless, the tempest-tossed to me, I lift my lamp beside the golden door!’” Her wings spread as cameras clicked and shuttered. “To the world outside our home, know this: Marsyas will be for all magical people who seek shelter, who need a place to rest their heads. We will welcome you with open arms, and help you as best we can, be your stay short or permanent. But,” she added, “should anyone attempt to come to our home with despicable intentions, well.” Her expression hardened. “I’ll remind you I’m a queen, and I’ll do what’s necessary to protect my kingdom.” She blinked. “Oh, that sounded ominous, didn’t it? Good thing I have my lady, Helen Webb, who has agreed to continue her role as mayor.”

“They’re a power couple,” Phee breathed with stars in her eyes.

“What about the land?” a reporter called. “How can you possibly tell the magical community that they can come here when there isn’t enough room?”

“I’m glad you brought that up,” Zoe said. “If you would be so kind as to follow me, I’d be happy to show you what I have in mind.” With that, she spun on her heel and walked back toward Arthur, Linus, and the children. Halfway, Helen fell in step beside her, taking her hand and kissing the back with a loud smack. “How’d that feel?” she asked as they approached.

Zoe shook her head. “Strange. Unreal.” She paused. “Right.”

“Crown wasn’t a bad touch.”

“Not too much?”

Helen laughed. “Ask me that again later when we’re alone. Bring the crown.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

When the women reached their family, Zoe went to the children first. They gathered around her, all speaking at once, aside from Sal, who stood at the rear, head cocked. Zoe looked at him and said, “This was because of you.”

Sal’s forehead bunched up. “What do you mean?”

“You,” Zoe said gently, “and the strength of your convictions.” She looked at each of the other children in turn. “The way you stood up for David, refusing to let us conceal him. The way you have each other’s backs, even when the odds are stacked against you. I may be a queen, but it is you who have the true power. Never forget that.”

Queen Zoe Chapelwhite bowed before them, the chains from her crown dangling around her face.

It wasn’t Arthur who bowed next; no, it was Linus, one hand across his chest, the other behind his back. Then J-Bone. Merle. Helen. Mr. Swanson, the employees from the hotel, the girl who sold kites, the man who owned the antique shop. The new ice cream parlor owner, the librarians, the guys, gals, and nonbinary pals from the bookstore and coffee shop.

It was all of them. Every single being—be they human or something else entirely—bowed for the children.

The wide-eyed, astonished look on each child’s face as the village of Marsyas honored them. This was hope; the children, love letters to a future that had yet to be decided. Yes, Arthur thought as Sal grinned shyly, hope was the thing with feathers, but it was also in the hearts and minds of those who believed all was not lost, no matter the odds.

Which was why when Zoe said, “I’ll need you, I’ll need all of you,” Arthur wasn’t surprised. They had come this far together. It made sense that they would all see this through to the end.

“What are we going to do?” Phee asked as Zoe took her hand.

“Something I should have done a long time ago,” Zoe said. “We’re going to change our world.”

If a visitor had come to Marsyas at that very moment—say, arriving for a pre-planned vacation, the relief palpable as they stepped off the train for the first time, breathing in that warm, salty air—they would have witnessed a most curious sight: hundreds of people following a woman wearing an armor of shells, a crown atop her head. On either side of her, children, all of whom were asking question after question. Two men followed close behind, both a little frazzled. Mixed in the crowd, reporters, shouting, asking if they’d thought this through, what are you going to do when they come back, are you saying you’re at war with the government?

They were ignored, at least for now. They had seen enough; what they did with what they knew was out of Arthur’s hands. Either they’d report the truth, or it’d be spun as it always was. The time for caring about such things was drawing to a close.

Arthur wasn’t surprised when Zoe led them to the docks, located in the half-moon bay of the village. Off to their left and right, boats of varying shapes and sizes: small watercrafts, paddleboats for rent, speedboats, and a couple of yachts. At the end of the longest dock, Merle’s ferry, waves lapping at its base.

As she stepped onto the ferry dock, Zoe glanced over her shoulder. “Arthur, Linus, please come with us. Merle, you too. The rest of you, stay on the shore. It’ll be safer that way.”

No one argued with the queen. They gathered at the edge of the dock, people lifting their children onto their shoulders, still others standing on their tiptoes, trying to see what was about to happen.

The wood of the dock creaked under their feet as they walked toward the ferry.

Arthur and Linus, dazed and more than a little tired, held their heads high, moving with barely disguised excitement. When Zoe had come to him to tell him what she had planned, Arthur had tried to grasp it as best he could. “Seeing is believing,” she’d said with a spark in her eyes.

When they reached the end of the dock, Zoe crouched above the water. She reached down, cupping saltwater in her hands, letting it drip between her fingers. Without looking at them, she said, “My grandmother understood the ocean. It talked to her in different ways. Almost like Chauncey and Frank. But it wasn’t just the ocean. It was all life that called this land home.” She turned her right hand, and a single bead of ocean hung from the tip of her pointer finger. It stretched and stretched until it fell, plinking back into the sea, little circles spreading. She closed her hand into a fist. “I am her granddaughter. And I will be the queen she thought I could be.” Zoe stood slowly. In the distance, the island. She stared at it for a long moment before turning to face them. “Chauncey, I need your help. Tell the fish, the urchins, the sharks, everything that will hear you. Let them know a seismic shift is coming. The reefs will move, but they will not be harmed. They have my word.”

“You can count on me!” Chauncey said, oozing forward to the end of the dock. Bending over the edge, he sucked in a deep breath. Then: “ FRAAAAAAAANNNNNNNNK! YOU THERE, BUD? FRAAAAAAAAAAAAAANNNNNK! WE NEED YOU! ”

“While Chauncey is seeing to—”

“ FRAAAAAAAAAANNNNNNNNNK! ”

“—the aquatic life, Merle, a word.”

Merle wiped his hands on the front of his coveralls, cleared his throat, and then stepped forward, snapping to attention. “Yes, your majesty.”

Zoe snorted. “None of that. I will be Zoe to you, and I won’t hear otherwise.”

Merle’s eyes bulged. “Uh. I can do that.”

“Good,” she said before nodding at the ferry. “How would you feel about being hired on in a more permanent role?”

Merle frowned. “I thought the whole point of this mess was you were going to make it so the island wasn’t… you know. An island.”

“I am, yes. And if I have my way, we will become rather busy in the immediate future. As such, I would like to offer you the position as the official ferryman of Marsyas. Be it by ferry or some other means, you would be the one to bring anyone who seeks shelter to us.”

Merle chewed over this for a moment. Then he spat over the side of the dock. “Little ones?”

“I expect so,” Zoe said. “And some big ones too. And silly me, I forgot to mention: you will be paid, and paid handsomely.”

“Well, why didn’t you say so?” Merle grinned. “Sounds like a good deal to me.”

“ There you are, Frank,” Chauncey said. And sure enough, Frank leapt from the water, the sunlight catching his scales. “Thanks for coming so quickly. I have a mission for you. The queen has returned, and she’s gonna do some crazy magic. Tell your school to let everyone in the sea between here and the island know. She’s gonna make things how they used to be.”

“ We are,” Zoe said as Frank leapt from the water once more before disappearing into the depths. “Because I can’t do this alone.”

“What do you mean?” Talia asked as Chauncey joined them once more, chest puffed out in pride.

“Magic,” Zoe said, “comes from within. It’s not just about our gifts.” She glanced at David and Phee. “It’s about intent . What we want from it, what we plan to do with it in the future. My grandmother always said that the earth, the sea, all of it listens to everything we do. It knows those who mean it harm, those who would use it to cause pain and suffering. If we do this, we will be its protectors.” She smiled at the children. “You will be its queens and kings, and those who come from somewhere beyond the sea will look to you for guidance, for hope. It is a heavy burden to bear, but one I know you are strong enough to carry, especially since you won’t be doing it alone.”

“I get to be a knight and a queen?” Lucy exclaimed. “It’s not even my birt!”

“How do we do it?” Sal asked.

“You’re sure?” Zoe asked. “Because I need you to be—”

“You heard our son,” Linus said. “We’re ready. Isn’t that right?”

“Ready!” the children said as one.

“Arthur?” Zoe asked.

Mom, he thought. If only you could see me now. I’m not alone.

Arthur Parnassus said, “My queen?”

Zoe sniffled, wiping her eyes. “I told you not to call me that.”

“You did,” he agreed. “Fortunately, I decided not to listen.”

Near sunset on a warm summer evening, the sea calm and aflame in streaks of orange and red. At the end of the dock, a large crowd of people, all standing silently, watching, waiting.

On the dock itself, a family standing in the shape of a V, not unlike a flock of birds. At the point of the V, a queen, tall and proud, her dress billowing around her ankles, her wings shimmering. She held hands with Lucy, who held hands with Talia, who held hands with David, who held hands with Linus. On Zoe’s other side: Phee, then Chauncey, Sal and Theodore, and Arthur, Sal’s hand in his, Theodore’s tail resting on his shoulder.

Looking out at the island and the sea, Zoe said, “It’ll be strong. The pull. Don’t fight it. Think of it like standing in the sand and surf. As the waves crash over your feet, you can feel the strength of it, tugging at you even as you sink into it. It’s the same, really. Let it wash over you, let it greet you, let it know you for who you truly are, and it will see that our intentions are pure. I’ll handle the rest. Whatever you do, don’t let go of each other .”

The moment the sun touched the horizon, it began. Zoe’s eyes filled with a bright white glow, and her wings started to buzz. An ocean wind blew around them—the sting of salt negligible—ruffling the clothes of those who were not avowed nudists. Linus gasped as Zoe lifted from the dock, wind swirling beneath her feet. As she rose higher and higher, Arthur felt it, the pull she’d told them about. It started in his chest, the phoenix lifting its head and calling, calling, its cry so loud, Arthur thought it could be heard miles away. It moved from his chest to his arms, his shoulders, his head, insistent, poking, questioning.

He let it in.

Lucy laughed loudly when he rose from the dock, feet kicking into nothing. Phee did not flap her wings as she, too, was lifted. Then Talia and Chauncey. David and Sal and Theodore, all the children floating three feet above the dock.

Arthur looked over at Linus, who appeared a little green. “I’m not quite sure I’m up to floating,” he said. “Some of us like our feet firmly planted on the— Oh dear !” He shot up three feet, hair moving slowly around his head as if he were underwater. He started to turn horizontal, and Theodore’s tail shot out, wrapping carefully around his neck, pulling him upright once more. “There,” Linus said in a quivering voice. “Nothing to it. I’ll just… float here. Perfectly normal.”

Arthur tilted his head back and laughed and laughed as his feet lifted. Unbidden, fire bloomed along his arms. It did not burn as its tendrils spread along Sal and Theodore to Chauncey, where it wrapped around his waist (chest?) like a hula-hoop. Chauncey screamed in delight and wiggled his entire body, the fire dancing around him before it moved on to Zoe. Flames snapped and crackled across her body, the red-orange mixing in with the shifting colors of her dress. It moved on to Lucy and Talia and David, all of whom cackled at the tickling warmth.

And last, it came to Linus. The fire rose above him, taking the outline of a bird. Flames crackling, the phoenix lowered its head to Linus, its beak pressed against his nose.

Linus breathed in and Linus breathed out, and in it, Arthur felt him: scared, worried, but even more, a seemingly endless reservoir of hope and bravery. In it, for a brief moment, Arthur saw what Linus did when he gazed upon the phoenix: love, curiosity, and a staggering amount of pride.

He was the phoenix, and the phoenix was him. It lifted its head once more, and as it took shape—fire giving way to feather—it spread its wings above them, its cry echoing across the sea.

Distantly, he heard Zoe shout, “ Now! ”

He was the phoenix, he was Arthur, blinking, blinking as a white light came from Zoe’s chest, forming a small ball in front of her, perhaps two inches in diameter. From Lucy, a devilish red light. From Phee, yellow, like the leaves of a quaking aspen. From Talia, a rough pink, the same shade as her prized begonias. David’s was near white, like snow, like ice; Chauncey’s as blue as the ocean. Sal and Theodore’s wyvern-fire green carrying on it corporeal words in spiky, familiar handwriting that said words like brITTLE and THIN and SEE ME and I AM FOUND .

And the light that came from Linus was white and red and yellow and pink and blue and green and reddish-orange. He was theirs, they were his, and Arthur thought of the little yellow flower on the steps of the house when he’d first come back, the yellow of Linus’s sunflowers, his only piece of color in a monochrome world.

Finally, from Arthur, the orange-red of fire and feather.

The lights from each of them coalesced into a glittering sphere in front of Zoe, the colors mingling, dancing. The sphere broke apart and reformed into the same nautilus shell design that the queen had carved into the street. As it shimmered in front of her, lines of color flashing, Zoe leaned forward and kissed its center.

The shell and the phoenix shot across the ocean toward the island. They reached the halfway point, the phoenix’s wings wide as it caught an updraft, rising high into the sky. Below it, the nautilus shell hung suspended, turning until it was parallel with the ocean. The phoenix reached its apex high above the sea, then it fell backward, tucking its wings into its sides as it plummeted toward the shell.

“Hold on!” Zoe cried as the dock started to shake, waves growing larger, water spraying onto their legs, their arms, their faces.

The phoenix struck the shell as Arthur gritted his teeth, the pull enormous, stronger than anything he’d felt before. Time slowed down as the shell shattered, the pieces covering the phoenix across its beak and face and chest and wings.

The bird hit the water, and then Arthur divided in two, split cleanly down the middle. This was the farthest he’d ever been from the phoenix, a division he hadn’t even been sure was possible. Every muscle in his body tensed. He was floating above the dock, and he was diving to the darkened depths below, water sizzling around him. Discordant, dizzying, the phoenix pushed itself farther and farther. Ahead, the seabed, wavy lines of seagrass swaying back and forth.

The moment the phoenix’s beak touched the bottom of the sea, great cracks appeared in the ocean floor, filling with the same white light as Zoe’s eyes. Before it was lost to thousands upon thousands of fizzy bubbles, Arthur swore he saw what appeared to be a massive stone statue bursting through the seabed.

On the dock, Arthur opened his salt-stung eyes.

Land rose from the sea with an earth-shattering rumble. The half-moon bay around them filled with rock and sand and grass and trees and thousands upon thousands of flowers. Boats shifted and groaned as the ocean lifted them up and up—including the ferry—long waterways forming underneath that led into open waters. The boats settled back down, the ferry tipping precariously but managing to stay upright.

In front of them, rocky cliffs formed on either side of a white road inlaid with black shells, creating a cobblestone appearance. Great stone statues—at least twenty feet tall—lined the road, sprites in various poses, holding flowers and saplings and birds and lengthy scrolls.

The road continued forming, stone and bedrock snapping into place. It raced toward the island, and around their home, the ocean swirled angrily, whitecapped waves crashing onto the shores. For a moment, Arthur thought the island rose from the sea, but it was an illusion; the island wasn’t rising.

It was growing.

As they looked on, Marsyas grew and grew, and when all was said and done, when the last of the light faded, as the sun dipped below the horizon and they lowered slowly back down to the docks, the island they knew was no longer.

It its place, something both familiar and wondrous. The shape of it was mostly the same as far as Arthur could tell, but it had grown to at least five times its original size. Trees that had never grown on the island before swayed in the breeze, large, as if they’d been growing for decades. Between them, through their canopy, small dwellings, what looked like houses, places that hadn’t existed when they’d left the island only hours before.

“Home,” Zoe said quietly, a single seagull calling overhead. “How it once was. How it will be from now on.” She glanced at them over her shoulder, her eyes having returned to normal. A tear trickled down her cheek as she smiled.

“It’s for us?” Phee asked in wonder, taking her hand.

“Yes,” Zoe said. “For all of us. A gift from the sea.”

“Frank!” Chauncey cried in delight as his friend flipped out of the water. He rushed toward the edge of the dock, looking off the side near the ferry. “Wasn’t that bananas ? I flew and did magic! Everything all right down there? What’s that? Wow, really?” Chauncey’s eyes turned toward them. “Frank says that as far as he can tell, no sea life was harmed. The starfish aren’t happy, but they’re called the divas of the ocean for a reason.”

Arthur took Linus’s hand in his. “Children, shall we see what we’ve made?”

Lucy looked up at them. “But not just us, right?”

“What do you mean?” Linus asked him.

Lucy pointed back toward the village. They all turned and saw their audience was still there and had, in fact, grown even larger. Hundreds of people stood watching them with no small amount of awe. Helen stood in the front, wiping her eyes as she laid her head on J-Bone’s shoulder. “You said it was for all of us,” Lucy explained. “That means them too.”

“That it does,” Zoe said. She raised her voice. “People of Marsyas! Would you like to see your new kingdom?”

The people cheered and with the children leading them, they found their way home.