Epilogue

EPILOGUE

On a crisp autumn morning, Arthur Parnassus took a stroll. He had no particular destination in mind, knowing he’d do well to avoid the south end of the peninsula due to threat of death. Granted, said threat had come from a rather feisty gnome, and while it wasn’t the first time (and undoubtedly wouldn’t be the last), Arthur decided not to test her, especially today of all days. She had been looking forward to this for a long time.

Besides, he had other things to occupy his attention this morning, and it kept him from becoming completely frazzled.

It’d taken time for him to become familiar with Marsyas as it was now. It could be argued that only Zoe and the children knew their home better, but even they continued to make new discoveries about it.

The former island—now a peninsula—was still covered in trees, the forest thick. In addition to the main houses and Zoe’s home, Marsyas was now dotted with dwellings made of stone and crushed shells, all in warm pastel colors, not unlike the village. Some lay in groves of trees heavy with fruit. Others were built into the trees, rope ladders dangling down, wooden bridges connecting the homes above the forest floor. Still others had formed beneath the earth into hillsides, the interiors damp and cool.

And the pathways! Where there had once been worn footpaths, stone walkways now covered Marsyas from end to end, crisscrossing the length and width of the former island. The paths were lined with flora and fauna, ancient statues of sprites covered in moss, leafy vines hanging from stone fingers.

The main road wrapped around the exterior of the peninsula, allowing vehicles to cross, bringing visitors who came to see the new Marsyas. They were the perfect guests: they stayed briefly, spent their money, and then went back home.

Arthur smiled as two children ran by him, their laughter loud and free. As he looked back, one of the children—a girl—disappeared. Her friend—a gap-toothed boy with purple eyes and black, scaly skin—shouted, “No fair! You can’t turn invisible. That’s cheating!” He turned toward Arthur. “Mr. Parnassus, tell Alice she can’t cheat.”

A harried-looking woman appeared on the path. When she saw Arthur standing there, she sighed and rolled her eyes. “Billy,” she said as the boy groaned. “You know the rules. If Alice wants to use her magic, she can. And Mr. Parnassus has bigger things to focus on today.”

Alice reappeared. “Sorry, Billy,” she said. “Hi, Mr. Parnassus!”

“Alice,” he said, tilting his head. “Billy. You look as if the pair of you have been exploring. Find anything interesting?”

Billy brightened, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Sal told me there’s treasure hidden somewhere on the island. Alice and me are going to find it.”

“Ah,” Arthur said. “But what if the real treasure is the friendships you make along the way?”

Billy blew a raspberry. “No, yuck. We’re gonna find jewels and coins and—”

“—and then give them all back because they’re not ours,” Alice finished for him.

“Well, yeah,” Billy said. “But we’ll get the credit for finding the treasure. Come on! Sal told me we have to find a rock that looks like Calliope sleeping in the sun. That’s how we’ll know we’re close.”

They ran down the path, disappearing from sight.

The woman—Gayle, mother to Billy—shook her head. “Sorry about that.”

Arthur held up his hand. “Absolutely no apology necessary. How are you settling in?”

“As well as can be expected,” she told him. Though she still had dark circles under her eyes, they were less noticeable than they’d been upon her arrival. “We both slept through the night for the first time last night.” Gayle ducked her head. “I woke up this morning and just… breathed. It didn’t hurt like it normally did. Then I went to Billy’s room, and…” She sniffled. “He was still asleep. That hasn’t happened for a very long time.”

“I’m so glad,” Arthur said warmly. “You deserve it. Both of you do. Have you given any thought to what we discussed?”

She nodded, determined. “I have. And if the offer is still open, I’d like to accept.” She balked a little. “If that’s okay with the queen.”

Arthur chuckled. “It was Zoe’s idea. Though she is many things, the intricacies of the law escape her. Having a solicitor who understands the complexities will make things that much easier.”

“I haven’t practiced since Billy was born,” Gayle warned him. “It’ll take a bit for me to catch up.”

“Of course,” Arthur said. “And if we can be of any assistance, all you need to do is ask.”

“Then I’ll do what I can. Could you tell the queen that I’d be happy to meet with her next week?”

“It would be my pleasure,” Arthur said. “In addition, we’ve received word that a psychotherapist has decided to come to Marsyas. A selkie, from what I understand. Once she settles in, she has asked if she can set up a practice here. If at any point you or Billy decide that therapy might be beneficial, we will make it happen. I have requested to be a patient of hers as well, as it’s high time I get help to make sense of all I’ve been through. Same with our children, and for anyone else who might need someone to talk to, especially since she has experience with treating the magical community.”

“Because we can’t do it alone,” Gayle said slowly.

“We can’t,” Arthur agreed.

Then she asked the one question Arthur had heard time after time, the one question on the minds of anyone and everyone: “What if they try again?”

They, meaning DICOMY and DICOMA, who were currently enjoying an unprecedented blowback of epic proportions. After the confrontation, news had spread and spread quickly of the “Miracle in Marsyas,” or so it was called. Splashed across the front page of every newspaper and the top story on every newscast on both radio and television, scenes from an uprising: the Baker-Parnassuses standing surrounded by men in suits, the children looking fearful. Zoe descending from above, the last of her people, a queen. The banishment of the invaders. The return of Marsyas to its former glory.

But there was one image that had burned its way into the minds of almost every single person who gazed upon it: Jeanine Rowder, hand raised, ready to strike. Before her, Lucy, at most half her size, face turned up toward her.

This picture—taken by a visitor on vacation with a bird-watching group—became the indelible image of the battle for magical rights. It was printed in papers, shown on every screen, carried on posterboards during rallies where the magical community demanded equal rights. It was pontificated on by pundits who said it was nothing but anti-government propaganda, that the real issue here was that the Antichrist was allowed to run free around a village where anything could happen. “Can’t you see what they’re doing?” one such blowhard bellowed on a radio news program. “They’re going to come after your children, indoctrinate them into thinking being magical is normal . It’s anything but! It’s a choice . Now more than ever, our way of life is threatened, and we must protect our children. I can barely even sleep at night thinking of those poor, lost souls. See something, say something!”

Though Arthur would’ve given much to be a fly on the wall when Rowder, Marblemaw, and the goons in suits had suddenly appeared in the prime minister’s office, he had to settle with what came next.

Rowder—as they expected—attempted to spin her banishment by holding a press conference, saying she’d been attacked during what she called “nothing more than an inspection, something to ensure the children weren’t being abused.” She went on to say that what occurred in Marsyas set a dangerous precedent, and asked what she considered to be the most important question facing humanity today: What happens if another magical person does the same thing?

Unfortunately for her, none of the reporters present seemed interested in following her train of thought. Instead, they shouted questions at her, asking her if she’d ever struck a child in DICOMY’s care before, if Marblemaw was facing punishment for harming a yeti child in the street in front of dozens of witnesses, if the government planned on recognizing Marsyas as a country, or if they planned to go to war and invade. If so, one journalist continued, what would keep the Sprite of Oceans from banishing every single person sent? “It’s not as if you could return to lead the charge,” the journalist finished.

Rowder gripped the lectern, knuckles white. She leaned forward, practically swallowing the microphones before her. “I will say this one more time: the boy is the Antichrist . He is the son of the Devil . How is no one understanding this ?”

The press conference ended without resolution.

Two weeks later, Prime Minister Herman Carmine held his own press conference in his office. Forgoing his usual pinstripe suit, Carmine instead wore a thick sweater and tan slacks, sitting in an overstuffed chair in front of a crackling fireplace. He smiled, he laughed, he poked fun at some of the journalists. Then, as if a switch had flipped, he turned grave and announced that Jeanine Rowder had decided to retire from public service to spend more time with her family. He had accepted her resignation, he said, in hopes that it would smooth relations with their new neighbor.

“In addition,” Carmine continued, “I’m pleased to announce I have picked a new head for the Departments in Charge of Magical Youth and Magical Adults. Although she will need confirmation, I doubt there has ever been someone more qualified for the position. Not only did she previously work with Extremely Upper Management, she’s… well. I’ll let her show you. Doreen, would you join us?”

Doreen Blodwell entered the office. She held herself high, moving gracefully and stopping next to Carmine, her hand resting on the back of his chair. She wore a striking pantsuit—bright yellow and white, with a plunging neckline that left little to the imagination. Carmine smiled at her, and Arthur was reminded of what he and Linus had been told in the elevator before the hearing. What had Larmina said to Linus’s question?

How have they not discovered her? Or you?

Because we understand how the minds of men work. Give them a little smile, touch their arm, hang on their every word, and they believe they’re God’s gift to women. And that’s all we are. Pretty girls without a thought in our heads.

“Thank you, Prime Minister Carmine,” Doreen said, her voice soft, seductive. “It is an honor to have your backing. After I’m confirmed as the head of DICOMY and DICOMA in the new year, I’ll be reviewing any and all protocols that have brought us to where we are now. Change can be a terrifying prospect, but if we continue on as we have for decades, I fear that we’ll cross the point of no return.” She paused, closing her eyes. No one spoke. Eventually, she opened her eyes and said, “You might be thinking you have no reason to trust me. That I will be just like every person who came before. I hope that this will alleviate any concerns.”

She brought her hands to either side of her head, palms pressed flat against her hair. Then her hair shifted, first to the left, then to the right, before she lifted the wig from her head. Underneath, her shaved skull, scalp pale. But it wasn’t the removal of the wig that would be spoken of for weeks—if not years—to come. No, it was the two bony protuberances that rose from the top of her head. Each was black, two inches wide and an inch high.

As the cameras flashed, Doreen said, “I am a satyr. Half, anyway. When I was four years old, I began to grow horns. My mother took me to a doctor who told her that the horns would only get bigger. He offered a suggestion: disbudding.” Doreen’s gaze hardened. “The same thing used on livestock. Unlike dehorning, disbudding involves hot irons used to kill the horn-producing cells. It was not without pain. It was not without suffering. They will never grow back.” She held up the wig toward the cameras. “This was my armor. This was my defense.” She tossed the wig to the floor. “I no longer need it because to hide intimates I have something to hide. I do not. Change is coming, and luckily, Prime Minister Carmine has decided to be at the forefront as he understands that nothing can stop it.” She dropped a hand on his shoulder, her sunshine-yellow fingernails digging in. “Isn’t that right, Prime Minister?”

“Yes, yes,” he said hastily. “We’ll get it right, this time around.”

A week later, a letter arrived via carrier addressed to Mr. and Mr. Baker-Parnassus. Inside, written in bubblegum-pink handwriting, a short note:

It’s a start. Give me time.

Don’t you wish you were here?

xx

“Do you trust her?” Arthur had asked.

“I want to,” Linus had replied. “Time will tell, as it does with all things.”

And now, with Gayle waiting for his answer, Arthur gave the only one he could: “If they do come for us again, if after all they’ve witnessed they still try, then they will be met with the might of a queen who doesn’t have a single solitary shit left to give.”

Gayle burst into laughter, covering her mouth. “Mr. Parnassus!”

He winked at her. “Sometimes, certain words show exactly how we feel. So long as there are no little ears listening in, I might as well let it out every now and then.”

Billy shouted from somewhere down the path, and Gayle said goodbye before hurrying after her son and Alice. Arthur waited until she rounded the corner before continuing on.

He found the queen in her clearing, white petals falling from the flowering trees around her home, coating the ground like snow. She sat on an old tree stump, wings bright behind her. Sitting on the thick grass at her feet, a group of new arrivals: three adults and two children, all of whom were v?ters, beings who communed with nature on a level even beyond Phee and Talia and Zoe. All were small—the tallest of them, the grandfather, was barely half Arthur’s size. The children were only a foot high, their eyes twice as large as a human’s. One of the children—a girl called Frida—heard Arthur’s approach, and touched the forest floor, followed by a low pulse of magic that felt like summer. The white petals swirled around him as if caught in a slow tornado.

Zoe stood, taking the elder v?ter’s hand in hers. “Thank you for your counsel. It’s wonderful to have confirmation that the land is happy. Please let me know if that changes at any point, and we’ll work together to set things right. Now, if you’ll follow the path, the trees will guide you to my representative. Martin has your belongings, and will show you to your new home. Anything you need, ask, and he’ll make it happen.”

The grandfather bowed before the queen, and then led his family down another path that led to the center of the island.

“How is it going?” Arthur asked as Zoe waved her hand, the stump rolling through her open doorway.

“It’s going,” she muttered. “My people skills need work. My grandmother told me once that being a queen often meant listening without interrupting. She said you could learn more that way.” She huffed out an irritated breath. “It’s hard not to interject, especially when I hear everything they went through.”

Arthur cocked his head. “I expect many of them are simply looking for a sympathetic ear. It’s probably the first time anyone has listened to them.”

Zoe waved him off. “I know, it’s just…” She sighed. “It’s not going to get easier, is it?”

“No, I expect not. But the stories we’re given, these tales of tragedy and hope, the trust placed upon us to listen to each and every word, it’s humbling to be their secret keepers. We hold them here”—he rested his hand over his heart—“and here.” He tapped the side of his head.

“How many so far?” she asked, staring off into the woods, white flower petals landing in her hair.

“How many have come to the island? With the v?ters, we’re now up to eighty-four, the majority of whom are magical, including thirty-two children under the age of eighteen.”

Zoe snorted. “And how are the classes?”

“Exuberant,” Arthur said. “We’ve been lucky enough to have three teachers among the adults who’ve come here. They’re working with Linus to come up with lesson plans that will ensure every child gets a proper education.”

“And there will be more,” Zoe said. “If it keeps going like it is, we’re going to run out of room at some point.”

“I know,” Arthur said. “But I won’t turn people away. We’ll figure it out.” Then, because he could, he added, “Your majesty.”

She made a face. “Keep it up, Parnassus. Being the Sprite of Oceans has allowed me to tap into power I never had before. You don’t want to piss me off.”

He grinned. “Noted, dear. Now, on to the reason I’m here. I’ve been told that I’m not allowed anywhere near the south end of the peninsula. If I attempt to arrive before my time, seven children have promised that my death will be neither pleasant nor swift.”

“Lucy?”

“David,” Arthur said. “I was very proud to hear such a threat from him. It shows he’s adapting quite well.”

“I heard David accidentally called Linus Papa last week.”

“He did. Right in the middle of supper. Linus burst into tears and scooped David up, and that is now the picture that has completed Linus’s birt present. The other children made the frame, and David hung it up himself. Plenty of ice cubes all around after that.”

“Good,” Zoe said. “I bet he’s calling you both Dad and Papa by the holidays.”

“The greatest gift,” Arthur agreed. “But there is no rush. At least not today.”

“Oh?” Zoe asked, blinking innocently. “Is there something else going on today that I should know of?” She tapped her chin. “I can’t think of a single thing that—”

He hugged her close, face in her hair. She laughed brightly, wrapping her arms around him, nose at his throat. “Is this real?” he whispered.

“It is,” she whispered back fiercely. “Everything. All of it. Today, tomorrow, and every day after.”

“I dreamed of such a day,” he told her as flower petals danced around them. “And now that it’s here, I…” He chuckled. “I’m a little nervous, if I’m being honest. More than a little.”

Zoe pulled away, gripping his forearms. “Scared?”

He shook his head. “Of this? Never.”

“He’s with Helen?”

“He is. Told me in no uncertain terms that it was bad luck to see him before the ceremony.”

“Kicked you out of your own house, did he?” Zoe asked, amused. “Already started.”

“It has,” Arthur said. “And I, for one, cannot wait.”

“Then it’s time to see what your children picked out for you to wear.” She pulled him toward her house. “They wanted my input, but I told them that this was from them, and they should do whatever they thought was right. Prepare to be… well. You’ll see.”

“That certainly sounds ominous,” Arthur said. “Consider me intrigued.”

If one had decided to come to the village of Marsyas on that very day, they would have found a ghost town: no one sold food from mobile carts, no music poured from open doorways that led into shops. Even Rock Zoe said he was dashing, and immaculately so. The white button-up dress shirt had nary a wrinkle, but it was his socks that really made the outfit. As per his usual, his slacks were a tad too short, revealing gray socks—a gift from Phee—that had lifelike representations of Arthur and Linus, their foreheads pressed together. He was inordinately pleased with the socks and couldn’t wait to show them to everyone whether they asked after them or not.

“You do as well,” Arthur said.

Merle looked down at his own suit. “This old thing? Fits better than I remember. Last time I wore it, it was for a funeral that had no food. You’re having food, right?”

“We are,” Zoe assured him. “It seemed rude to invite people and not feed them.”

Merle nodded. “Good. Now, Mr. Parnassus, you probably don’t need advice from anyone, seeing as how you’re… you. But! I know a thing or three about love and want to offer you some advice.”

“I’d be delighted to hear whatever wisdom you wish to impart,” Arthur said.

Merle lifted his hand and began to tick off his fingers. “Don’t lie. Don’t cheat. Don’t steal.”

They waited for the rest.

Merle said, “And that’s it.”

“How on earth are you still single?” Zoe asked.

Merle sniffed. “I have the sea. Don’t need more than that.”

“I will not lie, cheat, or steal,” Arthur said. “You have my word.”

“Fine, fine,” Merle said. “But listen to me, jabbering on as if you didn’t have somewhere to be. Don’t worry about the guests. Ferry’s ready to go when you want to kick everyone out.”

“Thank you, Merle,” Arthur said.

“Can you give us a moment?” Zoe asked him. “Please let them know we’ll be in momentarily.”

Merle nodded and spun on his heel, pushing through the hanging tree limbs that kept them from seeing down to the beach. Beyond the trees, Arthur could hear the excited chatter of a large crowd waiting for them to begin.

“Are you ready?” Zoe asked him.

Arthur didn’t hesitate. He knew. “It’s taking everything I have not to run to him.”

She reached up and touched his cheek. “If only the boy you were could see you now. What would he think, I wonder?”

He turned his face and kissed her fingers. “That love and fire are one and the same.”

When Arthur stepped through the trees, he froze, heart lodged firmly in his throat. It wasn’t the King singing, like a river flows, surely to the sea, darling, so it goes, some things are meant to be. It wasn’t the soft breeze ruffling the petals of the thousands of flowers that decorated the backs of chairs, the trees, the ground. It wasn’t the backdrop of the sea, or the cloudless sky that seemed to stretch on forever. It wasn’t the salt in the air, the call of the seabirds from high above.

It was the people. More than five hundred in total, a mixture of magical and not. And as if they had practiced, the moment Arthur and Zoe appeared, they stood as one, turning toward them.

The mud representatives—Janet, Barry, and Turnip—had snapdragons growing from their heads and shoulders. As Arthur and Zoe nodded at them, Janet blew her nose into a pile of moss, Barry’s arm around her shoulders, Turnip beaming at them as part of his chest sloughed onto the ground.

Merle stood with Martin Smythe, who apparently found the imminent proceedings so moving, he sobbed into Merle’s shoulder, much to the ferryman’s dismay. Even then, Merle did little to shove Martin away, grumbling under his breath as he rolled his eyes.

Byron and Jason—having arrived the night before, immediately tackled by David—stood holding hands.

Others, too, so many others, all dressed to the nines. The people from the village. People who could do things that defied imagination and those who believed there was magic in the ordinary. Parents. Grandparents. Aunts and uncles. Cousins, friends, guardians, protectors. While some were crying—it was a wedding, after all—most were smiling, nodding as Arthur and Zoe passed.

And that was to say nothing of the children.

All the children, of course: most looked a little bored, tugging on the clothes of the adults around them, whispering as they asked how much longer this was going to last, and if it was almost time for cake. Many of the kids sighed dreamily as Arthur and Zoe made their way down the petal-covered aisle toward seven children in particular.

To the left of the wooden lattice archway stood Phee and Sal, Theodore sitting on Sal’s shoulder, a crown of daisies sitting askew on his head. Phee and Sal wore matching outfits—similar to Arthur’s, a pale pink with navy blue ties cinched tightly at their throats. Sal’s had polka dots on it, like buttons.

To the right of the archway, Lucy, Chauncey, and Talia. Lucy’s suit was in contrast to Sal and Phee’s, navy blue with a pink tie. Chauncey wore his bellhop cap, wrapped in pink carnations. Talia was dressed head to toe in her finest Gnomish wear: her black boots gleaming, her blue trousers firmly pressed, her pink vest buttoned up the front, and on her head, her cap, the top tilted slightly to the left.

Underneath the archway, David, standing with Helen at a podium. He looked as dashing as he ever had, his black tuxedo fitted perfectly to his hairy frame, the hair on his face hanging in thin beaded braids woven by Byron and Sal. Helen wore her finest overalls, complete with the brand-new boots that Talia had demanded she order. Sitting on the podium, tail twitching dangerously, Cal liope, wearing a lacy yellow collar (courtesy of Sal) and a bored expression, as was her right.

Arthur saw them all.

He saved the best for last.

Linus Allen Baker stood at the front, thinning hair windswept, and he’d missed a button on his coat. Arthur had never seen a more handsome man in his life. Linus’s suit fit his roundness perfectly, and though Arthur wanted desperately for Linus to give him a little spin so he could take it all in, he managed to keep that thought to himself.

Because Linus was not wringing his hands. He did not appear nervous. As far as Arthur could tell, he did not say “oh dear” even once as they approached. Instead, Linus was smiling, a soft, gentle thing, a single tear falling from his right eye onto his cheek. He did not reach up to wipe it away.

It hit Arthur then, in this moment: everything he’d done, everything he’d lived for, fought for, all the sleepless nights and miles on the road, the good, the bad, and the ugly, all of it had led to this.

Mom, he thought in wonder as his breath hitched in his chest. Look. Just look.

Their children did not stand on ceremony, which was why the moment Arthur and Zoe reached the front of the crowd, they launched themselves at him. He stumbled back with an armful of gnome and sprite, their guests laughing loudly. Chauncey wrapped his tentacles around Arthur’s right leg as Lucy climbed his back, arms in a loose grip around Arthur’s throat. Arthur turned his head into Sal’s hair when the boy hugged his side, and chuckled wetly when Theodore’s forked tongue flicked against his cheek.

Eventually, they pulled away, returning to where they’d been standing.

The guests took their seats as Zoe stood on her tiptoes, kissing him first on the right cheek, then the left. Her eyes glittered when she said, “This is only the beginning.”

“It is,” he agreed.

She left him, then, going to Linus. Arthur did not hear what she said to him, but whatever it was, Linus sniffled and then hugged her so quickly, Zoe squawked a bright burst of laughter, her feet lifting from the ground as Linus spun her around. Then, seemingly remembering they had an audience, he set her down, smoothed his suit, and looked at Arthur expectantly.

As Zoe joined Helen and David and Calliope, Arthur took the last steps. Everything else faded away as he stood in front of his beloved, the man who had carved a place for himself in a home on a mysterious island. The man who had come with his cat, his rule book, a misplaced sense of purpose, and little else. The man who had once lived where the rain never ended, and all color had been leached, leaving behind only muted shades of gray in the city. This man, this fussy, endearing man who had learned the world was far more mysterious than he’d ever thought possible, and instead of silencing it, had worked to ensure that no one would be silenced again.

“Hello, Linus,” Arthur said softly, as if speaking any louder would wake him from this marvelous dream.

“Hello, Arthur,” Linus said, and in Arthur’s chest, the phoenix chirped and chittered its pleasure.

“Do I start now?” David whispered to Helen as Calliope batted a thick strand of hair hanging down from his head.

“I hope so,” Talia said. “Because if you don’t, they’re just going to stand there making mushy faces at each other.”

“You may begin,” Helen told David. “Just like we practiced.”

“Right,” David said, squinting down at the paper before him on the podium. “Except for all the parts I’ve decided to ad-lib.”

“Wait,” Helen said. “Ad-lib? What parts are you going to—”

“ Welcome to the party! ” David roared ferociously, fangs bared, claws digging into the podium as he gripped the sides. “I am your host, David! Before we began, I wanted to mention I’m available for all your scary needs, such as birthday parties, funerals, haunted houses, and book clubs. Tired of just reading books and then talking about them? Well, now you can read and run for your lives! All for the low, low cost of—”

“I didn’t know weddings had commercials,” Lucy said.

“Next time, we’ll get sponsors,” Talia said.

“ Next time?” Linus said, aghast. “I beg your pardon.”

Talia patted his leg. “Why don’t you let me worry about that? You have bigger things to focus on.”

Linus sighed as David announced he was pretty sure he was at the podium and therefore, no one else could talk. After some debate, everyone agreed that David was absolutely correct, though he should probably wait until after he’d finished to promote his side gigs.

“Can I still make some stuff up?” David asked, tilting his head back to look at Helen and Zoe. “Not all of it. Just some. I have something to say.”

“I insist upon it,” Zoe said. “Have your say, David. We’re listening.”

David rubbed his hands together in glee, little puffs of cold, crystalline air rising between his fingers. He cleared his throat and began to speak into the salt-tinged quiet. “I didn’t want to come here at first. I didn’t know who these people were, promising me things I’d heard before.” He paused, taking in a breath. “I knew Helen, and she was nice to me. She said there was a place where I… where I could be me. Where I wouldn’t have to hide.” He lifted his head, searching the crowd. Arthur followed his gaze, and saw Jason and Byron raise their hands in a wave. He smiled. “I’m a yeti. I have claws and really neat hair that can get messy if I don’t take care of it, and sometimes, I like scaring people. Not to hurt them, but to remind them that fear doesn’t have to be bad. It doesn’t have to be mean or cruel. It doesn’t have to cause harm.

“And that’s what I’m learning from my new home. It doesn’t matter what we look like, it doesn’t matter where we came from, or what we can do. All that matters is that we’re here, together, being anything and anyone we want to be.” David stared at the crowd in anticipation.

Arthur felt a rush of magic, and behind David, a red neon sign popped into existence, blinking the words YOU BETTER CLAP NOW BEFORE YOU LOSE YOUR HANDS .

Everyone did, and loudly, Jason and Byron on their feet, hooting and hollering.

David beamed as Lucy tilted his head to the side, the sign disappearing. “Thank you! You’re such a great audience. My point? This place is different. It really is. And maybe everyone doesn’t see it that way quite yet, but they will. It doesn’t have to be today, or even tomorrow, but it’ll happen. I know it.”

Arthur believed him.

“Okay!” David said, clapping his hands once more. “Zoe helped me become an ordained minister according to Marsyasian law. It was difficult work, and I almost lost my life, but in the end, I persevered.”

Zoe snorted, shaking her head fondly.

“As such,” David continued, “no one here gets married without my say-so.” He looked pointedly—first at Arthur, then Linus. “Which means that if I think you two aren’t ready, we’ll reschedule for some time in the next five years after going through my pre-marriage counseling program I’ll be creating and you can partake in, all for the low, low price of—”

“David,” Helen said, “we discussed the power that comes with being ordained. It does not include fleecing those you serve for all they’re worth.”

“ Actually, ” Lucy said, “religion does exactly that. I mean, come on. Has there ever been a bigger racket?”

“This is going exactly like I thought it would,” Talia said, tugging on the end of her beard. “I approve.”

Chauncey pulled on Linus’s trousers. “Can you do the vows now?” His eyes widened as his stalks shrank almost completely.

Everyone fell silent as Linus lifted his head to look at him, smile wobbling. With shaking hands, Arthur took Linus’s into his own, squeezing tightly. In the distance, the crash of waves, the songs of birds.

“How you move me,” Arthur said softly. “Some may look upon you and merely see a man. Their loss, because you are so much more. You are sunlight chasing away the clouds on a rainy day. You are the brightest flower in a garden where color fights to exist. I look upon you and see the man, but I also see life teeming just underneath the surface. You have taught me much since your arrival in our home, but if there’s one thing I’ve learned above all else from you, it’s this: there is magic in the ordinary, magic that has the power to change the world. You have shown that in your kindness, in your empathy, in your desire to see our children—and everyone else who finds their way to our shores—thrive and succeed. You told me once that when called upon, you will be my strength. You will be my hope. And, my love, I believe you to be just that. Not just for me, but for all of us. Thank you for choosing us. Thank you for loving us. Thank you for seeing us.” He raised Linus’s hands to his lips. “I am honored to know you, and to be given the gift of your heart. I promise you with everything I have, with everything I am, that I will never let a day go by without telling you just how precious you are to your family. And to me.”

Merle pulled out a handkerchief, blowing his nose quite spectacularly into it. He wasn’t alone; most of the guests were doing the same or, at the very least, wiping their eyes. Turnip pulled out a clump of moss from his chest and offered it to Janet, who took it and wiped her muddy eyes, Barry laying his head on her shoulder.

Linus opened his mouth once, twice, but no sound came out. He blinked rapidly, looking out into the audience. His gaze moved to the children, lingering on each of them. When he lifted his head once more, Arthur could see the fire burning within, bright as the sun.

Linus said, “I didn’t know what living meant, not really. I thought I did. I thought it meant existing in the never-ending rain with only sunflowers and records to keep me company.”

Calliope meowed quite loudly.

“Yes, yes,” Linus told her. “You too. You and me and not much else, was there? But we found a home even though we weren’t looking for one, at least not consciously.” He looked back up at Arthur. “Because of you, Arthur. Because of you, the people here can lay their heads down at night and not always have to worry about what tomorrow might bring. Because of you, Sal and Phee and Chauncey and Talia and David and Lucy and Theodore get to just be, which is something so many of us take for granted. Because of you, the world is just a little bit brighter. Because of you, I have hope, I have faith, I have the belief that no matter the odds, we will be happy, we will be free, we will know that because of you, things are changing. And I am so bloody honored to be at your side.” Tears streamed down his face as he smiled. “Well, old boy, you’ve gone and done it now. Arthur, I love our children more than I can say. I love our home. I love the life you’ve let me help build. And I love you with every fiber of my being. You are in my every breath, in every beat of my heart, and for the rest of my days, I will be by your side, no matter what.”

“David,” Arthur said without looking away from Linus, “I have the desire to kiss my future husband within an inch of his life. Do I have permission?”

David grinned as he rested his chin on his hands, blinking slowly at them. “Yeah,” he said dreamily. “By the power invested in me, and all that jazz. Dad, kiss Papa so hard!”

Zoe and Helen gasped as Jason and Byron howled their joy into the sky.

Arthur and Linus looked at each other, had a three-second silent conversation, nodded, and kissed. Then, without prompting, both turned as one and hurried around the podium. David squawked as they lifted him up, crushing him between the two of them. “What is happening ?” David shrieked as Linus kissed the top of his head over and over. “I didn’t know weddings meant attacking yetis!”

“One of us!” Chauncey cried. “One of us!”

The other children picked up the chant, and as the roar of the crowd washed over them, Arthur and Linus Baker-Parnassus held on to their son tightly. It wasn’t long before the others tackled them with no small amount of tears, and as the sun drifted across the sky above a cerulean sea, a phoenix thought in awe, Hope is the thing with feathers, yes, and hope is the thing with fire.