Chapter Four

FOUR

Bandycross stood ominously before them, a Gothic revival building made of darkened stone and constructed in the latter part of the eighteenth century. Two towers rose on either side of the pointed gable, and a layered archivolt sat above the massive double doors. The rose window above the archivolt was made of stained glass, a five-pointed star at its center. The building was beautiful and menacing at once, low curls of fog crawling along the streets and sidewalks.

Arthur and Linus stood opposite Bandycross, watching the gaggle of reporters gathering on the front steps, most of them holding either a camera or a microphone in addition to an umbrella. There were at least two dozen of them, but they were outnumbered by something Arthur did not expect.

In the streets, blocking traffic, a crowd of people from all walks of life. The old, the young, magical and human. They held signs lambasting the proceedings, and as Arthur and Linus looked on, a chant picked up. “Magical rights are human rights! Magical rights are human rights!” Cameras clicked and flashed, reporters shouted questions that went unanswered as the crowd yelled and marched in a wide circle. Beyond them, rows of barricades lined with police holding back counter-protesters spewing filth in the form of jeers, teeth bared in furious snarls. They, too, held signs, some displaying that old chestnut SEE SOMETHING, SAY SOMETHING .

“We could try and get in through the back,” Linus said, sounding worried. “We have time.”

Arthur shook his head. “I won’t hide, Linus. To do so might give the notion that I’m ashamed. I am anything but. No. We will walk in through the front doors with our heads held high and prove to them that we will not be intimidated.”

“But what if someone means you harm?”

“Then they will see what I’m capable of,” Arthur said in a hardened voice. “I am a child no longer. I can handle myself.”

“I know,” Linus said, sounding rather helpless. “But I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

Arthur said, “Shortly after you came to the island, you rightly took me to task for keeping the children from the village. You said something I’ve never forgotten: that the longer the children stay hidden away on the island, the harder it would become for them. That the island wasn’t forever, and that world outside was waiting.”

“That certainly sounds like me,” Linus said begrudgingly. “And I assume you’re taking the point I was making about the children and applying it to yourself.”

“I am,” Arthur agreed. “When we live in fear, it controls us. Every decision we make is smothered by it. I refuse to live like that any longer. I have every right to walk in through those front doors, same as anyone else.”

“You do,” Linus said. “And I wouldn’t dream of taking that away from you. My apologies if it sounded like that’s what I meant. I’m just…”

“Worried.”

“Yes.”

Arthur reached over and straightened Linus’s tie, smoothing it down the front of his chest. He had on a black suit—the first time he’d worn one since leaving DICOMY permanently. His tie was a lovely shade of reddish-orange, the color of fire. It was not lost on Arthur the reason Linus had picked that tie in particular: a little sign, a burst of flame in the muted gray of this rain-drenched city.

Arthur, too, wore a suit. His coat and trousers were navy blue, his dress shirt covered in blooms that reminded him of Talia’s garden. The top plastic button at his throat had been replaced by a brass one, sewn on with care. His tie was a wonderful shade of green, not unlike a certain bellhop. His shortened trousers revealed gray socks with little fluffy Pomeranians on them. Pinned to his shirt, a small gold leaf plucked from a tree on the island grown by a forest sprite. On his jacket, a pocket square, black with little red devil horns on it.

“Just… be careful,” Linus said. “Listen. Watch. Don’t give more away than you get in return. And for the love of all that’s holy, do not mention the animal skulls Lucy collects, especially to the reporters. Professionalism, Arthur. It’s all about professionalism, even if we have to fudge the truth a bit.”

Arthur kissed his forehead. “Noted. Come. The sooner we arrive, the sooner we’ll be finished.”

With Linus at his side, Arthur held his head high as he crossed the street, stepping around the standing puddles on the road, fastening the buttons of his suit coat. A heavyset man with curly hair and crooked teeth saw them first. He stood on the third step, an ancient camera hanging around his neck by a leather strap. His gaze moved around the crowd, landed on Arthur, stuttered, then moved swiftly to Linus. His eyes widened as he looked back at Arthur. “Arthur Parnassus!” he yelled, nearly falling as he stumbled down the steps. His camera came out, and flash, flash, flash . “Sir! Is there any truth to the rumors that the Antichrist is plotting the end of the world?”

The effect on the crowd was instantaneous. A brief moment of silence—as if all the world held its breath—and then an explosion of noise as everyone turned toward them—reporters, protestors, counter-protestors, all shouting at once, microphones and signs raised.

Arthur and Linus were swarmed, people reaching out, touching Arthur’s shoulders, his arms, his hands, his back. Linus squawked angrily as someone bumped into him hard, knocking him forward. Arthur managed to keep him upright as they pushed their way toward Bandycross, questions being shouted at them from all directions. Beyond them, the counter-protestors hurled vitriol, screaming “ SEE SOMETHING, SAY SOMETHING! ” over and over again.

They managed to reach the steps of Bandycross, climbing halfway before Arthur stopped, turning around. He held up his hands as cameras flashed. Linus stood next to him, their arms brushing together.

“I’ll keep this brief,” Arthur said, raising his voice. “I am honored to have been invited to Bandycross today to speak of my history with the Department in Charge of Magical—”

“Where is the Antichrist?” someone shouted. Though he couldn’t see who it was, it sounded like the man who’d spotted them first. “Can you promise he’s not going to split the planet open like an egg?”

“Oh,” Arthur said. “I highly doubt it. You see, he’s still learning how to crack chicken eggs properly, so I expect it’ll be quite some time before he’s ready for planetary destruction.”

Every face stared up at him in shock.

“Remember what I told you about your sense of humor?” Linus hissed at him. “Now is not the time to try and be funny!”

“Try,” Arthur huffed. “Ouch.” He raised his voice once more. “That was a poor attempt at humor. My apologies. To answer your question, Earth will not be destroyed today.”

“ Or anytime in the future,” Linus added loudly.

“Too right,” Arthur said. He saw a girl of perhaps ten or eleven standing in the crowd between a man and a woman who appeared to be her parents. In her hands, she held a glittery sign that read MAGIC MAKES THE WORLD BEAUTIFUL . She waved shyly at him, and he winked in return, causing her to grin widely.

“Dana Jergins,” a woman said, stretching her microphone toward him, her perfect teeth on full display in a shark’s grin. “ The Daily View . Mr. Parnassus, why are you here today?”

He leaned forward until his mouth was inches from the microphone. “I was invited.”

The skin under her right eye twitched, but the skilled facade held. “And why were you invited? Out of everyone in the world, why you?”

“That’s a question for those sending the invitation, don’t you think?”

She wasn’t to be deterred. Even as the other reporters began to shout their questions, her voice rose above them, pointed, unignorable. “Is it because you’re a phoenix who has found himself in possession of some of the most dangerous children ever known?”

The other reporters fell silent.

“Possession?” Arthur repeated, eyes narrowing. “They aren’t things . They are people, just like you and me. And they are no more a danger than any other child in the world.”

“That’s not quite true, though, is it?” Dana said. “Other children can’t do what those in your care can. Our readers deserve to know what you’re doing to keep the magical youth contained.”

“Contained?” Linus said. “ Contained? Do you hear yourself? My God, what is wrong with all of you?” He puffed out his chest, glaring down at the reporters. “You should thank your lucky stars that Arthur Parnassus agreed to even be here. He’s already done more than you ever will. And you can quote me on that . Good day.” He began to turn toward the Bandycross entrance.

The reporters instantly shouted more questions.

He looked over his shoulder, mouth curved in a bland smile, and said, “Good. Day .” Then he pulled Arthur up the stairs, muttering under his breath about nosy busybodies who knew nothing about anything.

“Ah, professionalism,” Arthur teased, trying to settle his nerves. “A lost art.”

“Shut it, you,” Linus grumbled. “They were frothing at the mouth. It’s only going to get worse from here.”

The interior of Bandycross was just as impressive as the exterior had proven to be. The vaulted ceilings of the lobby were high, thick wooden beams crisscrossing at least fifty feet above a cream stone-tiled floor. Rain pattered against stained glass, and Arthur wondered what it would look like in sunlight, a kaleidoscope of fractured color. It felt impressive, but artificially so, as if anyone who stepped into this great hall was supposed to be intimidated by all the pomp and circumstance. Instead, it left Arthur as cold as the walls and floors appeared.

Rows of people in suits and dresses and fancy hats stood in lines before security guards situated behind high wooden desks that set them at least a foot and a half above those whose credentials they were inspecting. The lines appeared to be moving at a good clip with a mixture of reporters and the public, all of whom had earned a place at the hearing by lottery. According to Linus, there was great interest in the proceedings, and they’d supposedly had tens of thousands of entries into the lottery. All told, Linus expected an audience of hundreds, a mixture of the public, the press, and those with official government positions. Arthur understood why; it wasn’t every day that a magical being was invited to speak against government programs designed for magical beings.

They were deciding which line to stand in—Linus saying they couldn’t wait long, as time was already growing short—when a nervous-looking Desi woman appeared before them wearing a plaid skirt and a black blazer, her inky-black hair pulled back into a loose ponytail. She held thick folders in her arms, papers sticking out, the edges bent. “Arthur Parnassus? Linus Baker?”

“Yes?” Linus asked warily.

“My name is Larmina,” she said. “I’ve been asked to bring you inside.”

Linus frowned. “And who’s doing the asking?”

She glanced around, head turning as if on a swivel before she leaned forward, dropping her voice. “A friend.”

“Interesting,” Arthur said. “I would have thought us without friends here.”

Larmina blanched. “Not all of us are…” She shook her head. “It doesn’t matter. Please. If you’ll follow me, I’ll take you to where you’re supposed to be.”

Arthur studied her for a moment. For her part, she didn’t look away. “Your lead, then.”

Relieved, she said, “Thank you. I promise it’ll be worth your time.” With that, she spun on her flats and marched toward a security guard near the far right wall. The young guard had no one in his line, with a sign before his desk that read: VIP ONLY .

They reached the desk right as Larmina said, “They’re with me.”

The guard’s eyes widened, his bushy eyebrows rising to his hairline as he leaned forward over the desk. “Is that…”

“Yes.”

The man seemed to have a hard time tearing his gaze away from Arthur. “Are you sure about this, Lar? If they find out, it’s both our arses on the line.”

“Duncan,” Larmina said. “We talked about this. They won’t. Let us in. We don’t have much time.”

“I know, I know.” He waved them through. “You may pass. Stay with Larmina. She’ll show you where you need to be.”

Larmina led them farther into Bandycross, up a set of stairs, through an open doorway into a long hall with burnt-orange carpet and doors lining the walls. Nameplates sat next to each of the doors, bearing names Arthur recognized from the papers, politicians who made lofty promises without follow-through.

She stopped in front of a pair of golden elevator doors with guards on either side. She nodded at them as she pressed the button. Glancing down at the small gold watch on her wrist, she said, “Shouldn’t be long now.” She looked to Arthur, then, making sure he was watching, turned her gaze toward the guards, then back to Arthur. He touched the side of his nose in response.

A moment later, the doors opened with a flat chime. Larmina stepped inside, motioning for Arthur and Linus to follow. Once inside the elevator, Larmina pulled a chain from her blouse. Attached to the end was a small silver key, two inches in length, its teeth serrated. She put the key into a lock on the panel, twisting it before pressing a button without a number on it.

The elevator began to rise. The second floor, the third, the fourth, and Arthur was about to demand Larmina explain herself when she reached out again, this time slapping her hand against the large red button to the left of the panel. The elevator shuddered around them before groaning to a stop between the fourth and fifth floors.

Larmina said, “This is one of the few places in the entire building where we can speak without the risk of being overheard. Everything—including most elevators—is under surveillance. Cameras everywhere.”

“But not here?” Arthur asked, looking up at the ceiling. No cameras as far as he could tell.

“No,” she said. “This one is different. It goes to the Floor of Enigmatic Situations. No cameras, no listening devices. Hush-hush meetings occur there, out of sight, away from prying eyes. Privileged information, need to know only.”

“And yet here we are, stuck in an elevator,” Linus said.

“Because they would know,” Larmina said. “At least this way, we can pretend the elevator malfunctioned, and no one will be the wiser.”

Linus folded his arms. “I appreciate your… sensitivity to certain matters, but the fact remains, we don’t know you. You could be working for—”

“My wife is magic,” Larmina blurted, cheeks splotchy. “She can… It doesn’t matter what she can do.” A fierce pride filled her voice. “There’s no one like her. I would do anything for her.”

“Even work in a place like this,” Linus murmured.

“ Especially work in a place like this,” Larmina retorted. She blanched. “Apologies. I’m—”

“No apologies necessary,” Linus said. “It wasn’t a slight against you, merely an observation.” He chuckled dryly. “One I know quite a bit about.”

“What is your wife’s name?” Arthur asked.

“Minnie,” Larmina said.

“She must be someone special to have earned such devotion.”

“She is,” Larmina said. “And I— Oh, blast it, the time . Please, just listen. I have to get this right. She trusted me to—”

“Who?” Linus asked.

“Ms. Doreen Blodwell,” Larmina said.

Linus startled. “ What? The secretary for EUM? That Doreen?”

The one Linus had once referred to as Ms. Bubblegum, Arthur realized.

Looking relieved, she said, “Yes, her. She would’ve been here to greet you herself, but there were… other matters that required her attention. She’s since been reassigned. I’m not at liberty to say to what department, but you should know that things aren’t always what they seem. Ms. Blodwell came across certain… information about what you can expect during the hearing. She felt that sharing it might even the pitch.”

“Why should we trust you?” Linus asked. “Or her? For all we know, you’re working with the government to find out what we know.”

“She thought you’d say that,” Larmina said. “Which is why she wanted me to give you this.” She folded back the pages on her clipboard and pulled out a small, square piece of fabric. She held it out to Linus.

Huffing in exasperation, Linus snatched the proffered gift out of Larmina’s hand. He looked down at it and froze.

“What is it?” Arthur asked.

Linus turned toward him with a stunned expression. He held up the object, and it took Arthur only a moment to recognize it.

A mousepad, the picture creased and worn, showing a white, sandy beach with ocean waters so blue, they seemed impossible. Or they would, at least, if Arthur hadn’t seen such an ocean only yesterday. And across the top in stylish cursive lettering, a question: Don’t you wish you were here?

He did, and desperately so.

“You spoke of this,” Arthur said as Linus’s bottom lip wobbled. “You said it was a little escape.”

“Yes,” Linus said hoarsely. “It was one of the few things I had that made DICOMY bearable.” He looked down at the mousepad, tracing the whitecaps of the waves with a finger. “It felt like a dream.” He turned back toward Larmina. “We’re listening.”

“The hearing has been upgraded,” Larmina said as the elevator creaked and groaned around them. “You will be facing four parliamentary members.” She paused. “In the Council of Utmost Importance.”

The blood drained from Linus’s face. “Surely you jest.”

“I wish I was,” Larmina said solemnly. “Word came down early this morning.”

“What is that?” Arthur asked. He’d never heard of such a thing, but then he wasn’t as versed in government nomenclature as Linus was.

Linus began to pace in the small confines. “It’s ridiculous , is what it is. There are levels of councils, depending upon the situation. Council of Insignificant Propositions. Council of Moderate Ideas. Council of Serious Inquiries.”

“Ah,” Arthur said. “Clear as mud.”

“Yes, yes,” Linus said, distracted. “It’s the government. What do you expect? Transparency is a fanciful lie they tell constituents to distract them from the truth. The Council of Utmost Importance is reserved for the direst circumstances. It’s one step below terrorism investigations.”

“It’s not all bad,” Larmina said, as if she felt guilty for relaying the information. “Two of the council members have signaled their support for repealing some of the laws pertaining to the magical community—”

“Some,” Linus said. “But not all.”

Larmina laughed without humor. “You were an employee of the government not too long ago. Have you already forgotten how things work?”

“I haven’t,” Linus replied. “But that’s why we’re here. To light a fire under them.”

“Figuratively or literally?”

“You haven’t told us anything we didn’t already know,” Arthur said.

“Jeanine Rowder.”

The name was familiar, but Arthur couldn’t place the name to a face.

Linus didn’t have that problem. “The minister of education? What does she have to do with anything?” Sensing Arthur’s confusion, he added, “Former teacher. One of the youngest ever elected. Moved up quickly, amassing powerful friends.” He made a face. “I had no dealings with her myself, but I heard things about her that left me cold. Though it didn’t get very far, for a time she supported legislation that would have made it illegal for children who come from queer families to talk about them, saying that it would only confuse children who came from proper families. There were even rumblings about coming down hard on parents of transgender children seeking medical care.”

“So everyone in the government is mostly terrible,” Arthur said.

“Mostly,” Larmina said. “But it’s gotten worse with her. She’s going all in on the so-called issue of the day . Some are of the opinion that she’s been radicalized, but that implies an external force played a role. Ms. Blodwell doesn’t believe that to be true. She thinks Rowder’s sudden interest in all things magic has another end game in mind. Rumor has it that she has her eyes set on the ultimate prize.”

“Which is?” Arthur asked.

“Prime minister,” Larmina said gravely. “And all the power that comes with it.”

“And why are you helping us?” Arthur asked, curiosity winning out over his growing discomfort. “Same with Ms. Blodwell.”

“Because something has to give before it’s too late,” Larmina snapped, and this time, she did not apologize. Arthur’s opinion of her rose swiftly. “I fear we’re on the cusp of either salvation or destruction. And if I don’t do everything I can to make things right, then how can I go home and look at my wife? How can I stand before her and know that I failed her? I refuse to let that happen.” By the time she finished, she was panting, but she did not back down.

Linus hesitated. Then, “If what you’re saying is true, how has DICOMY not discovered you? Or Doreen?”

Larmina laughed bitterly. “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.” Her face suddenly changed, going from a flat mask to big eyes and pouty lips. When she spoke again, her voice was in a higher register. “And that’s all we are. Pretty girls without a thought in our heads.” The facade melted, replaced by steel. “That’s the funny thing about those in power. They underestimate everyone beneath them, even knowing their secrets are heard by someone .”

“It’s still quite the risk,” Linus said.

“A time will come,” she said, “when all of us will have to make a choice between what is right and what is wrong. I worry that time is closer than we think. And I don’t know that we’re prepared. If Rowder continues on the path she’s on, then no one—not you, not your children, no one —is safe. This hearing isn’t meant to be a condemnation of DICOMY, DICOMA, Extremely Upper Management, or the practices of said departments, past, present, or future. It’s a PR campaign.”

“To what end?” Linus asked.

“The complete and total annihilation of the reputation of one Arthur Parnassus.”

Arthur and Linus exchanged a glance. When Arthur looked back at Larmina, he said one word, and one word only: “Why?”