Chapter Five

FIVE

“Please state your name for the record.”

“Arthur Franklin Parnassus.”

“Mr. Parnassus, do you affirm that the testimony you have agreed to provide today will be truthful?”

“Yes.”

“And to confirm, you are without a representative.”

“Yes.”

“Do you understand that you are entitled to have a representative present?”

“Yes.”

“And you are choosing to continue, knowing what you say is being broadcast live around the country.”

“Yes.”

The man settled against his high-backed chair, hands folded on the table in front of him. The other committee members—two women, one man—sat in similar chairs on a raised stone dais, putting them at least three feet above Arthur, each under a powerful spotlight shining down from above. Arthur sat at a smaller table in the dim light of the rest of the courtroom with a single microphone set before him next to a glass of water and a half-empty pitcher. Behind them and attached to the wall, an electronic reader with red words moving from the right to the left, reminding everyone in attendance that there were to be no outbursts, no interruptions, and that such things if they occurred would lead to the immediate dismissal of the person with no questions asked, regardless of their intent.

The chambers—called Netherwicke—were enormous, made of dark wood and stone. It was as if the absence of color that engulfed the city had leached its way into these hallowed halls, leaving behind only the dreary brown-black of coffee dregs at the bottom of a mug. The floors creaked, the walls groaned. The ceiling was a dome-like structure made entirely of glass, revealing a dark, windswept sky, the clouds heavy, rain falling in sheets. The smell of the downpour had seeped its way into Netherwicke, thick and wet, mingling with the scents of old wood and parchment.

It was strangely quiet, given the hundreds of people sitting in the hall. Behind Arthur were rows and rows of reporters, the public, and more than a few elected officials. Though he didn’t turn around, Arthur knew Linus was sitting directly behind him, a wooden railing separating them. Above them—to the right and left—a second-floor gallery opened up to the hall below. This, too, was filled with people, representatives of the government, their faces mostly hidden by shadows, gesturing as they leaned over and whispered to one another.

Arthur ignored them all, his focus firmly on the four people sitting before him. The man who’d spoken first was older, his face lined with canyons. His white hair appeared to have migrated from his head to his ears, curly tufts sticking out. He—like his colleagues—wore a black robe, the arms of which were a tad too long, falling over the backs of his hands. The nameplate before him declared him to simply be BURTON .

Next to him, a grandmotherly figure, her hair a pile of pink candy floss, a pair of gold spectacles sitting on the bridge of her nose attached to a beaded chain around her neck. Her painted-on eyebrows gave her an appearance of perpetual surprise. Her nameplate read HAVERSFORD .

The third person was a young man who looked as if he would still get asked to verify his age when he went to a pub. He was a fidgety sort, and his black hair was slicked back and shone wetly in the overhead lights. He had a nervous habit of chewing on his fingernails and seemed a bit ill at the sight of so many people before him. The plate named him as SALLOW .

And then there was the last: Jeanine Rowder. At ease in front of the audience, barely giving them any notice aside from the flick of her cool gaze toward the second floor. Roughly Arthur’s age, she was a tall woman with robes that billowed as she took her seat, smiling widely before sitting down. Her shoulder-length hair was a soft shade of reddish-brown, her teeth perfect little squares of white. She looked like anyone Arthur would pass in the street, but there was something off about her, something that chilled Arthur to the bone. Perhaps it was the way she held herself: shoulders squared, posture perfect. Or perhaps it was the way she barely acknowledged his presence, glancing dismissively in his direction once or twice, her focus mostly on the stack of folders she had sitting before her. Burton, Haversford, and Sallow, too, had folders, though nowhere near the number Rowder had. And hers appeared to have dozens of tabs, marking what, Arthur didn’t know.

Burton appeared to have seniority, as he spoke for the rest of them. “The Council of Utmost Importance is gathered here today, facing a question that never seems to have a satisfactory answer, at least not one that can be agreed upon by a majority. What is to be made of the magical community? This has—”

Arthur leaned forward and cleared his throat pointedly into the microphone.

A low titter rolled through the crowd.

Burton frowned. “Yes?”

“Apologies, sir,” Arthur said. “But you have made it a point to ensure my honesty, which I appreciate. To keep things fair, I ask that you do the same.”

The titter turned into a rumble.

“I beg your pardon?” Burton snapped.

Arthur adjusted the microphone. “You said that no answer has been agreed upon by a majority. Hopefully you’re aware of the government-sponsored poll from six years ago that showed fifty-one percent of those asked believed that any and all magical beings should have the same rights as their human counterparts. Though this poll declined to invite anyone magical to participate, I believe fifty-one percent of respondents is still a majority. Again, my apologies for the interruption, but it’s important that the record show there is a majority.” He smiled. “Granted, the government’s response to the findings was to launch the ‘see something, say something’ campaign, so I can understand how there might be some confusion.”

“Mr. Parnassus,” Burton said sternly. “There is an order to these proceedings. Please refrain from speaking unless it is your time to, or you have been asked a direct question. Understood?”

Arthur nodded.

Burton waited a beat and then resumed. “We are at a crossroads. The purpose of this hearing—and any that may follow—is to determine what, if any, changes need to be made to the current RULES AND REGULATIONS that govern the magical community. As has been covered by the press ad nauseum, the Departments in Charge of Magical Youth and Magical Adults have recently come under heavy scrutiny. With the dissolution of Extremely Upper Management, the departments are without permanent leadership.” He folded his hands. “To that end, Mr. Parnassus has been invited to give evidence as he finds himself in a unique position: not only did he live in one of the government-sanctioned orphanages in his youth, he is currently the master of the same orphanage, located on Marsyas Island.” He looked down at the folders before him, lifting one of the pages. “As of today’s date, there are six children occupying this—”

“Living,” Arthur said.

Burton pinched the bridge of his nose. “What was that?”

Arthur leaned toward his microphone. “You said occupying as if they were some sort of invading force. They don’t occupy their—our home. They live there. Perhaps that’s semantics, but I believe words matter.”

“Mr. Parnassus, I’ll warn you one last time. I do not like being interrupted.”

“Understood, sir. But if we’re going to determine the best path forward, I’m sure you would agree to avoid language that some might consider offensive.”

Burton gaped at him. “And who might be offended?”

“I take offense,” Arthur said. “Sir. And, as a reminder, the children have names. Hello, Lucy. Hello, Chauncey. Hello, Talia. Hello, Theodore. Hello, Sal. Hello, Phee.” In his head, he added, And to you, David; I haven’t forgotten . “They’re listening,” he explained as whispers swept through the audience. “It’s not every day that a child gets to hear their name spoken aloud on the radio. And I highly doubt they’re the only magical people listening, so yes, words matter, especially now.”

“We understand things are volatile in your community,” Haversford said, speaking for the first time, her voice deeper than Arthur expected. She pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose. “It’s one of the purposes of this hearing, to hopefully cool the fires burning. But we are not the enemy, Mr. Parnassus. Surely you know that.”

“Ah,” Arthur said. “Hoisted on my own petard. I’m afraid I must amend my earlier statement. Words matter, yes, but actions matter even more. Anyone can say anything they wish, but it’s the follow-through that’s important. Correct?”

“Of course,” Burton said with a sour expression.

He closed the trap. “Then surely you can see why I—and I am only speaking for myself here—might have a different definition of the word ‘enemy,’ given the actions of the government with regard to the magical community.”

Burton sputtered, Sallow appeared as his name suggested, Haversford sighed, and Rowder did absolutely nothing, sitting stock-still, back straight, gaze never leaving Arthur. The rain lashed against the dome above, an ever-present reminder of the dark sky overhead.

“Mr. Parnassus,” Haversford said, not unkindly, “you have every right to feel as you do. I won’t tell you I can understand what you went through, because that would be a falsehood built upon privilege.”

He nodded. “Thank you for recognizing that.”

“That being said, we’ll never get anywhere if we can’t even move beyond the introduction. If my colleagues will agree, perhaps we should save any speechifying until after we’ve heard from Mr. Parnassus. It would seem he is eager to speak, and isn’t that what we’re here for?”

“There is procedure to follow,” Burton retorted.

“There is,” Haversford agreed, “but we find ourselves in uncharted territory and procedure can only take us so far. I know I’d prefer to hear what we came to hear rather than talking over each other.” She looked to Sallow and Rowder. “In favor?”

“Aye,” Sallow said, voice cracking. “Yes. That would be beneficial.”

Rowder merely nodded, tapping her fingers impatiently against the folders in front of her.

Burton seemed irritated. “Fine. But I won’t let this devolve into baseless accusations being flung about willy-nilly.”

“I assure you,” Arthur said, “that any accusations I intend to make aren’t baseless. Instead, they are factual, given that I was present for all of them.”

Burton snorted derisively. “So you say. Very well, then. Mr. Parnassus, the floor is yours. Use your time wisely.”

Behind him, he heard Linus mutter, “I’ll show you wisely, you pretentious git.”

Arthur pretended to cough so he could cover his smile with his hand. “Thank you.” Though he knew all eyes were on him—not just here, but around the country and perhaps the world—he focused his attention on the man behind him, the four in front of him, and the group of children who no doubt surrounded the radio at home.

How long had he waited for this moment? Months since Linus arrived? Or did it go back further than that? He thought it did. Years and years, back to the boy who had written a letter in hopes of salvation—not just for himself, but the other children, too—only to be imprisoned for having the audacity to believe in freedom. Yes, this moment felt as if it had been a lifetime in the making, and though extraordinarily nervous, he refused to let Burton, Haversford, Sallow, or Rowder see it.

He began.

“When I was a child, I was abused at the hands of an employee of the Department in Charge of Magical Youth. The abuse wasn’t just physical violence. It was also psychological, as the master made it his mission—as he often said—to put us in our places, a reminder that as magical beings, we were intrinsically lesser. The violation of our basic rights as people escalated unchecked until I—with the wisdom and boldness only found in youth—decided that something must change, that we—as people —should not be made to suffer. So I wrote everything down and attempted to mail it to the people I believed would help. The result of daring to ask for help from the very government whose representatives sit before me today? Imprisonment. Six months in a cellar with no windows and no lights. I was fed once a day and forced to use a bucket as a toilet. There was a metal bed with an old mattress that was riddled with mold. Cracks in the walls that I memorized by the light of my own flames because I had nothing else to occupy me. No books. No schoolwork. No visitors, and I wasn’t allowed to leave.

“For the first three days, I screamed. The week after, I burned. The week after that, I was beaten so thoroughly, I couldn’t breathe right for what felt like years. Like many who have suffered abuse, I was told it was my fault. That I deserved it. That I had it coming to me simply because I wouldn’t listen . He knew what was best, after all. He was an adult. A government employee. And I was just a child. I began to believe him.

“Time became slippery, elastic, and it stretched in ways I can’t even begin to describe with any clarity. For my own sanity, I kept track of the days with tick marks scratched into the walls. It was the only thing I had to keep me occupied, counting the days one by one. By the end, I was so delirious I’d convinced myself it’d been years rather than months.

“But I’m getting ahead of myself. I arrived at Marsyas Island when I was seven years old. I had nothing and no one.…”

All told, he spoke uninterrupted for two hours and forty-six minutes. Along with the rain, the only other sounds in the deathly quiet of Netherwicke aside from Arthur were audible gasps and the odd sniffle or three from the audience. By the end, Arthur’s voice was hoarse, throat burning, cooled only by a sip of water. He felt hollowed out, soft, and though the anger still burned, it was a negligible thing that sparked weakly.

Through his entire testimony, he kept his gaze forward and locked on the four before him. Burton gave nothing away, his default setting appearing to be a scowl. Sallow and Haversford took copious notes throughout the time Arthur spoke, the scratch of their pens a soothing metronome. For her part, Rowder did nothing aside from listen, ignoring the folders stacked before her. Though he didn’t expect it, he half hoped Larmina had been wrong about her, that she was nothing more than an elected official blinded by the idea of power.

“Thank you, Mr. Parnassus,” Haversford said after he’d finished. “That was… illuminating in ways I did not expect. I can’t imagine how difficult it was for you to come here and speak as honestly as you have, and you are to be commended. Before we continue, would you like to take a break to collect yourself?”

“No, thank you,” he said before clearing his throat. “I’m able to continue if you are.”

“So be it,” Burton said, sitting forward and riffling through the papers he had before him. “Mr. Parnassus, you testified against this former master, did you not?”

“I did.”

“He was censured, sacked, and found guilty, was he not?”

Arthur could see where Burton was heading, and more than willingly rose to the challenge. “Yes, but not in that order. He was found guilty, censured, and then sacked. From what I understand, he was on paid leave through DICOMY’s internal investigation and his sentencing, after which he was put on probation for three years. Only then was he no longer an employee of DICOMY, and therefore, not entitled to a further salary.”

“And your testimony was sealed given that you were a minor. Nothing has been released publicly.”

“That is correct, though I believe it had little to do with the fact that I was a minor, and more to do with DICOMY saving face.”

“Do you have proof of this?” Burton asked.

“Consider it a well-informed assumption.”

“So, no, then,” Burton said. “Mr. Parnassus, you reached a settlement with the government after an inquiry found negligence on the part of the Department in Charge of Magical Youth. How much was the settlement agreement for?”

“It sounds as if you already know.”

“Answer the question, Mr. Parnassus.”

Arthur smiled. “One million pounds.”

The crowd murmured around him.

“One million pounds,” Burton announced grandly, as if he’d scored a point in his favor, whatever that might be. “A godly sum, wouldn’t you agree? Especially to a child. Though I do empathize with your plight, Mr. Parnassus, I can’t help but think you’ve been adequately compensated. And now, instead of financial gain, you appear to be after a pound of flesh.”

“That’s one way of looking at it,” Arthur said. “Another might be that I was paid a settlement as penance for years of government-sanctioned abuse.”

“Now, see here,” Sallow said, eyes bulging. “There has never been sanctioned abuse. Why, the very idea is as preposterous as it is sickening. The RULES AND REGULATIONS clearly states that a child should not come to any harm, regardless if they’re magical or not.”

“Strange,” Arthur said. “Because according to public records from the three decades since I was taken from the island, DICOMY has had seventy-six masters accused of some form of abuse toward minors in their care. Twenty-seven were sacked. Five quit of their own accord, though they were given severance. The remaining masters were relocated after going through what was called sensitivity training . More than half of that group went on to have further allegations levied against them. As of today’s date, twelve are still active masters in orphanages around the country.” He looked from Burton to Haversford to Sallow to Rowder. Her eyes matched the stormy sky above: gray and flat. “If it wasn’t sanctioned by the government, that would suggest DICOMY has the unfortunate luck of recruiting people who feel physical abuse is necessary when dealing with children.”

“And how did you come by this knowledge?” Burton asked, a sour expression on his face. “I highly doubt public records were that specific.”

Secreted out by one Linus Baker, of course, before he left DICOMY. But Arthur wasn’t about to tell them that. “Do you deny it?”

Sallow puffed out his chest. “We are not the ones being interrogated here, Mr. Parnassus. You are.”

As the crowd began to murmur from above and behind him, Arthur watched as Haversford frowned, glancing at Sallow. She said nothing as she looked back at Arthur.

He arched an eyebrow. “I wasn’t aware we’d moved on from voluntary testimony to interrogation. I might have prepared differently had I known that was going to be the case, especially in light of being in front of the Council of Utmost Importance.”

Sallow said, “It wasn’t… that’s not what I mean! I’m merely trying to—”

“You claim abuse,” Burton said.

Arthur nodded. “More than claim, but yes. While I won’t speak for others who have found themselves in a similar position, I can and will speak to my own experiences. That sort of abuse—the pain it causes—is cumulative. Whether physical or psychological, each new blow lands upon a wound not yet given time to heal. It builds until something has to give.”

“You were paid an exorbitant sum because of it.”

“Blood money,” Arthur said, voice clipped. “If you think for one moment I’d take the payment over my innocence, you’d be gravely mistaken. And since I know you’re all arbiters of truth and justice, I will add that, when cross-examined, my former abuser suggested that not only did DICOMY know about the abuse at the hands of the masters, it turned a blind eye.”

“Even if that were true,” Sallow said, “it was never meant to be permission or endorsement of that sort of conduct.”

“Do any of you have children?” Arthur asked. Then, without waiting for an answer, he said, “I have six. Children, especially while young, begin to learn the difference between what is right and what’s wrong. Many times, you must tell them no. And I dare you to find any child who won’t follow the word ‘no’ with the word ‘why’?”

A few in the crowd chuckled. Maybe even more than a few. Encouraging, but then people could be extremely fickle.

“And that’s to be expected,” Arthur continued. “Because their wonderful brains are growing just as they are. When you tell them no, you must explain the why of it, so as to provide them with context, boundaries. That’s how children learn. If you say nothing at all when a child does something they shouldn’t, to the child, it could imply permission. So I ask that you, as members of the government, explain why telling a child no is something we all agree is necessary for their growth—as discussed in the seminal tome RULES AND REGULATIONS, chapter four, from pages two fifty-seven to three forty-three, written by a former member of EUM—but you can’t do the same for adults who take advantage of the power dynamic. Are you concerned with them asking why ? You shouldn’t be. They’re adults. They should know better.”

“I was punished as a child when I was wrong,” Burton said, eyes narrowed. “My father took a switch upside my rear when I stepped out of line, and I turned out just fine.”

I wouldn’t go that far, Arthur thought but didn’t say. He knew he was already walking a tightrope, and it wasn’t as taut as he’d hoped. “I’m sorry for that. I truly am. A child—human or otherwise—should never be struck as a form of punishment. It’s understood that one should never strike a pet such as a dog because it’s cruel, but when it comes to children, we’re supposed to think that it’s for their own good and they’ll turn out just fine?” He shook his head. “I refuse to believe that.”

Burton scoffed, waving his hand in dismissal. “You aren’t here to tell other people how to parent those in their care.”

“You’re right, I’m not. I’m here to provide evidence that children are suffering . That alone should give you pause. Do any of you know what it means to be unloved? How it feels?”

No answer, only silence. Thick, electric.

“Of course you don’t. You have friends. Family. You can never know the terrible feeling of having no one to love you. I know. I remember how that felt. No child should ever have to feel that way. They are our future . And yet, countless children go to bed every night in DICOMY-sanctioned orphanages, never knowing a kind word or a gentle hand.” Arthur shook his head. “How can you claim that it’s the children who are dangerous when you’ve done everything you can to back them into a corner?”

Sallow cleared his throat, looking wan. “Speaking of children. You have in your possession six children who—”

“‘Possession’ implies ownership,” Arthur said evenly. “I do not own anyone. Again, words matter, sir.”

“The fact remains that they are some of the most powerful beings in existence. Children capable of—”

“Being children?” Arthur asked. “Yes, they are.”

“Be that as it may, they are still children who can tap into an as yet unknown level of magic.” Sallow looked down at a folder in front of him. “Chauncey, for instance. What is he?”

Arthur shrugged. “We don’t know exactly. Isn’t that wonderful? But since you’re asking for something specific, Chauncey is a bellhop, and one of the very best.”

“What hotel would hire him?” Burton asked. “His appearance is… unsettling.”

“What hotel wouldn’t?” Arthur said. “They’d be lucky to have him, should there be an opening. And I think you meant to say ‘unique’ rather than ‘unsettling’ because I have it on good authority he’s handsome as crap.”

“Talia,” Sallow said. “A garden gnome.”

“Yes,” Arthur said. “But she’s so much more than that. She’s fierce, funny, and protective, and she digs some of the most perfect graves I’ve ever seen. Oh, and her begonias are the best in any garden.”

A familiar chuckle from behind him, and Arthur’s lips quirked.

“Theodore,” Haversford said. “A wyvern.”

“One of the smartest children I’ve ever had the pleasure to know. His hoard is unparalleled, and he’s recently learned how to land without tipping over. Quite impressive.”

Haversford chuckled. “And Sal?”

“A gifted writer who has grown before my eyes, both figuratively and literally. He’s coming into his own. I can’t wait to see the man he’ll become. I expect great things from him.”

Sallow tapped the folder in front of him. “Who can also pass on his… condition, in the form of a bite.”

“He can,” Arthur said. “And he did, once, in fear after an adult struck him while he was trying to get food . Who would you like to ask about next? Phee? She is a forest sprite who can already grow trees even though she isn’t yet a teenager, and who has taken to her role as an empathetic sister with gusto.” He grinned razor sharp. “No, I think you’re working your way toward one child in particular, aren’t you? You want to know about Lucy.” Larmina—and in turn, Doreen—had been right. This had never been about Arthur, or the wrongs of DICOMY. It was a fact-finding mission, and he’d played right into their hands, believing that some good could come from this.

Oppressive silence, leaving only the creaks and groans of Netherwicke.

“The Antichrist,” Burton finally said, grimacing as he did so.

“We don’t use that word,” Arthur said. “Not because we feel it’s wrong, but because everyone else seems to think that word means the end of all we know. I won’t have this child—or any other, for that matter—believing in such tripe.”

“Tripe?” Sallow asked. “There has never been one such as him before. What is he going to be capable of when he gets older? What if the world doesn’t twist to his every want and whim?”

“Since you’re speaking as if you know my son personally instead of only what’s written in his DICOMY file, I assume you have a point. What do these children have to do with my experiences under the rule of DICOMY?”

“Oh, he does have a point,” a sweet, musical voice said, causing Arthur to turn his head. Jeanine Rowder smiled, cocking her head. Her nose wrinkled slightly, as if she’d caught an unpleasant smell. “Perhaps it was a little artless, but what I believe my colleague is trying to say is something firmly in your wheelhouse, Mr. Parnassus. At least from what I understand.”

“And what would that be?” Arthur asked.

“A philosophical quandary. And since you brought up the Anti… Lucy, as you call him, I think the line of questioning is relevant, as it relates to their master.” She frowned, but it felt like an act. “Oh, that word just won’t do either, will it? The connotations! Let’s call you what you are. As the guardian of potentially dangerous magical youth, do you have a moral duty to act if you have knowledge that could potentially put innocent people at risk?”

Oh, this one, Arthur thought. This one is going to be trouble . “That depends on if you believe in utilitarianism or deontology. Utilitarianism revolves around the concept of the ends justifying the means, the belief that outcomes as the result of an action have greater value than the actual action itself. It is a consequence-oriented philosophy. Take, for instance, DICOMY and DICOMA.”

Burton began to sputter angrily, but Rowder held up her hand and he snapped his mouth closed.

Arthur continued. “I tend to adhere to the theory of deontology, the principles of Immanuel Kant which state that both the actions and the outcome must be ethical. Greater weight is placed upon the action’s morality, but it also says that a wrong action does not make its outcome the same.”

“That could also describe DICOMY, don’t you think?” Rowder asked, steepling her hands under her chin, never looking away from Arthur even as she smiled prettily. She didn’t give him a chance to respond. “But that’s a topic for another day. It seems to me we’re going about this all wrong. After all, this isn’t about the children, but Arthur Parnassus. He has graciously provided a harrowing account of his time under DICOMY’s purview, and I, for one, applaud his bravery.” Her smile melted into a mien of sticky sympathy. “It can’t have been easy, coming here.”

His skin thrummed, and he forced himself to take calm, even breaths. “It was not, but as I said before, it’s important.”

“Quite,” Rowder said. “And while I think there is relevance to hearing about your wards—especially since you have petitioned to adopt them all, haven’t you?—the fact remains they are, as you eloquently stated, just children.”

“In that, we agree.”

“Whose real parents are all… deceased.”

Tightening the screws. She knew the children were listening. “Seeing as how the word ‘orphan’ is part of ‘orphanage,’ yes, that is the case.”

“Why these children?”

Arthur blinked in surprise. “I don’t know what you—”

“Out of all the children in the world that fall under the watch of the Department in Charge of Magical Youth, why these six?”

“Because they needed a home.”

“I suppose that’s one reason,” she said. “But what about you, Mr. Parnassus? You are not a child. And, as much as it pains me to say, after everything you’ve been through, you should, by rights, be extraordinarily upset with DICOMY and DICOMA. From what I’ve heard in your testimony today, you are, and with good reason.”

“Once again, we are in agreement. Though I feel ‘upset’ is, perhaps, a euphemism.”

“Of course you do,” she said with a chuckle. “Let’s turn the focus back where it belongs, shall we?” Without waiting for an answer, she leaned forward quickly, a pair of violet half-moon glasses appearing as if by magic on the bridge of her nose as she looked down at the open file before her. “Dead parents. No siblings. No other family. Into a department orphanage at the age of seven.” She tsk ed, shaking her head. “How terribly sad, that. Positively awful. You have my sympathies. You are a phoenix, yes?”

Conversational whiplash, but that was her point, wasn’t it? To keep the ground rolling beneath his feet. “Yes. I am.”

She nodded. “Wonderful. Prove it.”

A murmur rolled through the crowd, a low sigh like the wind off the sea under a steel sky. “I beg your pardon?”

She looked surprised. “Oh, silly me. I thought I was being clear. Let me try again, and please let me know if there is still any misunderstanding. I am asking, Mr. Parnassus, that you prove you are what you say you are. I don’t think it’s asking too much. After all, no one at DICOMY or DICOMA has seen evidence since you were a child, and even then, it’s mostly secondhand reports.”

Haversford cleared her throat. “Councilwoman, I don’t think that—”

Rowder ignored her. “Mr. Parnassus?”

He hesitated only a moment before lifting his hand, palm raised toward the ceiling. He could hear the others shifting around him, all craning to see what he would do. Arthur paid them no mind. A small fire appeared above his hand, no bigger than the flame of a candle. It danced above his skin before he closed his fingers around it, snuffing it out, a small cloud of smoke rising from between his fingers.

Rowder blinked. “Is that… is that it? That’s what you can do?” She tsk ed again. “I must admit to being a little disappointed. From your files, I understood that not only can you take the shape of a phoenix, but it can act as an extension of yourself as well, independent, though under your control. What you just showed us is a parlor trick.” She sighed, sitting back in her chair.

Arthur bristled, knowing she wanted to get a rise out of him, but unable to do much to stop it. “I will not be made to dance for you. You think yourself better than me, and I—”

Her eyes widened. “Mr. Parnassus, I pride myself on being accepting of everyone, no matter their background or lot in life. Any suggestion to the contrary is not only false but slanderous, and I won’t stand for it. That being said, I have a job to do, one I don’t take lightly. Perhaps the files were wrong? As much as I hate to admit it, DICOMY and DICOMA have indeed made their share of mistakes. Extremely Upper Management, for one. Speaking of, Mr. Parnassus, do you know why EUM approved the Marsyas Island orphanage remaining open?”

“I’m afraid my powers do not extend to reading minds.”

“For which we’re all grateful,” Rowder said. “I must admit to finding it strange that EUM just… rolled over when it came to you.” Her eyes lit up as if a new thought had entered her head. “Unless it had to do with Charles Werner. You knew him, didn’t you? And to avoid any confusion, when I say you knew Mr. Werner, I mean intimately.”

“What does any of this have to do with—”

“Do you deny it, Mr. Parnassus?” she asked.

“Mr. Werner and I were involved for a time, yes. But unbeknownst to me, he was using me to further his own career with—”

“I’m not finished,” Rowder said, her voice still light, easy, as if this were a conversation over brunch. “Because then there’s one Linus Baker, a former employee of the Department in Charge of Magical Youth. You are currently in a romantic relationship with him, correct?”

“Yes, but—”

Rowder sat back in her chair. “You seem to have a habit of collecting our employees for your own pleasure. I do hope we don’t lose any more good men to you. Employee retention is important, and a revolving door of paramours isn’t something children should be exposed to. It does raise an interesting question, however: Did Lawrence Baker, oh, excuse me”—she looked down at the folder once more, though Arthur knew it was all for show—“ Linus Baker, falsify reports from Marsyas Island in order to appease you, Arthur Parnassus?”

Haversford looked stunned. “This has never been brought to our attention before, nor have we seen or heard any evidence that even remotely suggests such a thing. Councilwoman, what are you accusing Mr. Parnassus of, exactly?”

Rowder held up a piece of paper covered in black lettering that Arthur couldn’t make out. “I have in my possession a sworn, signed affidavit from Charles Werner, a former member of Extremely Upper Management. After the dissolution of EUM last year, Mr. Werner took it upon himself to offer on record his keen insight into Arthur Parnassus. In addition to saying he felt threatened by Arthur Parnassus and Linus Baker—which is why, he claims, he and the other members of EUM agreed to keep the Marsyas Island orphanage open—it was his not-so-inconsiderable opinion that Mr. Parnassus is, for all intents and purposes, training magical youth to be soldiers.”

An explosion from all corners of Netherwicke: the crowd around Arthur rose to their feet, shouting, fists raised in the air. Cameras clicked and flashed, and people shouted over one another, their words lost in a wall of noise. Those in the second-floor gallery stomped their feet, beating their hands against the railing before them.

“ SILENCE! ” Burton bellowed, the word a whipcrack. Most everyone blinked rapidly as if awaking from a fuzzy dream. “We will not allow such outbursts during these proceedings. Anyone who speaks out of turn again will be removed immediately. Do I make myself clear?”

The crowd returned to their seats, the tension so thick Arthur practically choked on it.

“Mr. Parnassus?” Rowder asked sweetly. “Would you care to respond to these allegations?”

“Allegations,” Arthur repeated.

“Yes. About the children. Are you training them?”

“Beg pardon, but I think you meant to use the word ‘raising.’”

“But that’s not what I said, is it?” Rowder said, smiling once more. “Again, are you training them?”

“For what? Life? To be good people? To show love and acceptance even in the face of institutionalized bigotry? If that’s what you mean, then yes. I’m training them.”

Sallow shifted uncomfortably. “I think what she’s asking is if you’re training these children to go to war for you.”

“I wouldn’t dream of going to war with any of you,” Arthur said mildly. “It would be a battle of wits for which you are wholly unarmed.”

A resounding gasp from the observers, followed by furious mutterings, the rain plinking against the windows.

“Now, see here,” Burton started. “I will invite you to watch your tone, as—”

“Mr. Parnassus,” Rowder said, and Burton subsided, muttering under his breath. “You should know I sympathize with you greatly. And I don’t think I’m alone in that regard. Anyone who has heard your testimony today has most likely found themselves irrevocably changed. You have a way with words, sir, and we are all better off for it. That being said, another question, if I may.” She opened another folder, this one red like blood. “After your removal from Marsyas, you were placed in no less than seven different orphanages. At the age of eighteen, you were allowed to leave on your own—”

“I was kicked out first thing that morning,” Arthur said. “But not before the master attempted to extort me out of the blood money DICOMY paid me. Unfortunately for him, the money was in a trust until my twenty-first birthday.”

“You poor dear,” Rowder said. “That must have been part of the reason you didn’t register with the Department in Charge of Magical Adults as you were legally required to do. Per the records provided from the time, you failed to attend twenty-four different scheduled meetings with a department representative. My question is this: Where were you from the ages of twenty-one to approximately forty when you returned to Marsyas?”

He should’ve seen this coming. He hadn’t, but he should have. Of course they’d do whatever they could to make him appear the fool, and a dangerous one at that. He’d thought himself better, smarter, and some small part of him—optimistic to a fault—had hoped this would be the start of something different, that people would actually listen. His own hubris would be his undoing, and he had no one to blame but himself. No one knew what he’d done during those years, not even Zoe or Linus. It wasn’t as if he were ashamed; if he’d had to do it over again, he would have made all the same choices.

He chose his words carefully. “I traveled extensively. I’d never been able to see much beyond the walls of the homes in which I was placed.”

“And during your… travels, did you ever come across another magical being?”

“Of course I did.”

She nodded, pleased. “And did you assist them in any way?”

“Define ‘assist.’”

Her mouth dropped open, another practiced move. “Are you hedging in front of the Council of Utmost Importance? Mr. Parnassus, surely you understand how unacceptable that is.”

He spread his hands as if to say What can you do? “If you’re going to accuse me of something, do it.”

“As you wish. Mr. Parnassus, did you illegally move magical persons to help them avoid detection by DICOMY and DICOMA, thus enabling them to live as unregistered beings?”

“Yes.”

A burst of noise that he ignored, though he could feel Linus’s gaze boring into the back of his head.

“And you did this knowing it was against the law?”

“Yes.”

“And if you were not here today, and if you hadn’t found yourself returning to Marsyas Island, is it fair to say that you would have continued helping the magical community flout the laws of this great country?”

“Yes.”

Then she asked a question he didn’t expect. “During this period, or any time after, did you ever help another phoenix?”

“I wouldn’t answer that even if I had.”

The low mutterings behind him grew louder.

Rowder sighed. “Mr. Parnassus, how can we help if you won’t be honest with us? We aren’t the evil masterminds you seem bent on making us out to be. According to the official record, you are the only known phoenix in the entire world. Did you know that?”

“Yes.”

“That must be very lonely for you. I don’t think you can be blamed, then, for seeking out others like you, to find strength in purpose and solidarity.” She grew stern, a mother scolding an unruly child. “However, that doesn’t give you the right to act as a vigilante, especially when it seeks to undermine everything we stand for. Have you ever considered the fact that you caused more harm than good?”

“Not once,” Arthur replied.

Her forehead wrinkled. “Not… once? No twinges of guilt? Nothing deep inside your captivating brain that screamed at you to stop and think for once in your life?”

“Never,” Arthur said. “Offering food, clothing, and shelter to people who had none seemed like the best way to spend the government’s money. Pardon me. My money.”

Rowder’s eyes flashed, but when she spoke, her voice was even. “And sometimes that meant moving people.”

“Yes.”

“Unregistered people.”

“Yes.”

“To keep them from following the letter of the law.”

“Laws meant to control them,” Arthur snapped, his anger finally getting the best of him. “To never let them forget that a government built with the idea of helping people only includes those society deems normal . I’ve seen firsthand what your letter of the law entails. Or have you forgotten the reason I’m here?”

“We haven’t,” Rowder said. “And I’ll be the first to say that mistakes were made, mistakes that I wouldn’t wish upon anyone. I’m sure the others will agree.”

Sallow nodded furiously, Haversford eyed Rowder warily, and Burton looked as if he wished he were anywhere but here in Netherwicke.

“See?” Rowder asked. “So, yes, I think—”

Arthur leaned forward, mouth inches from the microphone. “Then apologize.”

That caught Rowder off guard. For a brief moment, the countenance of sympathy failed, replaced by a flash of black rage so severe it knocked the breath from Arthur’s chest. It lasted only a second or two before a bland expression of the unperturbed took root, spreading across her face. “You were compensated one million pounds,” she said lightly.

“I was,” Arthur said. “But I failed to hear a single apology from anyone: not from the master who abused me and others. Nor from any member of a governing body, including DICOMY and DICOMA. You consider optics in everything you do, yes? Of course you do. You’re part of the government. So, for your consideration, I not only ask for an apology from you for the way I was treated, but also an apology to every single magical person who has been harmed—physically, emotionally, psychologically—by your rules. By your regulations. By your laws . You want to talk about the children? They’re listening, along with countless others from our community. Give them a reason to believe you care about us. Give them a reason to believe, after hearing what you have, that you have their best interests in mind, and that you will not fail them as you have failed so many others. Apologize for the harm you have caused.”

“Mr. Parnassus,” Haversford said. “I hear you. I do. I think it’s time for a break—

But Rowder was having none of it. “Did you—at any point—train those you helped to fight?”

Keeping his expression neutral was getting harder. “I taught them to protect themselves.”

“For the record, please make note of the fact that Mr. Parnassus did not answer the question asked. Mr. Parnassus, are you training an army of the most dangerous magical children this world has ever known? Children you are now attempting to own outright through adoption, along with Linus Baker, a former employee of DICOMY?”

Who did she think she was? “ Own? I refuse to—”

Rowder spoke over him, raising her voice. “Did Linus Baker reveal classified information to you, either during his month-long inspection of the island or after?”

“I resent the implication. You don’t—”

“And Zoe Chapelwhite. An unregistered island sprite who, by Mr. Baker’s own reports, is extraordinarily powerful and not only has contact with the children of Marsyas Island, but actively contributes to their education. Is that correct?”

“Yes, and she—”

“Which, of course, brings me back to the Antichrist. Lucy. A wonderful name for a boy. But let’s call him by his actual given name, shall we? Lucifer. The purported scion of the Devil himself. A boy who—”

“Is only seven years old,” Arthur retorted, his anger a molten ball of lead sitting in his stomach. “A boy who loves music and baking. A boy who has chosen to be good because he wants to be.”

“For how long?” Rowder asked. “What if something—say, your adoption application—doesn’t come to fruition? What would he do then in retaliation? Enforce his will upon the population? Level cities? Bring about an age of darkness where he installs himself as ruler of—”

Arthur stood abruptly, his chair scraping the floor. “He is a child . They all are. Do you hear yourselves? Any of you? Why are you attempting to influence public opinion by making baseless accusations, ones we will have to deal with for the rest of our lives? You don’t get to—”

“I think you’ll find that I do get to,” Rowder said. “I am aware they are children, Mr. Parnassus. But even children can travel a dangerous road when led by a man who has decided he is above the law.”

“How dare you,” Arthur said coldly. “I came here as a show of good faith to—”

“You came here because we allowed it,” Rowder said as if they were discussing the weather. “I think we’ve learned all there is to know. Thank you, Mr. Parnassus. Your testimony today has proven enlightening. We will take everything we’ve heard into consideration while we decide the best course of action.” She smiled again, and Arthur’s blood turned to ice. “Though it has yet to be announced, I doubt Herman—pardon me, Prime Minister Carmine—would mind if I let the cat out of the bag.” Her smile widened, revealing perfect white teeth. “As of last week, I have been appointed interim head of the Departments in Charge of Magical Youth and Magical Adults while the investigation into EUM continues. I am honored the prime minister has placed so much faith in me. As such, I am ready to make my first decree. A new inspector will travel to Marsyas Island to provide a complete accounting as to the goings-on there. Unlike past inspectors who were unable to file reports without subjective commentary, this new inspector will have no such problems.” She chuckled. “And no, Mr. Parnassus, this inspector will not be male, given your… propensities for distraction when it comes to DICOMY employees.”

“What is wrong with you?” someone yelled, and Arthur turned his head to find Linus Baker standing, gripping the railing in front of him so tightly, his knuckles were bloodless. He was shaking with barely restrained rage. “The lack of decorum and common decency is absolutely appalling. This farce will not be forgotten. Everyone will see exactly the kind of people you are.”

“Quiet in the gallery!” Burton barked into his microphone, even as reporters began shouting questions over one another, their words combining into unintelligible nonsense.

Rowder ignored them all, raising her voice. “The point of this inspection will be to determine if the children—Talia and Phee and Lucy and Sal and Theodore and Chauncey and David—are safe at Marsyas island, or if they need to be removed for their own well-being and relocated. The safety of these children—and all children, magical or not—is paramount to DICOMY. If they are found to be abused or imprisoned or worse, being trained, it’s vital that we protect them before it’s too late. After all, studies have shown that the circle of violence must be broken. For all we know, Mr. Parnassus has locked them away just as was done to him, and I will invite our guest one more time to show me. The. Bird .”

He knew he was playing into her hands. She was trying to get a rise out of him, to make him lose control and prove he was as dangerous as she’d not so subtly hinted. He knew what she wanted, and though he tried his damnedest to fight it, the implication that he was a threat against the children— his children —proved to be too much. They wanted to see what he was capable of? He’d show them. He’d show them all.

Someone in the gallery above screamed when bright blooms of fire raced down Arthur’s arms, engulfing the sleeves of his suit coat. The fire reached his hands—his palms, his knuckles, his fingertips all crackling, a white-hot center that looked like a miniature sun—and in his head, the phoenix awakened from its slumber, fiery eyes blinking slowly as it shifted within. They were not independent of each other, not like Rowder had implied. The man was the monster, the monster the man. They were one and the same, and when Arthur’s wings began to take form—orange-red feathers that burned bright, fierce—the relief he felt was all-consuming, vast, tinged with more than a little anger. His vision sharpened, his blood ran boiling hot. Each wing was at least ten feet in length, little droplets of fire falling from them onto the floor, splashing in sparks of blue before dissipating. He saw through his own eyes, but it doubled as he was in two places at once: man standing and beast rising. Arthur spread his arms and the phoenix shrieked, a piercing cry that shook the windows of the dome above. Its large fan of tail feathers rattled together like bones.

He thought about giving in to the phoenix, letting it swallow him whole. Already, his thoughts were changing, becoming less complex, guided by instinct rather than the cold calculation of human logic and strategy. Fly, he thought as Arthur Parnassus. Fly, he thought as a phoenix, but instead of the word itself, it came as a series of images soaked in fire: wings spread wide, pumping up and down, lifting them ( him ) off the floor. Up and up. Sizzling heat shattering the dome, glass melting in crystalline clumps. Freedom in a slate sky, rain hissing the moment it touched the bird’s feathers.

Just as he was about to succumb to the phoenix and fly out—after all, hadn’t they all but demanded a performance?—something struck the side of his face. It fell onto the table, and he looked down. There, with its edges curled, smoldering, was a mousepad. On it, the words Don’t you wish you were here?

He jerked his head over his shoulder.

The crowd behind him had risen from their seats, climbing over one another to get away from the heat of the fire. No one had reached the doors quite yet, but not for lack of trying. Chairs were overturned, people shouted, hands raised above them as if to ward off the phoenix. They were scared, they were frightened, and for a moment, didn’t Arthur revel in it? Didn’t the phoenix scream again, only this time in pleasure at the sight of humans fleeing?

He did. It did.

Until he saw the one man who wasn’t running, the one man who stood with his hair whipping around his head, his shoulders squared. His eyes were wide, unsure as he looked up at the towering creature before him, but he did not back away, did not try to run. Instead, he stood his ground, his tie flapping against his chest.

Arthur turned around, facing him, in what was only the second time Linus had seen the fiery bird since his arrival on the island the previous year. The phoenix lowered its massive head toward him. When it was eye level, it chirped, cocking its head as it blinked rapidly. Linus raised a steady hand, and the phoenix clicked its beak before nuzzling his palm, eyes fluttering.

“There, there,” Linus said quietly. “All this fuss, and for what? You are good, Arthur, no matter what form you choose to take.”

“Linus,” both Arthur and the phoenix said at the same time, the man’s voice clear, the phoenix’s like a guttural exhalation.

“Come back,” Linus said as the phoenix bumped its head against his hand. “You’ve proven your point. It’s time, Arthur.”

He closed his eyes, and the bird shrieked once more—pointed, sharp, a reminder of his power to everyone within earshot—before it folded in on itself, head pointed at the top of Arthur’s head. It shot down, and he felt his body burn as the phoenix slammed back into him, his arms and legs jerking. It was over in a bright flash of light, leaving only the stench of smoke behind.

He took a stumbling step toward Linus, his knees weak as they usually were when he pulled the phoenix back. Grabbing his arm, Linus pulled him into a hug, the railing between them. Arthur sighed, bowing his head against Linus’s shoulder. “You with me?” Linus whispered.

“Yes.”

“Good. Then you must listen. Rowder made a mistake.”

He tensed but didn’t raise his head. “Tell me.”

“The children,” Linus said. “She mentioned them all by name.”

Arthur pulled back with a frown, ignoring the eyes of everyone upon them as they slowly realized there wasn’t a threat any longer, shuffling back toward discarded seats. “What do you mean?”

“David,” Linus said. “She mentioned David .”

For a moment, Arthur still didn’t understand. They’d mentioned all the children at one point or another, Arthur included. What did David have to—

When it hit him, it hit him hard. She couldn’t know about David because anyone who did was either on the island or in a halfway house waiting for Linus and Arthur to arrive. And the only time they had said David’s name in the city had been last night at the hotel, before finding the surveillance bug.

Arthur whirled around, Linus’s hand sliding down his arm, their fingers catching for a quick moment. It took Arthur only a few seconds to stand in front of the table once more, but by the time he did, he was back in control.

Sallow had fallen over the back of his chair and was now crouched behind his desk, only the top of his head visible as he peeked over. Burton was pale, mouth hanging open, eyes wide and filled with shock. Haversford’s face was in her hands, her shoulders shaking.

Rowder hadn’t moved. She sat where she had before, hands folded in front of her, thumbs pressed together. The gleam in her eyes could only be described as hungry, and Arthur cursed silently for giving her what she so obviously wanted.

People scrambling up in the gallery and in the rows of seats behind Arthur froze when she spoke. “That was… quite the display.” She sounded breathless, the feedback from her microphone causing it to squeal. “Now, hopefully everyone can see why we’re so concerned about the safety and well-being of the children under Arthur Parnassus’s care. Given how powerful he appears to be and how quick to anger he is, is it any wonder we’d question his intentions?” She stood abruptly, her chair wobbling back on two legs. It didn’t tip over. “We’ve seen quite enough. Mr. Parnassus, the Council of Utmost Importance thanks you for your testimony, and we will take what we learned today into consideration. You will be contacted shortly with the details of your home inspection. Any subterfuge will be considered an act against the government, and we will respond accordingly, up to and including removing the children from the orphanage and dismissing you from your post. Have a pleasant afternoon.”

With that, she began to move off the dais, immediately surrounded by a group of muttering staffers. Burton rose slowly, his lips pulled down. Sallow righted his chair and slumped back into it, looking dazed. Haversford looked off into nothing, eyes vacant as she brushed her fingers against the files in front of her.

“Madam,” Arthur called, voice carrying.

Rowder turned toward him. Everyone did. No one spoke, all waiting.

Arthur reached into the pocket of his coat. Making sure Rowder was watching, he pulled his hand out and held it over the table. He opened his fingers, turning his palm over. Bits of plastic and green wiring fell onto the table with a clatter. “I think this is yours.”

She cocked her head, her politician’s smile on full display. “I assure you, I have no idea what—”

“The listening device you had planted in my hotel room,” Arthur said, and as one, Haversford, Burton, and Sallow all turned slowly to look at Rowder.

Rowder laughed. “More baseless accusations, Mr. Parnassus? How expected. You should really consider—”

“I’m not convinced you’re in any position to tell me what I should or shouldn’t consider. Have a pleasant afternoon.”

He turned, pushing his way through the wooden gate. Linus fell in step beside him, and as everyone looked on, cameras flashing, reporters shouting questions, they strode down the aisle and left Netherwicke behind.