Chapter Six

SIX

Not wanting to take the chance of additional listening devices or reporters finding out where they were staying, Linus decided they needed to change hotels. Arthur agreed tiredly, lost in his own head. They packed their suitcases with little conversation between them and left the hotel behind. Linus herded them onto a city bus, the rain falling steadily. Hands clasped tightly between them, the pair traveled for nearly an hour, Arthur staring out the window at the city passing by.

He startled out of a semi-doze when Linus said, “This is our stop. We need to find a phone. I bet the children are driving Zoe and Helen up the walls.”

“You have questions. I can see them in your eyes.”

Linus shook his head as the bus slowed, brakes wheezing. “There will be time for that later. Phone first, then room. We can talk after we’ve settled.”

Arthur nodded and followed Linus off the bus. They hurried across the sidewalk toward a hotel nowhere near as nice as the first. No bellhop, no grand sign hanging above the doors. Instead, it was a short, squat building nestled between a department store and a pub where loud music shook the walls.

A courtesy phone sat just inside the entryway. Linus picked up the handset and dialed a familiar number. Arthur leaned against the nearest wall, their luggage at their feet as he heard the tinny ringing of the phone.

Zoe answered on the third ring, and Arthur laughed quietly at her immediate outrage, her voice carrying through the line as Linus winced, pulling the phone away from his ear. “The absolute gall, ” she snarled. “They’re lucky they haven’t yet showed their faces on my island. The moment they do, I’m going to turn them inside out and— No, Lucy. Lucy . That was a figure of speech. We’re not actually going to turn people inside out. Lucy, that was not permission for murder .” She sighed. “Yes, I probably shouldn’t have said that, but we really need to have a discussion about how quickly Lucy agrees to a plan whenever murder is mentioned.”

“It sounds like it’s going well, then,” Linus said dryly. “Did they listen to the entire thing?”

“We all did,” Zoe said. She lowered her voice. “Helen and I tried to distract them when Rowder started jabbering on, but they wouldn’t hear of it. How’s Arthur?”

He pushed himself off the wall, crowding against Linus, heads close together as Linus lifted the phone between them. “I’m fine, Zoe. A little tired, but nothing a good night’s sleep won’t fix.”

“Linus?” she asked.

“He’s all right,” Linus said.

“And you?”

“Angry. Frustrated. Worried.”

“To be expected. Rowder is a piece of work.”

“The children?” Arthur asked.

“They had… a few choice words about the proceedings that they absolutely did not learn from me. Talia called them all mud-guzzlers? I’m not quite sure what that means, but she was very forceful when she said it.”

Arthur chuckled. “It’s a Gnomish insult, one of the worst. A mud-guzzler is someone foul who eats the soil rather than growing things from it. I don’t think I’ve ever heard her say that before. I feel terrible I missed her first time. It must have been delightful.”

“That’s one word for it,” Zoe said. “To be honest, it pretty much went downhill from there. Even Sal said some things that— Lucy. Talia . That had better not be grave-digging equipment I see. I said no murdering!”

Arthur missed them all terribly.

“Can you put us on speakerphone?” Linus asked. “We won’t take long. It’ll be better to explain everything when we return home the day after tomorrow.”

“Hold on. Kids! Arthur and Linus want to talk to you. Theodore, just because Arthur made fire indoors does not mean you can do the same. Sal, would you help him— Chauncey. Where did you… Are you eating a pine cone ?”

“Phee says it’s not cannibalism, and it makes my poops an adventure!”

“I said you could eat the seeds, not the whole thing!”

“These are definitely your children,” Zoe muttered, and Linus and Arthur grinned at each other like a pair of fools. “Okay. You’re on speaker.”

“Linus?” Talia asked.

“Yes?”

“The man on the radio said you threw something at Arthur’s head.”

Linus looked at Arthur helplessly, who shrugged and arched an eyebrow. “Yes, I did,” Linus said, glaring at Arthur. “But only because—”

“Violence is acceptable when you need to get people to pay attention to you. Got it.”

Linus groaned.

“Children,” Arthur said. “You undoubtedly have questions, and I look forward to answering them as best I can upon our return. For now, I think it’s important to—”

“We do have questions,” Sal said, voice crackling through the line. “But they can wait, except for one.”

“And what’s that?” Arthur asked.

“Are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” he said, blinking against the burn in his eyes. “Much better now that I get to speak with you. But fear not; Linus is with me, and woe to anyone who tries to get in his way.”

“Damn right,” Linus said fiercely.

They ate a quiet meal—takeaway again, the hotel nowhere near fancy enough for room service—and after, Arthur stood in the shower for a long time, the water scalding as he tried to put his thoughts in order. Once he saw to his evening ablutions, he went back out into the room, dressed in a pair of sleep shorts and an old shirt.

Linus had turned off the lights, the only illumination coming from the blinking neon sign across the street for a pharmacy, flashes of blue, blue, blue. Sitting up against the headboard, Linus pulled back the comforter and patted the bed beside him. “Sleep,” he said. “Tomorrow is another day, and one we need to be prepared for.”

“David,” Arthur said as he climbed into bed next to Linus, who pulled the blankets up and over them, cocooning them in darkness. Through the blanket, a pale pulse of neon blue. For a moment, he could pretend it was the sea.

Linus gathered him up, pulling him over, letting Arthur’s head rest against his chest. His heartbeat was slow, steady. Listening to the pleasant thump, thump, thump, Arthur took a deep breath, letting it out slow.

“David,” Linus said. “They know about him. Or, they think they do.”

“It doesn’t change anything.”

“Doesn’t it?” Linus asked, hands in Arthur’s hair, scratching his scalp. “Not because I don’t want him to come with us, but if they’re sending another DICOMY inspector, he could be in danger. Should we put him in such a position?”

“He can’t stay where he is,” Arthur murmured, stretching his legs, tangling them with Linus’s. “You know that. Helen said it was always meant to be temporary. He needs space. Room to grow. We may have to hide him when the inspector arrives, but I’ve done more with less.”

Linus stiffened slightly underneath him, but his heartbeat remained calm. “You have.” It was not a question.

“Yes.”

Linus hesitated, and when he spoke again, it sounded as if he were picking and choosing his words carefully. “Before you came back to the island I’d heard rumors of someone or someones moving people around, but it was right when I started working at DICOMY, and then it was swallowed up by the machine of bureaucracy, much like I was.”

Arthur didn’t know where to start. “I was… young. Cynical. Angry. No one would listen to us. No one would protect us. And on top of that, there were increasing sweeps of towns and cities, hunting unregistered people, forcing them into the limelight so they could be documented, tracked.”

“I remember those,” Linus whispered with a shiver. “It proved to be an unpopular action, which is why they shut down the program after a few years.”

“Unpopular to a slim majority of non-magical people,” Arthur said bitterly. “They didn’t give a damn about what we said.”

“So you took it upon yourself.”

“Yes.”

“How many people did you help?”

Arthur blinked. “I… don’t know. I didn’t keep count.”

“More than one?”

“Oh, yes. Many more.”

“And you moved them from place to place, to keep them safe.”

“I tried.”

“Why did you stop?” Linus asked. “There must have been a reason you decided to return to the island.”

Arthur said, “I was tired. Tired of never having a place to call home. Tired of being on my own. I tried to keep the loneliness at bay for as long as I could, but eventually, it began to eat away at me until all I felt was hollow, empty.”

“Fires can’t burn forever,” Linus murmured.

“It felt as if I was chipping away at a mountain with a pickax. I could see evidence of my work, but…”

“It felt like diminishing returns. For what it’s worth, I think I’d feel the same way.”

“It’s worth more than you know,” Arthur whispered. “I couldn’t keep up with it. And the worse off I was, the more room there was for error. I didn’t want anyone to suffer because of me.”

“So you went back to the island,” Linus said, his hand in Arthur’s hair. “The place where it all began.”

“ Sic parvis magna. ”

“Greatness from small beginnings,” Linus said.

Arthur nodded. “That’s what I hoped and continue to hope. I’m not a perfect man, Linus. I’m riddled with faults. I don’t have all the answers, even if I seem like I do. I’m brash, obstinate. I make mistakes. And I worry! I worry all the time about the children. I worry about them when they sleep. When they wake up. When they run, when they eat, when they laugh or cry or sneeze. When they ask questions or when they answer questions. What does that make me?”

Linus snorted. “That makes you a father.”

Arthur blinked, lifting his head to look at Linus. “What?”

“It makes you their father,” Linus said again. “And they are so very lucky to have you.”

“You mean that,” Arthur said with no small amount of wonder.

“Of course I do,” Linus said. “Because I happen to love those things you call faults. They’re part of you. And they have served you well. Arthur, in the eyes of those who love you, those who know you, you’ve done what you always have: your best. That might not mean much to ridiculous councils, but I happen to know six children who would go to the ends of the earth for you. And if anyone faults you for that, I’ll have a few choice words for them, believe you me.”

Amused, Arthur said, “Then I suppose I should listen to you.”

“You should. I sometimes know what I’m talking about.”

“So I’ve gathered. Now you know. Now you know all there is to know about me. I have nothing left to give.”

Linus said, “You do, actually. One last thing.”

Arthur frowned. “What would that be?”

Linus slid out from underneath Arthur, climbing off the bed and going to the closet where they’d stored their luggage. Arthur watched as Linus opened the closet door and began to dig around in his suitcase. When he found what he was looking for, he stood upright, closing the closet door. He hesitated a moment, hand on the doorknob.

“Linus?” Arthur asked.

Linus jumped, as if he’d forgotten Arthur was there. When he faced the bed, he looked nervous, jittery. One hand was behind his back, clutching whatever he’d pulled from the suitcase. He approached the bed slowly. “I’ve thought about this,” Linus said. “For a while now. You put the idea in my head, so whatever happens next, remember: this is your fault.”

“And I accept full responsibility for whatever it is,” Arthur assured him. He didn’t know why Linus was so nervous. It should have worried him. But for some reason, he felt as if he could float away in the slightest breeze.

Linus stopped next to the bed, thighs against the mattress. He fidgeted from one foot to the other, and right when Arthur was about to ask if he was all right, a change overcame Linus. His breathing slowed, his shoulders squared, and he smiled, a bright, warm thing that made Arthur’s heart stumble in his chest. “I love you,” Linus said. “You have given my life color in ways I did not expect. You and the children and Zoe.”

“You already had it in you to—”

“Perhaps,” Linus said. “But it took kindness and patience to bring it out. It took a home where one should not exist. But it does. It does exist, and that’s because of you.” He brought his hand out from behind his back, and there, sitting on his palm, was a small black box. As Arthur looked on, Linus opened the box to reveal a silver ring with a line of tiny cerulean-blue gemstones across the top, seven in all.

Arthur reached a shaking hand toward the ring. “After all you’ve heard today? Still, even now?”

“Even now,” Linus said firmly. “And tomorrow. And the day after. And the day after that. All the days we have left. You, Arthur. I choose you.” He looked away. “If you’ll have me, that is. I know I’m not much, but I do try my best. I come with a ridiculous cat, and I can be a little fussy—”

“Is that what we’re calling it now?”

Linus scowled. “Hush, you. I’ll have you know that some people appreciate—”

“Me,” Arthur said. “I’m one of those people. In fact, I might appreciate you more than they do. Is that ring for me? I’d quite like to try it on, if you don’t mind.” He extended his hand, wiggling his fingers.

Though he almost dropped the box while fumbling it, Linus managed to pull the ring from the box without loss of limb or life. He slid the ring onto Arthur’s finger. There was a little pressure at his knuckle that gave way when the ring slid past. It fit perfectly.

He remembered. “Talia.”

Last month, Talia had invited Arthur to tour her garden as the end of spring approached. He’d exclaimed over every flower, every leaf, telling Talia this year’s garden was her best yet. To which Talia replied that of course it was. In her opinion, it was the best garden in existence, and anyone who disagreed would—in her words—meet her favorite shovel face to face.

Before they had finished up, she had done something she’d never done before: taking a blade of grass, she’d tied it around his ring finger, saying it was a Gnomish custom to say so long to spring as summer approached. Though he considered himself a bit of an expert in all things Gnomish, he hadn’t heard of such a ritual before. Even more curiously, Talia had removed it almost immediately, careful not to let it break. When he’d asked what she was going to do next with it, he’d been told in no uncertain terms to mind his own business.

“Talia,” Linus agreed. “Said you believed her.”

“That sneak,” Arthur said, suitably impressed.

“So.”

“So,” Arthur said, having more than a little fun.

Linus threw up his hands. “Well? I asked you a question!”

“Actually,” Arthur said, extending his hand to look at the ring, “you didn’t.”

“What? Of course I—I said—I gave you the ring —I didn’t even ask ?” He groaned, putting his face in his hands. “Well, old boy, you’ve gone and done it now.”

“Linus?”

He sighed and dropped his hands.

“Yes.”

“Yes?”

Arthur said, “Yes. Yes to you. Yes to us. Yes to all of it.”

When Linus smiled, Arthur was reminded of the sun, of a blinding light coming to chase the darkness away. Such a lovely fellow, with his sturdy heart and fierce loyalty. Arthur hoped he would be enough for such a man. When Linus crawled back onto the bed, Arthur kissed him thoroughly, cupping his face, the ring near his ear.

“Yes,” he said again. “Yes, yes, yes.”

At precisely half past eleven the following morning, Arthur and Linus knocked on the red wooden door of 349 Chesterhill Lane, a firm shave-and-a-haircut, followed by two bits.

The house itself was a plain thing. While not ramshackle, it looked old, the off-white siding cracked, the porch in need of a fresh coat of paint. Ivy hung from hooks in the ceiling, tendrils spilling over the chipped pottery, stretching toward the floor of the porch. From inside, the sounds of people moving about, voices muffled, followed by a loud burst of laughter.

The house sat apart from the others in the neighborhood, the driveway long and winding through sparse trees, knee-high grasses lining either side. When standing on the porch like they were now, it was nigh impossible to see any other home, which must have been the reason it was chosen. Behind the house, a tall fence surrounded what Arthur assumed was the backyard, keeping away anyone with prying eyes.

As soon as Arthur knocked on the door, the voices inside fell instantly silent. When nearly a full minute had passed and no one had answered, Linus said, “Are you sure that was correct? You knocked like Helen said?”

“I did,” Arthur said, head cocked as he stared at the door.

“Perhaps we should—”

A panel near the top of the door slid open, revealing green eyes the color of moss and a pair of enormous eyebrows that looked like lines of rust. “Didja see the sign?” A deep, gruff voice with a thick brogue that brooked no arguments.

Next to the door, a placard with black letters: NO SOLICITATIONS .

“We did,” Arthur said. “And we’ve chosen to ignore it.”

The eyes crinkled. “Is that so? Then I’ll invite you to feck off. Whatever you’re sellin’, we’ve no need of it.”

Linus bristled. “I assure you we’re not going to feck off . And we’re not selling anything.”

“Coulda fooled me,” the man said. “You look like a salesman.”

“My name is Linus Baker,” he said sternly. “And this is Arthur Parnassus. You should be expecting us.”

The panel slammed shut.

Linus took a step back from the door. “Well, that was rude. Did we get the address wrong? I thought we triple-checked to make sure—”

The door swung open, revealing the largest man Arthur had ever seen. He towered above them, his mass filling the doorway, as wide as he was tall. He wore a pair of joggers and a shirt covered in old, faded stains that stretched against his sloping gut. His curly hair matched his rust-colored eyebrows, big and wild. He grinned at them, face lighting up under dozens of freckles. He looked to be in his thirties or thereabouts, and a jovial fellow.

“I’m only messin’ around,” he boomed. “Know who you are. Course I do.” He extended a massive hand toward them, Arthur taking it first. His grip was like steel, but Arthur didn’t react. Neither did Linus. “Heard ya on the radio.” He leaned back into the house and called, “We’re good, B! False alarm.”

A moment later, voices again in the house. The man stepped out and closed the door behind him. He pushed through Linus and Arthur, stopping at the edge of the porch, looking out at the rain. “Bucketing down, eh? Been a donkey’s year since we’ve seen the sun.”

“You’re Jason,” Linus said, repeating the name Helen had given them.

He nodded. “Aye. And you’re here for the boyo.”

“David.” Arthur looked toward the door. “Is he inside?”

Jason turned to face them, the smile gone, replaced by a wary expression. “Helen said you’re good people.”

“She’s too kind,” Arthur said.

“And that you’ve got… others.”

“We do,” Linus said. “If you listened to the hearing as you say, then you’ll know that to be true.”

Jason scrubbed a hand over his face. “I heard. Did it go as you thought? B was pretty pissed over it.”

“Who’s B?” Linus asked.

“My partner,” Jason said. “Byron. Uses they/them pronouns, so if that’s going to be a problem, you can leave now. Won’t have anyone coming after B, not in our home.”

“That won’t be an issue,” Arthur assured him. “We’re welcoming of everyone.”

Jason stared at him a long moment before nodding. For his part, Arthur didn’t look away. “Good to know. Figured as much but can’t be too careful.” He glanced at the door. “Bad business, yesterday. Seems as if EUM is alive and well, just with different people. Ya seen the papers?”

“We ignored them on purpose,” Linus said.

“Don’t blame ya for that,” Jason said. “Most made your fella out to be something dark. Conveniently ignored everything he said and focused on that little display at the end. Pictures and all. Some are running with your accusations of bugging your hotel room, but…” He shrugged. “Woulda done the same, yeah? Show them what’s what.” He grinned suddenly. “But don’t tell B I said that. They’re already on the war path, and woe to anyone who gets in their way, me included.”

Arthur chuckled at the fondness in Jason’s voice. “Sounds as if they are formidable.”

“How many people are here?” Linus asked as the sound of laughter came through the open door.

Jason narrowed his eyes, and Arthur felt in him a kindred spirit. “You’re not here for them.” He held up his hand as Linus started to splutter. “That’s how it is. Helen vouched for you, said you were both good men, but trust is in short supply these days, especially for someone who used to work for DICOMY.”

Linus nodded stiffly. “I did.”

Jason looked surprised, as if he hadn’t expected Linus to admit it so readily. “Huh. I see.” He sighed, picking dirt from underneath his fingernails as he leaned against the porch railing. “Look, lads. This is delicate work. Probably don’t need to tell you that, but I figure it doesn’t hurt to be reminded. Not just about us. About the people, yeah? Anything for them. It’s why B and me do what we do. Help people that need it. But we help adults . Kids are so much harder to explain when an inspector comes around, especially since none of them are registered.” He spat over the side of the railing, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand before glancing at Arthur. “But we made an exception for an old friend.”

“Helen,” Arthur said.

Jason nodded. “Aye, fine lass. Got a fire lit under her some months back.” He jerked his head toward Linus. “Said you had something to do with it.”

“She popped my bubble,” Linus said.

Jason’s eyebrows rose. “I don’t know about all that, but she’s proven herself time and time again. Said her village is more accepting than it once was.”

“It is,” Arthur said. “Work still needs to be done, but it’s getting there.”

“Good to know. Helen came to us and asked us to look after a wee boy. Said it was temporary while she, in her words, ‘convinced a pair of lovebirds they had room for one more.’” He waggled his eyebrows. “That be you?”

Linus groaned as Arthur held up his hand, the stones of his ring catching the gloomy light.

Jason whistled, bending over until his face was inches from the ring. “Would you look at that! Warms my heart, it does. Love, lads. It’s what makes the world go round.” He stepped back as Arthur dropped his hand. “So, she right? You have room for another?”

“We do,” Arthur said. “More than enough. And our children are just as excited as we are to have David come stay with us.”

“He knows we’re coming?” Linus asked.

Jason snorted. “Aye, he does. Worked himself up into a right state over it. Excited, nervous, everything in between. Wish we could keep him, but we’ve got our hands full as it is. Not enough room. Needs more than B and I can give right now. Kids need kids. Simple as that.” He sighed. “Doesn’t help that we’ve got our own inspection coming up for the adults we house. I’d rather him be far away from here than run the risk of getting noticed by the government.”

“But,” Arthur said, because he knew it was there.

“But,” Jason said, drawing the word out. “You heard it same as me. Rowder knows his name.” He glared at Arthur and Linus as if he thought it was their doing. “Doesn’t sit right with me. You’re in the same boat, only the inspector is going to be looking for children. How’s that going to work?”

“We know,” Linus said. “And we have contingency plans in place.”

“Such as?” Jason asked.

“The island has many secrets,” Arthur said. “Trust me when I say David’s safety and well-being are a priority to the both of us.”

Jason nodded slowly. “I’ll hold you to that, Mr. Parnassus. Anything happens to him, you’ll answer to me. May not be magic like you and B, but I can hold my own.”

A pointed threat, and one Arthur believed.

“How has he adapted?” Linus asked. “Given how quiet Helen said he is, this place must have been a bit of a shock.”

Jason laughed loudly, bending over and slapping his knee. “Quiet? For the first couple of days, sure. Now, though? Quiet and David are at opposite ends of the spectrum.” He moved toward the door, stopping with his hand on the doorknob. He looked back over his shoulder at them, wearing an odd smile. “He can be a bit… theatrical.”

“Theatrical,” Linus repeated with that funny little wrinkle between his eyes, the one Arthur recognized well. He was puzzled. “I thought—it’s just that Helen told us he’s quiet and shy.”

“He was,” Jason agreed. “And now he’s not. Word of advice? Let him do what needs to be done.”

“Which is?” Linus asked slowly.

Jason grinned at them. “Oh, are you in for a treat.”

The interior of the house was much better than the exterior. Cluttered—bookshelves overflowing, random chairs placed all around—but clean, the surfaces without dust, the floors freshly swept and mopped, the faint scent of lemon in the air.

Linus and Arthur followed Jason down a short hallway. To their right, a kitchen with industrial-sized appliances, and a long oak dining table with benches for seats sitting on cracked linoleum. Two adults sat at the table, one with his head bowed over a mug of steaming liquid, the other rubbing his back and whispering quietly. The figure lifted their head, and Arthur saw long white hair pulled into a messy bun, held together by a thick green ribbon. They wore high-waisted slacks and a teal Ship’n Shore blouse over a narrow chest.

“That’s B,” Jason whispered. “Aren’t they a sight?”

As Arthur and Linus looked on, Byron lifted their hand from the man’s back and held it up, palm toward the ceiling, fingers curled. Lights began to glow from their fingertips, dripping down onto the palm, forming a ball of shimmering colors. The ball collapsed, and from it rose a butterfly with golden wings. It flew across the kitchen, fluttering in front of Jason, wings brushing against his right cheek. Then, in a furious burst of glitter, it exploded with a low pop !

“Butterfly kiss,” Jason said, winking at B. “My favorite.”

Byron smiled, then went back to the man sitting next to them, rubbing his back in soothing circles once more.

To their right, a sitting room with overstuffed chairs and the biggest sofa Arthur had ever seen, able to seat at least ten comfortably, if one didn’t mind close quarters. A few more people—two older women and a young man—sat on the couches, the women with open books in their laps, the man leaning his head back and staring at the ceiling.

“Have a bit more in common than you thought, yeah?” Jason whispered, elbowing Linus in the gut. “Funny how that works out, eh?”

He led them farther into the house, down a long hallway. Muffled sound from behind a closed door on the right, like singing. Arthur felt a strange pull toward it, was about to knock on the door when Jason gently pulled his hand back. “Siren,” he said quietly. “She’s newer. Still working a few things out.”

Jason led them to the door at the end of the hall and stopped before opening it. “David’s been bunking with us. Offered him his own room, but he wanted to be near B in case… well. He just wanted someone near. We gave him his own bed and a privacy screen. You ready?” Without waiting for an answer, he pushed open the door.

It was dark in the room. Heavy curtains had been pulled over the large windows against the wall to the right, with only a sliver of gray light peeking through. Arthur could make out a massive bed at the other end of the room, piled high with blankets and pillows. To the left, a pair of large double doors that led to a walk-in closet, the light on. Next to the closet, a wooden partition, with the name DAVID written in black ink on a white page hanging crooked from the front.

And there, lying on the scarred wooden floor in a daring pink dress covered in blood, a pile of thick white strings.

Or, at least, that was what Arthur thought when he first saw the yeti known as David.

The boy’s eyes were closed, his black lashes like soot against snow-white hair on his face. His gray tongue lolled from between ice-blue lips. He was as big as Arthur had expected. Like Chauncey, Arthur had done his research and knew that yetis could grow to ten feet tall or more, though it was more common for them to top out at around eight feet. David appeared to be—at age ten—already over five feet.

And that was to say nothing about his glorious hair. From tip to toe, David was covered in long white hair, corded together and hanging in thick strands. His hands and feet—though similar to a human’s with five digits on each appendage—were tipped with black claws, short and sharp. Atop his head, a messy blond wig, the hair spread out on the floor around him.

But it was the blood that concerned Arthur most. It was splashed against the dress, and the hair on David’s chest. Even a bit in the wig.

Linus gasped, looking as if he were about to rush to the child when Jason grabbed him by the arm, shaking his head. He brought a finger to his lips and then cleared his throat pointedly.

The boy on the floor twitched. Then, out of the corner of his mouth, he hissed, “Jason. Jason, ” without opening his eyes. His voice was—for lack of a better word—frosty, brittle, like crackling ice.

“Yes, David?”

“Are they ready?”

“Ready as they’ll ever be.”

“Good.”

Jason reached behind him to the wall, flipping a switch. A light burst from the ceiling, shining down directly on David, almost like a spotlight. The blood—which Arthur could see now was likely a concoction similar to the one made for Linus’s birt—glistened wetly on his dress and chest.

Jason cleared his throat and said, “PI Dirk Dasher knew she was trouble the moment she walked through his door. Dame like her, looking like she did, brought back memories of his beloved Agatha, four years gone, taken too soon by a killer only known as the Beast. And now, three days later, finding the dame’s body like this, same as Agatha’s was, Dirk Dasher knew only two things: the taste of the bottom of a bottle, and the desire for revenge.”

“What,” Linus said.

“Flashback,” Jason said, and David shot to his feet, ignoring them all as he rushed toward the closet, slamming the doors shut behind him. A moment later, the sound of clothes being tossed around, along with David muttering, “Where is my fedora ? I—a ha !”

The doors burst open. Gone was the dress (though a little bit of “blood” remained on the hairs on his chin and chest), replaced by a wide-brimmed hat cocked at an angle that meant danger, and a long brown coat, cinched at the waist, the bottom dragging along the floor. In his fingers, what appeared to be a piece of chalk that he brought up to his lips and sucked on, then blew out a puff of air that formed into a crystalline cloud in front of his face.

He hurried across the room, nearly tripping over his coat. Once he reached the desk, David sat in the chair and propped his hairy feet up on the desk. He took another drag from the chalk, blowing cold steam from his mouth and nose, a black oval twice the size of one of Theodore’s buttons.

“It was a day like any other,” he said, affecting a low, guttural voice that cracked. “Headache like a pulse in my head after another night spent drowning nightmares in cheap whiskey. There I was, up to my eyeballs in debt given my gambling addiction. A pile of bills, all stamped PAST DUE , sat in a drawer, waiting for me to get my shit together.”

“David,” Jason said sternly.

David ignored him. “The bottle in the cabinet called to me. Hair of the dog, it said. And just as I was about to answer that call, she walked in.”

He jumped from the chair and ran past them again to the closet, slamming the doors.

When the doors burst open again, David wore the dress once more, the blond wig askew on his head. His blue eyes shifted from Linus to Arthur, and settled on Jason. Then he changed his posture, legs slightly bent, hip cocked. When he spoke, his voice took on a breathy quality, though it still sounded distinctly David. “Are you Dirk Dasher, private investigator extraordinaire? My name is Jacqueline St. Bartholomew. I am very wealthy. And seductive, and I’m a widow.”

Linus coughed roughly into his hands.

“I need to hire you,” Jacqueline St. Bartholomew said, “to find the monster who murdered my husband, Count Deveraux St. Bartholomew. I hear you’re hunting the same thing. The Beast.”

Back into the closet. A shout, followed by a rattling crash. When David returned, he wore the trench coat over the dress, the wig bunched up messily under the fedora. He looked a little harried, but determined. As it often did with children, this back and forth went on for some time, though Arthur didn’t once consider interrupting. Not when David seemed to be in his element.

David stopped, then, head in his hands. When nothing happened, out of the corner of his mouth, he whispered, “ You forgot your line .”

“Yep, sorry, boyo,” Jason said. “I got you. Ring-ring. Ring-ring.”

“The sound of the ringing phone startled me from my thoughts,” Dirk Dasher said, sitting back up. “It’d been three days since she darkened my doorway, and I was no closer to solving the crime. I needed a break in the case.” He brought his hand up to his head, thumb and pinky extended. “Dirk Dasher.”

“Mr. Dasher!” Jacqueline cried from the other end of the line. “The Beast, it’s here ! Eek, save me! Eeeeeeek!”

Given the severity of the situation and the art of telling a good story, Arthur was unsurprised when the necessary racing-against-the-clock montage lasted a further ten minutes. David (Dirk) then froze when he stumbled upon a most horrifying sight: the body of Jacqueline St. Bartholomew, a victim of the Beast.

Dirk raised his fists to the sky and shouted, “ Nooooo! ”

Jason rattled the doorknob.

Dirk’s head jerked toward the closet, eyes narrowed under his fedora. “Someone’s here. Is it the Beast?” He stood upright, crooked fangs bared. “Face me, Beast! I’ll make you pay for what you did to Agatha and Jacqueline!”

David rushed to the closet, pulling off the hat and trench coat. A moment later, a doll slid out dressed in Dirk Dasher’s clothes. Jason picked it up and set it in the middle of the room. Arthur raised an eyebrow when Jason came back to them.

Jason shrugged. “It’s an independent production.”

“There I stood,” David called from the closet as Dirk. “Ready to face the monster who had stolen so much from me. My lady. My sobriety. My purpose. It was either going to be him or me. One of us wouldn’t be walking out of here. Alive .”

And then David burst from the closet. He wasn’t wearing anything now, his thick hair bouncing around him as he stomped into the room, claws on display, growling ferociously. “Dirk Dasher,” he growled, spittle coating his lips. “I knew you’d come here. We all have monsters inside of us. The difference between us is that I let mine come out to play.”

Arthur frowned slightly, cocking his head to the side.

David pounced on the doll, claws out and shredding the coat. He reared his head back, teeth bared, before he bit down on the fedora, jerking it off and furiously shaking his head. The doll fell over with David on top of it. The mauling of Dirk Dasher was a sight to behold, and by the time the yeti was finished, Dirk’s head had been flung across the room, his body falling to the floor.

David stood slowly, standing in the middle of the spotlight. “The monster,” he whispered, “is me. Fin.”

He bowed.

Jason clapped hard. Arthur followed suit, Linus joining in. It was then that Arthur noticed a change come over David. As the sound of applause went on, he slumped in on himself, brushing the thick hair off his forehead so it wouldn’t cover his eyes. He didn’t meet their gazes, fidgeting from one foot to the other.

“Fair play, lad,” Jason said, going over to him and clapping him on the shoulder. “Best performance yet.”

David shrugged, surreptitiously glancing at Arthur and Linus before looking away. “Messed up a couple of times,” he muttered.

“Didn’t even notice,” Jason assured him. “And even if you did, what do we say?”

David rolled his eyes in a way that reminded Arthur of Phee. “As long as I did my best, the rest doesn’t matter.”

“Exactly,” Jason said, beaming down at him. “Gotta admit, the dress was a nice touch. B get that for you?”

David nodded. “Said a dame like Jacqueline needed a killer dress.” He tugged on Jason’s hand, pulling him down. Jason leaned over, and David whispered in his ear.

Jason nodded along. “Right. Right. You don’t say. Interesting. Well, I suppose you should ask him that, yeah? Don’t think he’d mind in the slightest.”

David looked panicked, shaking his head furiously.

Jason said, “Hey. You got this, okay?” He stood upright. “David, this is Arthur Parnassus. Other one is Linus Baker. Go ahead, boyo. Mind your manners, but always, always ask questions if you have them. Good people don’t mind questions.”

David sighed, still holding on to Jason’s hand. He stared down at his feet. He mumbled something that Arthur couldn’t make out.

“Could you repeat that, please?” Linus asked gently. “I’m afraid my hearing isn’t what it used to be.”

David scowled at the floor. “I said, was that good enough to get into your school? I know it’s not… normal, but I worked really hard on it.”

Linus frowned as Arthur cocked his head. “I beg your pardon?”

Jason laid a hand on David’s shoulder. “Boyo here got it into his head that he needed to perform for admission into your school. Thought you would need to see how talented he is before you’d consider him.” His tone suggested that anything other than effusive praise wouldn’t be tolerated.

Arthur rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “I’m afraid we’ve gone about this all wrong.”

David’s head shot up, his anxiety clear. “I’m sorry! I can do something different to—”

Arthur smiled. “No, David. You don’t have a single thing to apologize for. It is I who should be apologizing to you.”

David blinked, glancing up at Jason before looking at Arthur again. “Um. O… kay?”

Arthur nodded. “You see, I think there might have been some miscommunication. We are not here to have you perform for us, though I adored every single second of it. No, we’re here for something else entirely: to make our case as to why we’d like for you to choose us .”

David’s mouth dropped open. It closed a moment later with an audible click . Then, sounding baffled, he said, “I get to choose?”

“Yes,” Linus said. “You get to choose. Think of this not as us interviewing you, but rather you interviewing us . Ask us whatever questions you wish. If we can answer, we will.” As Linus spoke, Arthur moved through the room, stopping in front of the desk. He turned the chair, sat down on it, and folded one leg over the other. Linus joined him after a moment, hand on his shoulder.

David eyed them with suspicion, Jason still standing guard above him. “What time would I have to go to bed?”

“Nine,” Arthur said. “Growing boys need rest.”

“Will I have homework?”

“You will, but it’s not extensive,” Linus said. “We’re currently on a short summer holiday, so we have time to catch you up in case your schooling has been neglected.”

David made a face. “Is there enough food for everyone?”

“There is,” Arthur said. The reason for the question seemed clear, and he mourned that this child—or any other—would know food insecurity. “More than enough, though we try not to let anything go to waste, minus some eggs every now and then. Thankfully, we have Phee who likes to grow fruit trees, and Talia is considering planting vegetables in her garden.”

“Oh,” David said. “The sprite and gnome?”

Arthur nodded, waiting. David was obviously building himself up to something, but knowing children as well as he did, Arthur figured the yeti’s mind was a mess of discordant thoughts that swirled as if caught in a storm. He needed to get there on his own, or he might not listen to what they had to say.

Arthur didn’t have to wait long. David looked at the floor, shuffling his feet, his toe claws scraping against hardwood. “The other kids. I’ve… they’re…” He blew out a breath, the strands of hair hanging on his face billowing up as he twisted his body from side to side. “I’ve never had friends before. Well, Jason and B and maybe Helen because I’ve met her a few times, but not, like, you know. Kids.” He scowled. “I could have had friends. I’m not a loser. I even tried once.”

“Tried to make friends?” Arthur asked lightly.

David nodded. “Yeah. It…” He winced. “It didn’t go very well. They were playing monsters, and I wanted to play too. Stomp around on stuff and growl and eat pretend people.”

“Oh my,” Arthur said, hand going to his throat. “How many people would you eat?”

“At least ten,” David said, blowing on his knuckles and rubbing them against his chest. “My record is twenty-four, but I didn’t want to brag.”

“Of course not,” Linus said. “Confidence is silent. Insecurities are loud.”

“Does he always talk like that?” David whisper-shouted to Arthur.

“Yes,” Arthur said as Linus jabbed him with an elbow. “I happen to admire it when he does, but then I’m very partial when it comes to Linus Baker, including his pearls of wisdom.”

“I’m like an oyster,” Linus said proudly. “Might not look like much, but open me up and there’s hidden treasure within.” He frowned. “Is it me, or did that not sound as complimentary as I thought it would?”

“I would care for you even if you were an oyster,” Arthur promised him.

“Ew,” David said. “Anyway, I tried to play with them because if they wanted to be monsters, they could learn from someone who is an actual monster.”

Arthur didn’t want to interrupt, so he stored that particular nugget for later. He’d never heard a child use that word so freely to describe themself: “monster.” To Chauncey, it was an insult because he didn’t see himself that way, even if others might base their opinions upon appearance alone. But David seemed to like that word; it made him happy. Arthur had spent so long attempting to disabuse the other children of such an idea. How would David’s joy mix with what Arthur had been trying to teach them?

“What happened?” Linus asked after David fell quiet, Jason listening to each and every word.

David wouldn’t look at them when he said, “One of the boys said I wasn’t scary, I was gross and dirty and probably had fleas. I tried to tell him that I’ve never had fleas because I take good care of my hair.” He laughed hollowly. “I have to. It gets messy if I don’t. But then he started pulling on my hair, and I didn’t like it.”

“I don’t expect you would,” Arthur said. “No one should touch anyone else without express permission to do so. Your hair is part of you, and that’s unacceptable.”

“Whatever,” David muttered. “I growled at them and they screamed and ran away. Who needed them? I didn’t. And I don’t. I can do things just fine on my own.”

Arthur didn’t believe that for a moment. He could hear the confusion, the hurt. David’s story was just that, David’s, but in it, familiarity. The circumstances might have been different—the players, the setting, the event itself—but hadn’t all the children at one point or another experienced what David had? Decried, mocked, touched as if they were on display.

Arthur said, “I think you’ll find Marsyas is a bit different. If you want to eat pretend people while crushing a city of blocks or stone, then you will. And I have a feeling there might be a few other children who would be very happy to join you.”

“Really?” David asked, and Arthur’s heart ached at the hopefulness in his voice.

“Really.”

David gnawed on his bottom lip. “Have you ever… have you…”

“We’re listening, David,” Arthur said. “Take all the time you need.”

David’s eyes flashed angrily. “Have you ever hit a kid?”

“No,” Arthur said.

“Put their fingers in a drawer and then closed it so hard, it… it…”

“Never,” Arthur said.

David looked at him with cold eyes. “Your trousers are too short.” Mean, meant to lash out, to hurt, but Arthur took it in stride. David was in the process of opening up to them, but he was still wary. Arthur couldn’t fault him for that; they were strangers, after all.

He said, “Yes, I do seem to have that problem quite often. Do you like my socks?” Today, Arthur wore sky-blue socks with silver snowflakes of varying shapes and sizes printed on them.

David scowled. “Did you wear those because of me? That won’t make me like you.”

“David,” Jason said, the warning clear in his voice.

He shrugged before muttering an apology, picking up the doll’s head off the floor.

“I’ve never heard of anyone liking someone else just because of their socks,” Arthur said. “I think it takes a little more than that. But rest easy, David. These socks are not for you. They’re for me. They help to illustrate what I like to think of as the sock problem .”

“What’s that?” David asked, trying to act uninterested but failing spectacularly.

“It’s quite the conundrum. These days, socks aren’t like what we wore at your age. Many of them have little designs, but our trousers are far too long to show them off.”

“And removing your shoes without invitation is quite rude,” Linus added.

“Indeed,” Arthur said. “Can you imagine?”

“I shudder to think. Even if there is a decorative sock, one must remember decorum.”

David’s head whipped back and forth between them, as if watching a rather vigorous game of tennis.

Looking at David, Linus said, “Arthur prefers to keep the length of his trousers shorter so that his socks may be enjoyed by all.”

“Too right,” Arthur said, laughing silently at himself for still being so smitten with Linus. Though he had never allowed himself to think on it much—he was always far too busy—before Linus, he had found himself succumbing to encroaching cold, the sharp, frozen needle of loneliness digging into his skin. It wasn’t until Linus that the last of the cold had melted away. “It’s not unlike what we face on a daily basis when we interact with people.”

Confused, David asked, “Their trousers are too long?”

“Precisely,” Arthur said. “And by trousers, I mean their staunchly set ways. All they need is to pull their trousers up to find a little color hidden underneath.” He did exactly that, showing the snow socks. “But these, David, these socks are special. You see, they can only be worn rarely. Otherwise, I’ll run afoul of a supremely terrible curse.”

That caught David’s attention, and he was a second or three late in covering up his excitement. “Yeah, right. Who would curse socks?”

Arthur chuckled. “Interesting question, and one I have pondered longer than you’ve been alive. Unfortunately, I’m no closer to solving the mystery. All I know for certain is that if I wear these socks on a Thursday, a Sunday, an odd-numbered day, or after three in the afternoon in the month of November, the socks will disappear.”

David frowned. “That’s not so bad.”

“Along with my feet.”

Linus sighed. “And before you think he’s having you on, trust me when I say he’s not. We won’t soon forget Thursday, November twenty-third.”

David’s mouth dropped open and stayed that way, the doll’s head falling to the floor, bouncing and rolling under the bed.

“Yes,” Arthur said gravely, “so I wear them not to manipulate you into feeling a certain way about this introduction, but because today is not Thursday, Sunday, an odd-numbered day, nor is it November.”

David’s gaze drifted down to Arthur’s socks. “That’s crazy . I wish I could be cursed. That sounds like so much fun.”

“It does, doesn’t it? But let’s be thankful instead that we both get to keep our feet, at least for the time being. Now, on to your question. Before I answer, might I show you something?”

David looked at him warily. “What?”

“Fire,” Arthur said. He held out his hand, palm raised toward the ceiling. With a little push, a bloom erupted from his hand, twin strands of flickering red-orange that twisted, forming a rotating double helix of flame.

David’s eyes were wide, reflecting the firelight. Cold blue and hot orange, and for a moment, Arthur felt an icy chill race down his spine. David said, “I think I can do that.”

“Do what, David?” Linus asked quietly.

David stood slowly, the doll slumping to the floor. He wouldn’t look at them, his gaze darting around the room, but he, too, lifted his hand, mirroring Arthur’s. Linus sucked in a sharp breath when blueish ice crystals rose from David’s palm, his face scrunched up in concentration. The ice split into two strands, and after a minute of David grunting through gritted teeth, the crystals formed a double helix, spinning rapidly. Even through the small fire in front of him, Arthur could feel the coldness seeping in.

It didn’t last long. The ice collapsed in on itself, and a puff of tiny snowflakes drifted toward the floor. David startled and pulled his hand back, gnawing on his bottom lip. “You did it, too, so you can’t be mad at me for trying.”

Arthur closed his fist, snuffing out the fire, black smoke leaking between his fingers. “I did do it, and I’m pleased you showed me you could too.” He lowered his hand and waited.

Eventually, David said, “It’s my choice. It’s up to me.”

“It is,” Arthur agreed. “Though we hope you will decide to visit Marsyas for however long you wish, I know there is a lot to consider. Rest assured, David, whatever you decide won’t be held against you. I know how it feels to have the ability to make your own decisions taken from you. You have my word we will never do that to you, and you will not be punished for being you. But you should know that I expect honesty, even if you think it might hurt our feelings.”

David hesitated. “Yesterday.”

“The hearing.”

David winced but pushed through it. “That woman said you were the only phoenix left.”

“I am.”

“So, your parents, they… they’re…”

“Dead,” Arthur said gently. “But not forgotten. My mother was a good woman. Kind, patient. My father was gruff, but I knew he loved me, in his own way. They live on in my memories, kept tucked away for the days I need to be reminded that my history, while difficult, began with people who loved me. While it doesn’t negate all that followed, it can be a balm to a weary soul.”

“You are like me,” David whispered with no small amount of awe. “My parents…” His bottom lip wobbled. “I don’t really remember Dad, but Mom, she smelled like cinnamon. And she would sing to me.” He blinked rapidly, little ice crystals forming around his eyes. “I can still remember the last thing she told me.”

“Do you?” Arthur asked. “That must be a treasured memory.”

With haunted eyes, David said, “No, it’s not. She told me to run .”

That night, just before midnight, the phone in their new hotel room rang. Linus and Arthur—both of whom had been on the cusp of sleep, legs tangled—shot up immediately. Linus reached the phone first, snatching up the handset and bringing it to his ear. “Zoe?” he said. “Is everything all right?”

Arthur joined him, leaning in to hear. It wasn’t Zoe.

Jason said, “David’s made his decision.”