Chapter Seven

SEVEN

David, as it turned out, had never been on a train before, and though he tried to contain his excitement, it spilled over when he saw the locomotive sitting next to the station, people milling about around them, hugging and saying farewell to those who would be departing. They caught a few odd looks, but that was to be expected, given David’s idea of a disguise.

Since he was unregistered, Arthur and Linus were concerned that if anyone saw him, they might ask questions, especially with Arthur’s face splashed across every major newspaper in the country. They had changed tickets for an earlier train, in case Rowder and DICOMY were attempting to follow them.

It was David who’d figured out how he’d go incognito. Granted, he might not have fully understood the meaning of the word, seeing as how he was now six feet tall, walking on blocks of ice that he grew from his feet. Each step he took left a square wet print behind, but thankfully, the rain had continued, and it wasn’t noticeable so long as they stayed on damp ground. It probably didn’t help that David had donned another trench coat, this one sized for an extremely tall adult. To top it off, he wore an off-white fedora with a pink band above the brim, mirror shades, and a fake black handlebar mustache that was wider than his face, the ends curled up.

It was ridiculous, of course, but David was proud of what he’d come up with, and Arthur couldn’t help but admire his ingenuity.

“We get to go on that ?” David breathed, stumbling forward, the blocks under his feet making an odd sound on the ground: thonk, thonk, thonk .

“We do,” Arthur said. “All the way to the end of the line. It’ll be a long trip, but I think you’ll find the journey worth it.”

“To the tropical island,” David said dubiously, still looking at the train. “Where it’s always sunny and warm. Perfect place for a yeti.”

Linus startled. “I suppose that’s true, but rest assured, we’ve made every effort to—”

David twirled his mustache. “Yes, quite. Indeed. Indubitably.” The train whistled loudly, and David dropped the mocking, lighting up. “It’s so loud . How fast does it go? Could you jump off it while it’s moving and not die? Would someone explode if they stood on the train tracks and let it hit them? I bet the blood and guts would go on for miles .”

A woman passing them harrumphed, hand on a little girl’s shoulder as she glared at David. “Excuse me, there are children present.”

David looked left, then right, head on a swivel. “Children, you say? Where? I heard they were extinct. Someone call the papers before—”

“Yes, ma’am,” Linus said, stepping in front of David. “You are absolutely correct. Thank you for bringing that to our attention. Have a nice day.”

The girl giggled as the woman steered her away.

“You can’t bring attention to yourself,” Linus said sternly. “Not here. Not now.”

David folded his arms, a grumpy expression on his face. “So all that back at Jason’s house about me being myself was—”

“We meant every word,” Arthur said. “That’s all we want for you, David. But you have to remember that not everyone thinks like we do. There are plenty of people out there who don’t want you to succeed. Don’t give them a reason to—”

“That’s not my fault,” David retorted. “Why should I give a crap what they think about me? If they’re scared of me, maybe I should give them reasons to be scared.”

“To what end?” Arthur asked carefully.

David shrugged. “Fear makes people do things they might not have before. It might even make them a little braver than they thought they could be. Being scared doesn’t always have to be bad.” He scuffed a block of ice against the ground. “At least, that’s how I think it should be.”

“That’s certainly one way of looking at it,” Linus said. “Plenty to discuss, and trust me when I say we’ll be having many conversations over the next few weeks. We’ll listen, David. I promise. The only thing we ask for in return is that you do the same. Deal?”

David hesitated for a long moment. Eventually, he muttered, “Okay.”

“Good,” Arthur said, picking up David’s suitcase along with his own. It was lighter than Arthur had expected when Jason handed it to him that morning. David didn’t have much. It was always the same, wasn’t it? Talia. Lucy. Sal. Phee. Chauncey. Theodore. Coming with the bare minimum as if that were all they needed to survive. “I think you’ll find the interior of the train just as fascinating as the exterior. Though, I must admit, it’s no bus. Have you ever ridden the bus before? I took a bus trip a couple of days ago. They have this delightful line you can pull that’ll signal to the driver—” Something caught his eye. “Excuse me for a moment. Linus, be a dear, would you? Get David to the train.”

“All right?”

“Yes,” Arthur said. “I’ll follow momentarily.”

Linus looked like he wanted to argue but took David by the hand, pulling him toward the train. “What about him?” Arthur heard David ask.

“Arthur can handle himself,” Linus replied. “Here is your ticket. Do not lose this. It’s—”

“I get my own ticket ?”

Without hesitating, Arthur stalked toward a stone pillar. Affixed to the front, a poster. A notice. Big block lettering.

WHAT WILL YOU DO TO PROTECT YOUR FAMILY? SEE SOMETHING, SAY SOMETHING.

Making sure no one was watching, Arthur tore the poster from the pillar, balling it up in his hand. Smoke leaked between his fingers, and when he spread them, ash sprinkled down to the ground. Without looking back, he made his way to the train.

For the first hour of the trip, David didn’t move, face plastered against the window as trees and houses and fields of rain-soaked grass passed them by in a blur. He pointed out everything he saw: a strange pile of rocks, an elderly man waving from the rocking chair on his porch. When the conductor came round to punch their tickets, David all but demanded he get to hand over all three, given that he now considered himself to be a bit of an expert when it came to riding a train. The conductor, for his part, barely blinked, taking each of the tickets from David.

“Going on vacation?” the conductor asked.

“Something like that,” Linus said.

“They’re certainly not kidnapping me,” David told the conductor. “Because I’m an adult who does adult things, like taxes and laundry and being sad for no reason.”

Unfazed, the conductor said, “How wonderful! I, too, am filled with an encroaching dread over my own mortality. I’ve always thought that being aware of one’s impending demise makes for a more interesting life, but I have yet to prove this particular hypothesis. Have a pleasant trip, and do let us know if there’s anything we can do to make your journey as comfortable as possible. Ta!”

“I’ll never understand humans,” David said after the conductor had moved on. He sat across from Arthur and Linus, the train rumbling around them, the gray world streaking by, water trailing against the glass windows in complicated rivulets that looked like a map from an inebriated mapmaker.

“I doubt anyone can,” Linus said.

David grew quieter after that, sitting with his hands folded in his lap, staring out the window.

The third hour, David slumped in his seat, his hat askew on his head. Little puddles appeared on the floor as his ice blocks began to melt. Linus pulled out a handkerchief from his coat pocket, dropping it onto the puddles. David didn’t seem to notice.

The fourth hour, David began to fidget, legs bouncing, popping his knuckles over and over. He jumped whenever someone laughed, jerking his head around as if he thought someone was coming for him.

“It’s okay to be nervous,” Arthur said, and David whirled back around, almost falling out of his seat.

“Nervous?” he exclaimed. “I’m not nervous. I’m aces.” He went for a smile, but his mouth must not have gotten the message.

“My mistake,” Arthur said, tipping his head slightly. “I thought perhaps you were worried about what awaits us.”

“Ha,” David said, waving him off with a trembling hand. “I wasn’t even thinking about that.” He picked at a crack in the plastic armrest of the chair. “But if I was, it’s only because I was wondering what’s going to happen if the other kids don’t like me.”

“Ah,” Arthur said. “A serious concern. What makes you think they won’t like you?”

“I don’t know,” David said. He looked down at himself. “I’m a little… me. Not that there’s anything wrong with that!” he added quickly, popping his knuckles again. It sounded like ice cracking.

“There isn’t,” Linus said firmly. “You’re exactly as you’re supposed to be.”

“Oh. That’s… that’s good. I thought so too.” He folded his hands in his lap. Arthur began to count in his head. One. Two. Three. Four. “What happens if they don’t like me?” David laughed as if he couldn’t believe something so ridiculous had come from his mouth. “I mean, that’d be… something, right?”

“Who?” Linus asked. Then, “The other children? My goodness, of all the things for you to worry about, that shouldn’t be one of them. They are just as excited to meet you as we were.”

David scoffed. “They don’t even know me.”

“They don’t,” Linus agreed. “But then we didn’t know you either and yet, here you are. If you go into a situation expecting the worst, it may cloud your ability to see what good can come from it.”

David nodded and looked back out the window. The rain had stopped, and for the first time in what felt like years, Arthur could see bits of blue behind all the gray.

“But what if— Holy crap, what’s that ?” One moment he was in his seat, and the next, his face was plastered against the train window, looking out onto the passing landscape. Arthur leaned over with Linus to see what David had discovered.

A flock of birds flew next to the train, heading east. There had to be at least two dozen of them, white bodies with tanned heads and black-tipped wings. They coasted on the wind, their beaks open in cries that couldn’t be heard from inside the train.

“Northern gannets,” Linus said. “Usually don’t see them so far inland. They typically make their homes in cliffsides. You’ll get your fill of them soon enough. They’re in abundance on the island.”

“Oh,” David whispered, watching the birds climb higher and higher until they blotted out the sun.

A line of vehicles waited next to the train platform: a small bus for the hotel, a few shiny rental cars filled with vacationers picking up friends and family. Those who exited the train did so with unrestrained excitement, their sun hats large and colorful, removing their shoes and digging their toes in the white sand around the platform. Parents and grandparents helped children with their plastic buckets and shovels, trying to get them to hold still, You’ve got a spot of jam on your forehead, how on earth did you do that ?

David, Arthur, and Linus were the last to exit the train, Arthur carrying David’s suitcase. He stepped off the train first into warm sunlight, looking for the familiar sight of Helen’s old truck. Linus followed, standing next to him, face turned up toward the sky. “Ah,” he said. “Much better. Now, David, if you’ll… David?”

They turned to find David still on the train, standing on the last step, hands gripping the railings on either side of him. One leg was raised as if he were about to take another step, but he didn’t lower it.

“All right?” Linus asked.

“I’m working my way up to it,” David muttered. “Give me a second.”

It took at least four minutes, but eventually, David lowered the ice-blocked foot to the ground.

It immediately began to sizzle, steam rising up around the ice.

“Uh-oh,” David said.

“It’s all right,” Linus said. “You don’t have to worry. We’re almost to—”

David jumped off the step, landing on the platform with a heavy thunk . The ice beneath his feet sizzled once again, beads of water forming a small puddle on the cement. “There,” he said proudly. “I knew I could do it. Also, I think I’m shrinking? It’s almost as if ice melts in heat. But that’s crazy, right? Almost like bringing a yeti to an island. At least my sunglasses make me look cool.” He went to the edge of the platform, crouching down and watching a small crab moving rocks from one pile to another.

“Quiet,” Linus murmured. “Shy. Barely talks at all.”

Arthur bumped Linus’s shoulder with his own. “Any regrets?”

“Oh, many, I expect. But none that have to do with him.”

“The children are going to adore him.”

Linus shivered despite the summer heat. “That’s what worries me. Lucy’s going to love him.” He sighed, undoubtedly imagining explosions or blood splatter on the walls. “I’m already losing my hair as it is.”

Before Arthur could respond, an old truck with whitewall tires pulled up next to the platform. The door creaked open, and the mayor of Marsyas grinned at them as she rounded the front of the truck. “Well, well, well,” she said cheerfully. “Look what we have here!”

David lifted his head, and a wide smile blossomed. “Helen!” he yelled, standing up and running toward her. He didn’t bother with the steps, launching himself off the platform. He hit the ground hard, the ice blocks shattering and dropping him half a foot in height. The coat tangled around him, but he managed to stay upright as Helen spread her arms wide. He jumped the last few feet, crashing into her. Spinning him in a circle, Helen laughed as David babbled about the train, the birds, the ocean. She set him down, winking at Linus and Arthur as they walked down the steps.

“—and then I got to give the man our tickets, and he used this little machine to punch a hole in them to show we were allowed on the train!” He beamed at Helen. “No one could tell me to get off because I had the right .”

“You absolutely did,” Helen said. “I’m so pleased to hear you enjoyed your trip. And just look at you. I swear you’ve grown since the last time I saw you.”

“Half an inch, ” David said proudly, puffing out his little chest. “Maybe even three-quarters.”

“I’m impressed,” Helen said. She lifted her head. “Linus, Arthur. Welcome home. To say you were missed is an understatement.” She raised a hand as Linus started to speak. “And yes, the house still stands, and no one is missing any limbs. Or eyes.”

“Fingers?” Linus asked. “Toes?”

“All present and accounted for,” Helen said. “Talia did want me to remind you that if you did not, in fact, buy her a present, you should get back on the train and not come back until you have.”

Linus grinned. “I bet she did.”

Squeezing into the truck proved to be a tight fit, but they made it work: Helen behind the steering wheel, Arthur next to her, his long legs bent up almost to his chest. Linus sat beside him, and David took up the remainder of the bench seat, face plastered against the window, rattling off everything he saw, mixed with questions he didn’t seem to want the answers to.

“Look! There’s an umbrella. It’s so big . What’s that? Are they sledding on sand hills? I didn’t know you could do that. How do you— Why is the ocean so huge? Do you think there are monsters in it? I bet there are. With big teeth and glowing red eyes which glow when— Oh my freaking God, what are those heathens eating?”

Linus said, “Snow cones. Ice with flavored syrup as a topping.”

David turned toward him with wide eyes. “They ruined ice ? The most perfect thing in all the world?” He bared his teeth. “I’ll kill them. I’ll kill them all . Ha, ha, just kidding.” Then, under his breath, “Mostly.”

“No snow cones, then,” Arthur said. “Noted.”

They pulled into the village, turning on the main road that led toward the docks. The sidewalks were packed with people, some in swim clothes, others in shorts and flowery shirts. They stopped in front of store windows, looking at colorful pottery, mosaics created from sea glass, square blocks of freshly made fudge. Kids dug through bins of saltwater taffy, skin pink and crusty from the sun and surf. Others sat at tables in front of restaurants that sold fresh seafood, sipping from clear drinks with sprigs of mint floating on top.

Arthur was about to ask what David thought when the yeti stiffened, back straight, shoulders rigid. “How?” he said, sounding stunned.

“What is it?” Linus asked.

“Those people,” he said. “They’re…”

Arthur followed his gaze as the truck came to a stop at one of two traffic lights in all of Marsyas. There, standing on the corner, was a family. Two burly women, hands clasped between them. Three children, all appearing under the age of ten. Each of them—children included—had a single large eye in the center of their forehead.

“Cyclopes,” Helen said. “I had a chance to meet them yesterday.” The light changed, and she drove through the intersection, the truck rumbling around them. “Lovely family. Heard about our little town from some friends and decided to see it for themselves.”

David turned toward her slowly. “But… they’re just… walking around. Like everyone else.”

“Why shouldn’t they?” Helen asked, not unkindly. “They are entitled to go on vacation, same as anyone.”

David shook his head. “That’s not what I meant. They’re here . And no one is yelling at them to cover up and hide. No one is telling them they don’t belong.”

“Because they do,” Linus said. “This place is different, David. It’s unlike anywhere else you’ve been. Why, a few weeks ago, we had a lovely family of dryads come to the village. Tree people, wouldn’t you know. They came and toured the island, wanting to see what Phee had grown in her time there.”

“The forest sprite?” David asked.

“Yes,” Linus said with a chuckle. “Never seen Phee so excited. She tried to act aloof, but we could all see she was proud people wanted to come and see her trees, especially beings as important as dryads.” He cleared his throat. “But we won’t have you thinking it’s always been like this.”

“He’s right,” Helen said, tapping her fingers on the steering wheel. “A year ago, Marsyas was no different from anywhere else. Awash in propaganda, and people either too afraid to speak up, or who actually believed what they were being told. Myself included.”

“But you’re not like that anymore,” David said.

“No. I’m not.” She glanced slyly at Linus and Arthur. “You could say I had my bubble popped. I’m grateful for it, because as mayor, I want Marsyas to be a place for all, no matter who you are. Some people didn’t like it—oh, would you look at that? Seems as if the new owner of the ice cream parlor has changed the sign—but I reminded them that there was a great, wide world out there, and I invited them to go see it.”

“I think you told Norman to take a long walk off a short pier,” Linus reminded her. “Though in much more colorful language.”

“And I regret nothing,” Helen said. “Good riddance to bad rubbish.”

“We’re building something, David,” Arthur said. “The more people—magical and not—who hear that this town will welcome them with open arms, the better off we’ll all be.”

I dream of such a place, he thought as they drove toward the sea.

“How do we get there?” David asked as they came to a stop near a long dock stretching out onto the water. In the distance, the island rose, the trees thick and reaching toward the sky. Arthur felt the pull of it, knowing who and what awaited them. Though it had only been three days, it was the longest he’d been away since coming back. He itched to feel the sand beneath his feet, the cacophonous sound of a house filled with wild youth.

“Could take the ferry,” Linus said. “I’m sure Merle would be delighted to see us.”

“That’s one way of putting it,” Helen said. “But no, no ferry. Why inflict Merle on someone if we don’t have to? I figured we could give David a different sort of experience in traveling to the island.”

And with that, she gunned the engine.

Linus gripped Arthur’s hand tightly. “I was afraid you were going to say that.”

“What are we doing?” David asked. “How are we—”

The truck shot forward, jumping a small curb, Arthur nearly bit ing his tongue. David shrieked, and for a moment, Arthur thought he was afraid. But before he could tell him he had nothing to fear, David raised his fists above his head, pumping the air. “Yes!” he cried, leaning forward as far as his seatbelt would allow, putting his hands flat on the dashboard. “Into the water? This is so awesome !”

They hit the dock, the wood rattling under the tires, causing them all to jump in their seats, David’s head nearly hitting the roof. As the end of the dock approached, Helen picked up speed, the engine wheezing painfully. David raised his arms again as if he were on a roller coaster approaching the first drop.

“ I LOVE BEING ALIVE! ” David bellowed with unrestrained glee as the truck launched off the edge of the dock. A moment of weightlessness, all their rears lifting from their seats. Instead of being swallowed up by the sea, the truck landed with a jarring crash on a hard surface that crackled against the tires.

Arthur looked over to find both David and Linus with their eyes squeezed shut. Linus opened his first. “I’ll never get used to that.”

“Did we die?” David asked, eyes still firmly closed. “I don’t feel dead, but I don’t know what that’s supposed to feel like.”

“You’re not,” Arthur said. “Look.”

David opened his eyes (first the left, then the right) and gasped at the long yellowish-white road that stretched out before them, crusty but solid. Helen turned the windshield wipers on as seawater splashed against the windows.

“What is it?” David asked.

“That’s my lady, Zoe,” Helen said, the pride evident. “Who you’ll meet soon enough. She’s an island sprite. Took the salt from the ocean and made a road for you.”

“Why?”

“Because she wanted to,” Arthur said. How strange the feeling of longing was when the object of such desires was right there in front of him. The island, and all that came with it. “It’s her way of welcoming you home.”

“Home,” David whispered, and laughed as he rolled down the window. Leaning his head out, he closed his eyes, hair trailing behind him as the sea splashed his face.

David grew quieter as salt gave way to sand, the island alive with birdsong in the swaying trees. Eyes wide, he watched everything passing them by, though he didn’t speak, not until they crested the hill and the house appeared before them.

“This is where you live?” he asked, sounding unsure.

“It is,” Arthur said as Helen pulled the truck to a stop. Right on cue, the front door opened and Zoe appeared.

“That lady has wings, ” David whispered excitedly as Zoe hopped from the top step, fluttering down to the ground. “That’s so cool.”

Zoe opened Helen’s door, helping her lady out. Helen stood on the tips of her toes, kissing Zoe with a loud smack, Zoe brushing a lock of Helen’s hair off her forehead.

Arthur stepped out, pulling himself to his full height, stretching his arms above his head. His back cracked deliciously, and he turned to see Linus helping David out of the truck. “Do I need my coat?” David asked him.

“Do you want it?” Linus asked. “You don’t have to wear it if you’d prefer not to.”

“I can be naked ? Seriously?”

“Uh,” Linus said. “I don’t… are you naked?”

“And?” Zoe asked, arching an eyebrow at Arthur.

“He’s perfect,” Arthur said, dropping his voice as Linus tried to tell David that it wasn’t necessarily considered nudity, but if it made him happy, he could do whatever he wanted. “Where are the others? I would have thought that—ah. How expected.”

The children were all gathered at the front windows, hands and faces against glass.

“I told them to stay inside so we didn’t overwhelm David,” Zoe said. “They’ve been bouncing off the walls all morning. Literally. Remember when Lucy said he accidentally reversed gravity?”

“Let me guess,” Arthur said. “It wasn’t an accident.”

“It was not,” Zoe said.

David, for his part, seemed to revel in his perceived victory of acceptable nudity. He stomped around, arms raised, claws extended, growling and snarling. “And that, ” he said as they rounded the front of the truck, “is how a yeti greets a new place he’s never been before.”

“Truly?” Linus asked, glancing up and smiling at Zoe before looking back at David. “What a fascinating custom. Do you think I could try?”

Suddenly, Linus leaned forward, fingers crooked like claws, lips pulled back over square teeth, and he let out a surprisingly ferocious growl. It was quite good, better than Arthur expected.

David was just as impressed. “Holy wow, ” he breathed. “Are there such things as hairless yetis? I’ve never met one, but you’ve got enough insulation to survive harsh winters, so maybe.”

Linus patted his sloping stomach. “My thoughts exactly. We’ll have to do it again, and you can teach me how to be a better yeti. David, this is Zoe Chapelwhite. This is her island you stand upon, and it is with her blessing that you are here.”

David turned around, and just like that, the boy giving yeti lessons disappeared, replaced by shyness, knuckles popping, a funny little half smile filled with nerves rather than happiness. He looked at the ground, the claws on the tips of his toes digging into the soil. “Hello,” he mumbled.

“David,” Zoe said warmly, her translucent wings catching sunlight, leaving fractured rainbows on the ground behind her. “We’ve been waiting to meet you for a long time.”

David lifted his head in surprise. “You have?” Without looking, he grabbed Linus’s hand, holding it tightly. Linus winced but didn’t try to pull away.

“Yes,” she said. “I am so very happy that you decided to give us a chance. Would you like to meet the children?”

David hesitated. “Can… can Linus and Arthur stay here too? I can do it on my own,” he added quickly, “but I think having them here will be better.”

“Of course,” Linus said. “I doubt I could break your grip even if I wanted to. You are very strong.”

“I know,” David said. “Pretty much the strongest ever.”

When Zoe disappeared back into the house and the children had moved away from the window, David tugged on Linus’s hand, pulling him down. “What is it?” Linus asked.

“Nothing,” David said stiffly. “Just reminding you I’m here.”

“As if we could forget,” Arthur said. “I apologize in advance about the noise.”

As if to prove his point, the door burst open and a stream of children poured out, all of them speaking at once with Chauncey leading the charge. The sounds of home, Arthur thought as Chauncey leapt the entirety of the steps, landed perfectly, and bowed, his eyes bouncing on their stalks.

The rest of the children gathered around Chauncey, each of them—including Sal with Theodore perched on his shoulder—looking as if they were doing their level best to keep from running directly at them. Lucy started to do just that, but Theodore lowered his tail, wrapping it around Lucy’s arm, holding him back.

“Oh, come on, ” Lucy said with a groan. “They’re right there .”

“We do what we planned,” Sal said. “Who’s got it?”

“I do,” Phee said, pushing her way from the back. In her hands, she held what looked to be a roll of paper with something written upon it in glittering letters. With Sal’s help, she unfolded it, revealing a long banner that stretched across the front of the children, each of them holding part of it up—aside from Theodore, who rested his head on Sal’s, eyes blinking slowly as he studied David. He made a strange sound—not unlike the hoot of an owl—that turned up at the end.

“There’s no such thing as too much glitter,” Chauncey told him. “Except if you eat it.”

The banner was torn in places, and perhaps Theodore was right in that there might have been a tad too much glitter—Arthur could only imagine the mess left behind—but in the end, none of that mattered. Because here and now, six extraordinary children held up a sign that read: WELCOME HOME, DAVID! Each letter was written in a different hand, as if the children had all taken turns. In the top right corner, a smiley face with fangs and devil horns.

Partially hidden behind Linus, David peered around him, making a gulping noise when he found all the kids watching him. He ducked behind Linus again.

Considering his options, Arthur made a decision, and hoped it was the right one. Looking back at the children, he called, “Theodore. Would you mind coming here for a moment?”

Theodore didn’t hesitate, spreading his wings and lifting up from Sal’s shoulder. He crossed the distance in short order, landing on Arthur’s, wrapping his long neck around Arthur’s front. His reptilian eyes blinked slowly, and he chirped, a low, muttering thing that sounded like grumbling.

“I’m sure it was an accident,” Arthur said, stroking his tail. “After all, you didn’t know that when you sneezed you’d light the table on fire. No one was hurt?”

Theodore shook his head, followed by a stream of short, pointed clicks.

Linus snorted. “Then it was good Chauncey was there to ink all over the fire and put it out.”

David once again made his existence known, leaning around Linus, eyes wide as he stared up at Theodore. “You can talk to him?” he asked breathlessly.

“Of course,” Linus said. “We all can. It takes a bit to get the hang of it, but if I can learn, you can too. He is what’s known as receptively bilingual, meaning he has his own language, and can understand what we say, but doesn’t speak the same way.”

“Like this?” David asked. He stepped out from behind Linus, arms raised, claws sliding out half an inch. Beginning to growl and snarl, he stomped around them. Theodore’s talons dug into Arthur’s shoulder as he wiggled from side to side.

“Oh dear,” Linus said gravely. “David, what you just said could be interpreted in two different ways, depending upon inflection. You either asked Theodore to be your friend, or you challenged him to a duel on a Wednesday evening using only bananas and a feather boa as weapons.”

“I did what ?” David cried. “But—but it’s Wednesday now . And the sun is going to be setting soon!”

“And here we are without a banana or feather boa in sight,” Arthur said, shaking his head. “However, I think Theodore will agree that having a new friend is better than dueling someone.”

Theodore, for his part, said that he would like to do both, if that were possible, explaining that he’d never been in a duel before. When Arthur reminded him that they did not, in fact, have any available bananas, Theodore turned his head toward the others still gathered in front of the house and asked a question.

“Bananas?” Lucy called, brow furrowed. “Hold on.” His lifted his hands, face scrunched in concentration. A second later, he held a bushel of yellow fruit in his hands. “Hurray, I did things!”

Talia leaned over to inspect. “Those are plantains, not bananas.”

“Crap,” Lucy muttered. “Stupid plantains, always looking like bananas.” He threw them up in the air, and the fruit winked out of existence.

“What the what, ” David said. “You have magic banana powers?”

“Yes,” Sal said, eyes alight with mirth. “That’s exactly right. Lucy has magic banana powers.”

“He’s a magic banana boy,” Phee agreed. “Can’t really do much aside from making sure we have our daily intake of fiber.”

“Which helps us poop,” Chauncey added.

Lucy’s eyes filled with a malevolent red. “I am not a magic banana boy! I do not care about your poops! I am Lucifer .” The red in his eyes grew, and the sun seemed to dim, as if a heavy cloud had passed in front of it. “I am the snake in the garden, the personification of dark temptation. I am the night, and all my enemies will bow before me or perish !” He cackled evilly, but seeing as how he was only seven, “evil” was, perhaps, a bit of a misnomer. It was more of a squeaky giggle, followed by the stomping of feet.

“You’re such a drama queen,” Talia muttered, and just like that, the sun’s rays burst around them, causing them all to blink.

Before Arthur could admonish Lucy for dimming the sun— again —David blurted, “Are you really going to fight Jesus in hand-to-hand combat in the final battle for all our souls, or is that just something someone made up?”

For the first time since Arthur could remember—perhaps the first time ever —Lucy was speechless, his mouth hanging open, the red in his eyes fading until all that was left was green. He sputtered nonsensically, and Arthur knew he needed to step in before Lucy recovered. Whatever he might say probably wouldn’t help—

Lucy beat him to it. He relaxed, cool as ice. “Yeah, probably,” he said, as if it were the easiest thing in the world. “I know karate, so it won’t be a fair fight. What’s he going to do? Make more fish and bread?” He pressed his hands against his cheeks, eyes wide. “Oh, Jesus, no, anything but that. Gasp! Are you turning water into wine ? Curse you, street magician!”

“Back ten minutes and we’re already blaspheming,” Linus said, as Helen and Zoe laughed, trying to keep each other upright. “It’s good to be home.”

“He’s not going to fight Jesus,” Talia said. “Last night, Lucy stubbed his toe and cried until Zoe kissed it, so all Jesus has to do is wait for that, and the fight is over.”

“It was gushing blood,” Lucy retorted. “We almost had to amputate, but then Zoe said she already promised Linus we had all of our toes still. I never get to do anything fun.”

“He’s not going to fight Jesus,” Linus told David. “Some people make up stories to frighten others. Nothing more than a flight of fancy.”

“Can I say something now?” Chauncey demanded. “I’ve been politely waiting my turn.”

“Go ahead,” Arthur said.

“Hi!” Chauncey said, waving a tentacle at David. Then he said, “That’s it. You may continue.”

“That is Chauncey,” Linus told David. “He’s a bellhop, one of the best there is.”

“Hi, Chauncey,” David mumbled.

“He knows my name, ” Chauncey whispered excitedly.

“Next to him is Talia,” Arthur said. “She’s our resident expert in all things garden-related.”

Talia waved at him. “I like burying things, like seeds and people who cross me.”

“Then there is Phee,” Linus said. “A forest sprite responsible for many of the trees you saw on our trip in.”

“Hi, David,” she said, her wings shimmering in the sunlight. “Do you like the sign?”

David nodded tightly. “No one’s ever made something like that for me before.”

“We make them all the time,” Phee said. “Next time, you can help us, if you want.”

“And last but certainly not least,” Arthur said, “Sal, one of the most gifted writers I’ve ever had the pleasure of reading.”

Sal smiled a little ruefully. “He likes to talk us up. You’ll get used to it. Welcome, David. It feels like we’ve been waiting to meet you forever.”

David stepped away from Linus, dropping his hand. He approached the children, looking up when Theodore’s shadow blocked the sun for a brief moment, the wyvern landing once more on Sal’s shoulder.

“You’ve been waiting to meet me ?” David asked, stopping a few feet away.

“Yep,” Chauncey said. “We’ve never met a yeti before. I knew you’d be tall! Also? I really like your hair.”

“Thanks,” David said, tugging a thick strand. “It can get heavy if it’s not taken care of.”

“We got you,” Sal said. “Zoe does special stuff for my hair, so I bet we can figure yours out too.”

Talia stroked her beard. “And I have oils that’ll make it soft if you want. There, now that that’s out of the way, on to something just as important. Presents.”

“Talia,” Arthur said. “Would you like to try that again?”

She sighed. “Hi.”

“Hello.”

“How are you?”

“Better now.”

“Me too,” she said. “Now, about those presents.”

“In due time,” Arthur said. “First, we have a guest, and we are not rude to guests.”

She arched an eyebrow, tugging the end of her beard. “Can we take David inside and show him the house? Notice how I’m being polite and welcoming and not asking about presents again. Isn’t that nice of me?”

“You are a saint,” Arthur said. “If that’s all right with David, you may. Save the surprise until after we’ve all come in.”

“Surprise?” David asked, looking around wildly. “What surprise?”

“Can I touch your arm?” Chauncey asked.

David flinched. “What?”

“I want to grab your arm and lead you where to go,” Chauncey explained. “But some people don’t like that.”

“Oh,” David said. “I… guess?”

A lime-green tentacle snaked around David’s wrist, Chauncey tugging him up the steps, the rest of the children hurrying after them. “Come on! We’ll show you where we hide things we don’t want Linus or Arthur to know about!”

“Upstairs hall closet with the secret cubby hole in the back?” Linus asked Arthur after the children disappeared inside the house.

“Either that or the one box in the attic they think they’re so secretive about.”

“They’re not very subtle, are they?”

“And so focused on a new guest that we don’t even merit a hug? Your children need to learn their manners.”

“Oh, they’re my children when you don’t get a hug, but as soon as one of them threatens disembowelment, you’re pleased as punch.”

“What are you two nattering on about?” Zoe asked, appearing in front of them with her arm through Helen’s. They took turns kissing each other’s cheeks. “Seemed serious.” Then, without waiting for an answer, she said, “What’s that on your finger?”

Helen said, “His finger? Did he hurt— What .”

Arthur held up his hand, the ring snug, weighted, a presence he could not deny. “Oh, this? I barely remembered it was even there.”

“Liar,” Linus mumbled as he blushed.

“You didn’t, ” Zoe said with an uncharacteristic squeal. She rushed forward, snatching Arthur’s hand and bringing the ring an inch from her face. When she looked up at him again, her eyes were watery. She glanced from Arthur to Linus then back again. “Is this real?”

“It is,” Linus said. “It may seem a bit fast, but—”

“Silly man,” Helen said, her hands clasped under her chin, her smile so wide Arthur was surprised her face hadn’t split in half. “There’s no such thing as ‘a bit fast’ when you know it’s right.” She slapped Linus playfully on the arm. “You sneak . Why did you—”

“We have a problem. I think.”

They all turned toward the house. Phee stood on the porch, a funny expression on her face.

Arthur took a step toward her. “What is it?”

Phee shrugged. “Did you know that yetis and cats are mortal enemies?”

Calliope stood on the bottom step that led to the second floor, back arched, hair standing on end from tip to tail, which extended in a rigid line behind her. Eyes narrowed, hissing as loudly as a leaking steampipe, Calliope tracked the movement of the yeti standing before her.

Said yeti growled in response, claws extended as he paced back and forth. His lips rippled with every snarl, pulled back over his fearsome fangs. Toenails clicking on the floor, David paced back and forth, never looking away from Calliope.

The others stood off to the side, gazes bouncing between the cat and the yeti. Lucy was near the front, watching with great interest. “I wouldn’t try and pet her if I were you,” he said with far too much glee. “She’ll probably rip your throat out.”

“What on earth is going on here?” Linus asked, causing all the children to jump. David whirled around, claws receding as he adopted the demeanor of one who had absolutely not been caught doing something they probably shouldn’t.

Calliope immediately dropped the act, meowing at Linus. She hopped off the step, gave David a wide berth, and then wound her way between Linus’s legs, the picture of innocence.

“Yes, yes,” Linus said, reaching down to scratch behind her right ear. “I’m happy to see you too.” He stood upright. “David?”

David scowled at him. “You didn’t tell me you had a cat.”

“Is that an issue?” Arthur asked. “Are you allergic, or do you—”

“I’m not allergic! Cats are food .”

“Cats are most certainly not food,” Linus said sternly. “Especially this cat.”

“Linus gets upset when we try and eat Calliope,” Talia explained as the others nodded around her.

Arthur cleared his throat.

“Also, eating cats is wrong,” Talia added. More nodding.

“Much better,” Arthur said. “And they’re right, David. Calliope is as much a part of this family as anyone else, and we do not eat family members.”

“Except when they’re pine cones,” Chauncey said with a wisdom beyond his years.

“Exactly,” Linus said. “Except when they’re— Wait, what?”

“I wasn’t going to eat her,” David said. “I was just trying to… make her go… near my… mouth.”

“I knew he’d be a perfect fit,” Helen whispered to Zoe.

“New house rule,” Arthur announced. “No one can eat anyone without their permission, both spoken aloud and written down in a binding contract. Since Calliope is unable to write—given her lack of opposable thumbs—unfortunately, she is not on offer.”

“David?” Linus asked. “Can you abide by this rule?”

David glared at Calliope, who had apparently decided his existence did not matter to her in the least as she turned away from him, sat down, and began to clean herself with her paw. “Yeah, yeah, no eating cats.”

“Splendid,” Arthur said, clapping his hands. “Perhaps now would be the right time to show David his surprise.”

“What surprise?” David asked, momentarily forgetting that he had almost lost a war against a most capable feline.

“We’ll show you,” Sal said, Theodore watching from his shoulder, head cocked. “But you have to close your eyes first.”

David looked at each of them in turn, quick glances that swept the entryway. For a moment, Arthur thought it was too much too soon, but then David took a deep breath and closed his eyes. “Like this?”

Trust, Arthur knew, was a treasure effortlessly stolen, often without rhyme or reason. And this particular treasure was a fragile thing, a piece of thin glass easily broken. But here was David, surrounded by strangers in an unfamiliar place, attempting to pick up his pieces and put them back into a recognizable shape. Whatever else he was, David’s bravery in the face of seemingly insurmountable odds proved yet again what Arthur had always believed: magic existed in many forms, some extraordinary, some simple acts of goodwill and trust, small though they might be.

“Perfect,” Phee said. “We’ll help you walk to where you need to go, and I promise we won’t make you bump into anything.”

“Okay,” David whispered, flinching when Talia took his hand, leading him farther into the house. The other children followed along closely—Sal and Theodore bringing up the rear—pointing out obstacles in the way, Lucy running ahead of them to move a chair so Talia and David would have a clear path.

“We’ll go see about supper,” Zoe said.

Such a funny little thing, showing a boy his new room, and yet Arthur was as excited as the children were. Perhaps it was because he remembered how he’d felt the first time coming to the island, scared out of his mind, unsure about everything. If he’d been extended a welcoming hand instead of a raised fist, how might things have turned out differently? Would he even be where he was now?

They found the children in the hallway off the sitting room, gathered in front of a door that had not existed last year. It stood sturdy in its frame, painted a soft blue, with an iron doorknob. Affixed to the middle of the door, a wooden sign with a single word carved into it: DAVID .

“Okay,” Talia said, still holding David’s hand. “We’re going to count backwards from three, and then you can open your eyes. Ready? Three.” As the others joined in on the countdown—Linus and Arthur included—Calliope decided she was bored with them and trotted down the hall, tail twitching as she disappeared around the corner.

“Two. One!”

David opened his eyes, blinking rapidly. He stared up at the sight before him and said, “You named a door after me?”

“That’s exactly right,” Sal said with a solemn nod. “Surprise. You’re welcome.”

“Oh. Thank… you? I’ve never had anyone name a door after me before.” He smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes which were once again wary.

“Why don’t you open the door?” Arthur suggested. “I have a feeling there’s a little more behind it that might help allay any confusion.”

David bit the inside of his cheek before nodding. He reached toward the doorknob—slowly, carefully, as if he thought it’d explode. When it did not, in fact, explode, he relaxed slightly and twisted the knob. The door opened silently—a wave of ice-cold air washing over them—revealing a set of stairs that descended into darkness.

Except it wasn’t completely dark, was it? No. Because the ceiling shone with an ethereal light, wavy swirls of green and blue and gold and violet. It’d taken time and much effort to get it exactly right. Glow-in-the-dark paint, studying photographs, trying to match it as best they could.

Before Arthur could wonder if David recognized it for what it was, the yeti said, “Is that… is that the aurora borealis?”

“Yeah,” Sal said, leaning over so he and Theodore could see the fruits of their labor. “Arthur got us a book with pictures of it after we asked what else we could do. We used it as a template to make it look as realistic as possible. All of this is new. The door. The paint. The stairs. We’ve spent the last couple of months working on it.”

“Where do the stairs go?” David asked.

“You should find out,” Linus said. “There should be a switch just inside the— Here, hold on.” The children moved as he reached through the door. A moment later, warm light shone down on the stairs, the aurora borealis dimming.

“It’s cold,” David whispered, taking a step toward the stairs. “Like…”

“Let’s go!” Lucy crowed, and grabbed David’s hand, pulling him down the stairs. The others thundered after them.

Linus and Arthur included.

There was a time when coming down to this place would’ve been nearly impossible, a grim reminder of a past that could not be changed. In all the years since his return to the island (and before they’d learned of David), Arthur had entered the cellar only once: when Linus had discovered the truth, one of Arthur’s greatest secrets. But even then, he’d felt the firm grip of panic squeezing his throat, his breath coming out in soft whistles. He’d pushed beyond it by sheer force of will, entering the cellar after a man who, too, was more than he seemed.

When Helen had brought David to their attention, he’d immediately thought of the cellar and wondered if it could be turned into a place of dreams rather than nightmares. Make something new out of something old, and while it couldn’t—and ultimately didn’t—erase the past, the idea of renovating the cellar into a room for David didn’t give him as much pause as he’d expected. He hadn’t known what that meant, exactly, the old adage of “time heals all wounds” ringing in his ears. But that wasn’t quite true, was it? The passage of time might dull the edges, but it wasn’t a cure-all. No, it’d take more than that. So much more.

Like this:

He shivered as he stood with Linus in the doorway, his breath a warm fog that streamed from his mouth with every exhalation. Linus crowded against him, muttering that he was thankful Arthur burned warmer than humans. As they looked on, the children did the same, watching as David moved slowly around the room, taking everything in.

The walls had been painted a soft shade of teal, so much like ice that it felt as if they were standing atop an iceberg drifting through the sea. Any tick marks had been sanded down and painted over, no evidence left that they’d been there at all. Near the ceiling, four vents, one on each wall, blew frozen air from an industrial air-conditioning unit that had been installed at the back of the house. The temperature was set right at freezing, as Arthur had read that yetis preferred to sleep in the cold.

And speaking of sleeping, against the right wall, a queen-sized bed with fluffy pillows and a white comforter, the corner pulled back in invitation. To the left of the bed, a chest of drawers sat beside an old oak wardrobe, the doors open, empty hangers dangling from a metal bar.

On the opposite wall, another set of stairs, lit up by sunlight streaming in through the windows of the newly installed cellar doors. Each door had a circular window in it, portholes to allow daylight to enter in late afternoon as the sun began its descent.

“What is this?” David whispered, standing stock-still in the middle of the room, his toes digging into the oval rug Helen had brought over from her personal storage.

“This is your room,” Talia said. “We all have our own. We tried to guess what you’d like, but we didn’t want to do too much in case you wanted to change anything.”

“It’s okay if you do,” Chauncey said, black teeth chattering. “You can do whatever you want with it. We won’t be mad.”

“Except if you make me paint again,” Lucy said. “Then, I’ll be very mad.” He cocked his head. “Unless we use blood. That would be all right, I think.”

“I don’t understand,” David said, sounding rather helpless. “What do you mean, my room?”

Phee frowned. “It’s yours. All of this.”

David turned away from them, head bowed. When he spoke, his voice was small, quiet, barely above a whisper. “I’ve never had my own room before.” Then his shoulders began to shake as he sniffled, and a moment later, the most remarkable thing happened.

Arthur wasn’t sure what he was witnessing at first. An ice cube, rectangular, about two inches long, fell to the floor and shattered, bits of ice spreading along the floor. It was followed by another. And then another. And then another, and it was then that Arthur remembered something he should’ve never forgotten in the first place: no matter how much research he did, it wasn’t thick tomes that would teach him what he needed to know, at least not fully. Firsthand experience was just as—if not more—important than anything he could read about.

Because the yeti known as David was crying; but instead of tears, ice cubes fell from his eyes, falling to the floor with delicate plink s!

Linus, obviously alarmed, started toward David, only to have Sal shake his head. “Let us handle it, okay?” he said in a low voice as more ice cubes fell to the floor. “It’d be better coming from us.” He didn’t have to say the rest: Because you don’t know what it’s like. We do.

“Of course,” Linus said. “I have complete faith in you.” Without artifice, without pandering.

Sal turned his head toward Theodore. “What do you think, bud? We got this?”

Theodore clicked his agreement.

“I think so too,” Sal said. He looked at the other children. “Give us a second, all right?”

“I don’t like it when people cry,” Chauncey whispered.

Theodore chirped twice in quick succession, followed by three long growls.

“Theodore’s right,” Talia said as she glanced at Linus. “Happy tears aren’t sad tears, even if they look the same.”

Sal and Theodore moved toward David quietly, the yeti trying to keep his sniffles from being too loud. They stopped next to him, looking down.

“Hey,” Sal said easily. “Big day, yeah?”

“Yeah,” David replied hoarsely. “Big day.” Another ice cube fell to the floor. “And I’m not crying. I just have something in my eye. I don’t know where the ice cubes are coming from.”

Sal shrugged, Theodore rising up and down. “Sure. But it’s okay if you were crying. I did when I first got here.”

David wiped his eyes with his arm. “You did?”

“Oh yeah,” Sal said. “It was… overwhelming. Not in a bad way, but it’s hard to tell the difference when you’re in the middle of it. I didn’t know where I was, who these other people were, making promises I’d heard before. If they were going to be nice to me, or if they were going to…”

“Hurt you,” David whispered.

Sal smiled tightly. “So I cried. The first night. The second night. The third. I cried because I was nervous and didn’t want to mess anything up. Because I couldn’t believe this place was real, that I would get to stay. I’d never had that before. I also cried because I was scared.”

“You were scared?” David asked, looking up at Sal and Theodore with wet eyes. “But you don’t look like you’d be scared of anything .”

Theodore chirped, tongue snaking out between his lips.

Sal nodded. “Yeah, what he said. No one here is going to make fun of you, not when we’ve all been there.” Sal hesitated a moment, and Arthur saw a familiar indecision cross his face. His shoulders began to hunch as he turned in on himself. Arthur was about to interrupt when Sal shook his head and pulled himself upright. Theodore spread his wings.

Next to him, Linus whispered, “You got this.”

Sal said, “You don’t know us, and we don’t know you. But things are good here.”

“I’ve heard that before,” David said.

“Yeah,” Sal said. “I bet you have. Difference is, it’s true here. You don’t have to trust anything I’m saying.” He laughed. “Hell, I wouldn’t if I were you. But you’ll believe soon enough.”

David stared up at Sal and Theodore. He turned his head to look at the rest of them, starting with Lucy, who wiggled his fingers in a wave, and ending on Arthur, who smiled. David then took in the rest of the room: the late afternoon sunlight dappling the floor, the clean walls, the bed, the wardrobe, the drawers, even the rug. “Can I decorate however I want?”

“You can,” Arthur said. “This is your space, David. Make it look however you wish.”

David nodded and took in his new room in wonder.

It was a little past midnight when the bedroom door creaked open. Linus grumbled as a smallish garden gnome climbed onto the bed, settling between them and smacking her lips.

Ten minutes later, the door opened again, and a forest sprite made her way in. She lay next to Arthur, her head on his pillow.

Four minutes after that, the closet door opened and a devilish voice cried, “You’re having a sleepover and you didn’t invite me? Oh my heck, what is wrong with all of you?” Linus grunted as a little boy jumped on top of him, all knees and elbows.

It wasn’t long before a green blob appeared. Flattening himself until he was as thin as a piece of paper, he spread himself on top of them, eye stalks resting on Arthur’s chest. It wasn’t unpleasant; it felt as if they lay under a blanket made of non-sticky jam.

Of course, that meant no one wanted to be left out, and two more figures appeared: one tall, wearing ratty sleep shorts and a tank top; the other blinked sleepily with reptilian eyes. The tall boy stretched out next to a welcoming cat along the width of the bed, which was big enough to keep his feet from dangling off the edge. The wyvern lay on top of him, head curled against his body. The cat licked the boy’s cheek once and closed her eyes.

Arthur was on the cusp of sleep—warm and smothered, a quiet smile on his face—when Talia shot up next to him and yelled, “We didn’t get our presents!”

Linus groaned, burying his face in the pillow. “It’s time for quiet. ”

“Arthur,” Chauncey whispered. “Psst. Arthur . Are you sleeping?”

“No, Chauncey.”

“Fun! Neither am I. Can I ask you a question?”

“Yes, Chauncey.”

“Oh, good. Thank you. Why do you have a ring on your finger?”

No one got much sleep after that.