Chapter Nine

NINE

The following Monday afternoon—with only two days remaining until the arrival of the inspector—Arthur Parnassus sat in his bedroom in a high-backed chair, one leg folded over the other, his hands in his lap. Through the open window, he could hear Talia muttering to her plants in the garden. Every now and then, the guttural tones of Gnomish changed to singing, a low hum that rose and fell. In the background, the crash of waves and the calls of the birds over the cliffs.

Across from Arthur, in his own chair, Lucy lay upside down, his legs up the back, head hanging off the edge. He hadn’t yet spoken, arms folded across his chest, glaring at Arthur with red eyes.

“By my count, this is our sixty-sixth meeting,” Arthur said, breaking the heavy silence. “Strange how quickly time passes when you aren’t paying attention to it.”

Lucy rolled his eyes and said nothing.

“Are we going to sit on the chair as it’s meant to be sat upon, or not today?”

Lucy yawned. Not today, it seemed.

“How are the spiders in your brain?”

Lucy shrugged.

“Ah, lost your voice, have you? I do hope you find it. I happen to like it when you talk.”

Lucy made a rude sound with his tongue between his teeth.

Arthur tilted his head. “Something on your mind?”

Lucy rolled over, climbing to his knees. He pointed a finger at Arthur and growled, “You lied to me.”

“That’s a very serious accusation,” Arthur said.

“You told me I didn’t have to be a monster like everyone thought. That I could do anything I wanted.” He sat back down on his heels, his fierce glower trained on Arthur.

“I did say that, yes. And it’s just as true today.”

Lucy scoffed. “Then why did you tell David he could be a monster if he wanted? Why should one person get to be one way, and another can’t? How is that fair?”

“You’re right, it’s not,” Arthur said. “And I apologize for that, Lucy. It presented the notion of a double standard, and that wasn’t my intent.” He mulled over his own words for a moment. “But none of your ire should be toward David. He’s innocent in all of this, and I won’t have you—”

“If he’s so innocent, then why does he want to scare people? I do, too, but everyone says I’m not innocent. Why’d you tell him one thing but told me something else?”

“Fair,” Arthur said carefully. “And something I’d like to discuss with you, if you’re up for it.”

“So you can trick me?” Lucy said with a scowl. “Make me think everything is fine when it’s not?”

“Have I ever done that?”

Lucy didn’t respond for a long while. Eventually, he slumped farther in his chair and muttered, “First time for everything.”

“I’m sorry that I caused you to feel that way,” Arthur said. “It was certainly not my intention, but it happened regardless.” He folded his hands in front of him on the desk. “I think that out of all of us, David will look to you the most.”

Lucy looked over at him. “Really? Why?”

“Because you’re kin, in a way. Not by blood, nor am I speaking about brotherhood, though that’s part of it. I see you as two sides of the same coin. I think you’ll find that David looks to you to see what’s right and what is wrong.”

“Oh,” Lucy said, face scrunching up. “That’s… weird. Still doesn’t mean I forgive you.”

“I didn’t think it would,” Arthur assured him. “I’ve done something you think is unreasonable, and you have a point. Which brings me back to the coin. As I said, two sides of the same coin, and yet, you have your differences. David is a yeti. You are not.”

“I’m the Antichrist,” Lucy said.

“You are,” Arthur said. And though it worried him immensely, he didn’t stop himself from saying what was necessary. “If you’d like to reclaim that title, you can. We’ve talked about not using that word, given the connotations behind it, but I would be remiss if I didn’t say that regardless of what others think, the title is yours to do with as you wish.”

“What’s stopping me from changing how others think?”

Gooseflesh sprouted across the back of Arthur’s neck, cold and prickly. “Expound.”

Lucy sat up once more, his tiny arms waving wildly. “People are scared of us. How we look. What we can do. They hate us because of it. If I wanted to, I could change all their minds just like that .” He snapped once. “Make them believe like they should, that we’re not scary and that we can do whatever we want.”

“You could do that?” Arthur asked slowly.

“Think so,” Lucy said, tapping his chin. “I think if I really tried, I could do anything I wanted to. Heck, I’m even trying to figure out how to teleport things, like rocks or a full-grown manatee.”

“Let’s continue with that thought,” Arthur said. “Say you do exactly as you described. You force your will upon an unsuspecting populace. You tell yourself it’s for the greater good, and it may very well be. Does that make it right?”

Lucy stared at Arthur with ancient eyes. “It’d make things easier.”

“Perhaps,” Arthur said. “But that doesn’t answer my question. Even if your intentions are pure, does eradicating free will to get the end result you desire make your actions right?”

Lucy hesitated. “I… don’t know?”

“And it’s okay not to know,” Arthur said. “It comes back to the idea of moral relativism.”

Lucy groaned, sounding so much like Linus that Arthur grinned behind his hand.

“Yes, yes, it’s terribly inconsiderate of me to spring philosophy on you. I will do better in the future. That being said, humor me. Please remind me what moral relativism is.”

“The view that moral judgments are true or false only relative to some particular standpoint,” Lucy intoned in a bored voice.

“Correct,” Arthur said. “And the argument against?”

“There is no guidance as to what is right or wrong.”

“You got it in one.” Arthur shifted in his seat, uncrossing his legs. “In this situation, you have people who believe you are something to be feared. On the flip side, you have others who believe you’re an intelligent seven-year-old boy with spiders in his brain and a penchant for music. Who is correct?”

“The people who think I’m smart,” Lucy said promptly.

“So everyone who believes the opposite is incorrect?”

“Ye-es?” Lucy said, sounding unsure.

“But if we use moral relativism, the argument would be that those who are afraid of you are correct because that’s what they believe. And that’s where it can get tricky. Because if morality is based upon personal desire, how can one find a truly objective moral ground and make the morally right decision?”

Lucy frowned. “So who’s right and who’s wrong?”

“Excellent question,” Arthur said. “And one I don’t know there’s any single answer to. You told me once you thought humanity was weird, given that when we’re not laughing, we’re crying or running for our lives because monsters are trying to eat us.”

“And they don’t even have to be real monsters,” Lucy said. “They could be the ones we make up in our heads.”

“Precisely. But if you were to take away those monsters—either real or imaginary—by imposing your wants and whims upon those who fear you, what would they have learned?”

“Nothing,” Lucy said begrudgingly.

“That’s right,” Arthur said with a nod. “They wouldn’t have learned anything because they were never given the chance. That’s why free will is important. It gives us the potential to change minds.”

“But why is that up to us?” Lucy asked. “Why do we have to be the bigger people and teach them? Shouldn’t that be their responsibility?”

“In a perfect world, yes,” Arthur said. “They would endeavor to dismantle their prejudices and welcome those who are different with open arms. But we don’t live in such a world, and we must do what we can with what we have.” He leaned forward. “However, you are correct. It shouldn’t be up to us to prove we are not a threat. And yet, we find ourselves in the unenviable position of having to do exactly that. Which brings me back to the idea of monsters. Though you may be two sides of that same coin, you and David have your own individual paths to travel. When I told David he could be a monster, it wasn’t because he wanted to harm people. It was because he feels that people can find joy in fear, so long as no one gets hurt.”

Lucy’s eyes flashed. “ I don’t want to hurt people.” He paused, considering. “Okay, some people, but I don’t do it, not all the time.”

Arthur held up his hand. “I never said you did. I know you better than that, Lucy. And though I wish it didn’t have to be said again, it does, because I apparently haven’t done a very good job of explaining. You can be whoever you want, so long as you remember that free will is paramount, even if you don’t agree with the choices of others.”

Lucy eyed him slyly. “What if I don’t become who you want me to be?”

Arthur expected this. Pushing up against perceived boundaries, testing how far they could stretch. All the children did this at one point or another. It went back to what Arthur had said during the hearing, about children being told no and immediately asking why. “I would love you just the same.”

Lucy blinked in surprise. “Really? Why?”

“Because every single day, I see the good in you. I see your kindness, your mischievousness. Your wonder at the world around you. Though we may not always agree, nothing you could do would ever make me stop loving you.”

Lucy tilted his head back, staring up at the ceiling. “It’s hard.”

“What is?”

“Being alive.”

“It is,” Arthur agreed. “But perhaps that’s the point: the trials and tribulations of life weigh heavily upon us, but we find people to help lighten the load. It’s why I know you’ll be good for David. He needs help to carry all that sits upon his shoulders. And I can’t think of a better person than you.”

For a time, Lucy was silent. He looked out the window, his face bathed in golden light. Finally, he said, “Arthur?”

“Yes?”

“I love you too.”

Arthur smiled as fire bloomed in his chest. “I know. Now, I think that’s enough for today. I heard a rumor that you acquired a new record in our absence. I would like to hear what you and J-Bone discovered.”

Lucy jumped from the chair, wiggling in excitement. “It’s Fats Domino! I’ll go get it and let you listen to the righteous jam that is ‘I’m Walkin’.’”

And they did just that. As the afternoon wore on, Fats Domino wailed about walkin’, yes indeed, and I’m talkin’ about you and me, I’m hopin’ that you’ll come back to me.

That night, with all the children tucked safely in bed—Lucy having decided he and David needed to have a sleepover in David’s room—Arthur finished his evening routine and found Linus sitting up in bed, resting against the headboard. The comforter was gathered around his lap, Calliope sitting on top and watching Arthur’s every step.

“Lucy seems to have had a change of heart.” Linus shivered. “I hope that doesn’t mean we’ll be woken up in the middle of the night because the house is falling down around us.”

Arthur climbed up on the bed, scratching Calliope behind the ears and kissing Linus on the cheek before mirroring his position on the bed, their shoulders brushing together. “I don’t think it was jealousy, not exactly. More that he felt I was treating David differently.”

“By telling him he could be a monster.”

“Yes,” Arthur said, tapping his head against the headboard. “It was, at the very least, hypocritical of me.”

“As much as I hate to admit it, Rowder might have had a point,” Linus said, scrubbing a hand over his face. Calliope reached out a paw, laying it on Linus’s wrist. Absentmindedly, he resumed stroking her back. “About moral duty. What responsibility do we have?”

“The same as any parent or guardian,” Arthur said. “We show David the difference between right and wrong and allow him to grow to make decisions for himself.”

“What happens if he makes the wrong one? And what if he has an effect on the other children? I’m not sure telling him that he could be a monster was the right course of action. We should show him how to be a good person rather than giving in to baser instincts, the same as we do with Lucy.”

Arthur felt a low rumble of discomfort. He knew what Linus was trying to say, but it sat wrong with him. “Baser instincts? Linus, he is a yeti . It’s part of who he is. Just because you don’t necessarily understand doesn’t give you the right to try to take that away from him.” It came out sounding rather snappish, and an apology attempted to follow, but he kept it from spilling from his mouth. He couldn’t always apologize when things turned slightly uncomfortable—a habit he still found himself struggling to overcome, a by-product of being under the thumb of DICOMY.

“ Me? ” Linus said in a huff as Calliope glared at Arthur. “I thought it was we .”

“There is a we, ” Arthur said. “Always. But for all that you are and all that you’ve done, you can never understand what it’s like for them, for us . You can appreciate the issues and want to help, but you’ve never had to walk in our shoes.”

“Oh dear,” Linus said as Calliope tilted her head back to look up at him. “That wasn’t my intent. I apologize.”

“I know it wasn’t. But we must think about intent more than most, given our wards. After all, the road to hell is paved with good intentions.”

Linus sighed as Calliope rolled onto her back, yawning, her little fangs on full display. “Then how am I supposed to be a good father? How can I help them if I can’t relate to them?”

“By being there for them,” Arthur said. “And listening. You’ve proved more than adept at both, but I think it doesn’t hurt to have a reminder every now and then. No, you can’t know what they— we’ve been through because you haven’t experienced it for yourself. And I’m grateful for that. You want to protect them. In that regard, you’re no different from me. But I’m reminded of a time when you told me that keeping the children secluded on the island benefited no one.”

“I did say that, didn’t I?”

“You did,” Arthur said. “And you were right, even if it was hard to hear at the time. You showed me that no matter my intent, it was causing more harm than good. That I didn’t necessarily need to trust the world outside, but that I needed to trust the children because they’re stronger than even I gave them credit for.”

“And it’s part and parcel of being a parent,” Linus said slowly, picking up the thread Arthur had started. “To know when it’s time to step back and let them make their own decisions.”

“Precisely,” Arthur said, taking Linus’s hand in his, fingers intertwining. “The best we can do is to be there to help them celebrate their victories and to pick them back up when they get knocked down.” He laughed quietly. “I’m sure this is a problem faced by most parents since time immemorial. To know when the time is right to let the little birds leave the nest and fly on their own.”

“Most parents don’t have the children we do,” Linus said.

“No, they don’t. We’re lucky that way, I guess.”

“Still. I am sorry.”

Arthur lifted Linus’s hand, lips brushing against warm skin. “And I accept, not to avoid further argument but because I know you’re still learning, same as me. We have to trust Lucy, like we have to trust all of them. And then we have to do the scariest thing of all: step back and hope for the best.”

“Can you do that?” Linus asked without censure. It was simple curiosity born of knowing Arthur better than anyone else, aside from Zoe.

Arthur chuckled. “Time will tell. I hope so, but then I see something that reminds me the world has teeth, and it feels like I’m back at square one.” He paused, considering. Then, “Can I tell you a secret?”

Linus squeezed his hand as Calliope began to purr, a low sound that came in fits and starts. “Always.”

“Part of me wants to let Lucy do what he said,” Arthur admitted. “Allow him to impose his will on everyone. To change their minds, even if they don’t want it. It would make things easier.”

“It would,” Linus said. “But I think you know it’d be a hollow victory, one that we’d have to live with for the rest of our days.”

“I know. But despite that, I can’t help but think it would be a victory all the same. And what makes it worse is I know DICOMY is trying to do the same: to impose their will upon the populace to get them to fall in line.”

“So what do we do?”

“We live,” Arthur said.

“And if they try and take our children from us?”

“Then we fight.”

On a Tuesday afternoon in summer—the sun high, nary a cloud in the blue, blue sky—the residents of Marsyas Island prepared for war. Or, rather, Linus and Arthur called them all together to attempt to prevent war, and grievous bodily harm if possible. Which was why they’d had the children scour their rooms for anything that might be construed as a weapon, or anything dangerous the inspector could use against them.

While they waited in the sitting room—listening to the cacophonous crashes coming from upstairs—Linus paced in front of the fireplace, hair sticking up at odd angles where he’d been running his hands through it. He glanced at Arthur, who sat in a chair, hands folded in his lap. “How are you so calm?” he demanded, hands on his hips. “Were you like this before I arrived?”

“I was a mess,” Arthur said. “Frightened more than I’d been in a long time, same as I am now.”

Linus blinked. “You didn’t act like it.”

Arthur tilted his head in acknowledgment. “Just because I didn’t let you see it doesn’t mean it wasn’t there. And it didn’t last long. Debating philosophy in the forest while you were in your explorer outfit changed my mind.” He waggled his eyebrows. “Seeing you in those brown shorts was quite the distraction.”

Linus sniffed. “I do fill them out, don’t I? I’m surprised you were able to keep your hands off me.”

“It was a monumental struggle,” Arthur agreed.

“I suppose if there’s hope for me, there is hope for anyone.” Linus huffed out a breath. “But that doesn’t mean you can flirt with the inspector like you did me. I doubt they’ll be swayed by your wiles.”

Arthur grinned. “Noted. Especially since the government seems to think I use my wiles to my advantage. To disabuse them of the notion, I will keep said wiles to myself.”

“Let’s not go too far. I happen to enjoy your wiles.”

The first two children clomped down the stairs, Phee saying, “And that’s why we made this for you. Don’t worry about trying to memorize everything right away. Not even Arthur could do that. It’ll take time.”

David said, “And you’re sure this will work?”

“Yeah,” Phee said as they reached the bottom of the stairs. “It might seem a little complicated because it’s not just about the sounds he makes, but the emotion behind the sounds. Thankfully, you have us. We’ll all help you learn about different things. Like me with trees. Talia with her plants, Chauncey with the sea, Lucy with scary stuff—”

“What kind of scary stuff?” David asked excitedly as they came into the sitting room. In his hands, David held a ream of paper tied together with colorful yarn. Phee had a bag slung over her shoulder, which she set down near the entryway to the sitting room.

“Like blood and guts,” she said. “He’s good at all those things. Sal can help with almost everything else because he speaks better wyvern than even Arthur does. That’s why they’re best friends. When Sal first got here, he didn’t talk very much. But Theodore took to him right away. Turns out, some types of wyverns thrive on empathy, and Theodore said Sal shone with it, brighter than almost anything.”

David’s eyes widened in anticipation. “Thrive on? Like… feed?”

Phee snorted. “Not like that, but that’s a cool idea. We should tell them so they can act like that’s what happens. It’s more that they… bring the better parts of each other out. And it helped Sal find his voice to learn Theodore’s.” She paused, frowning. “I wonder if that’s why Theodore can breathe fire now.”

A pretty thought, and one that Arthur couldn’t find fault with. Sal and Theodore rarely went anywhere without each other, and both had blossomed since their arrival on the island. Though Arthur knew he and the others had played a part in it, there was a truth to Phee’s words. Theodore had done more for Sal than anyone else.

“What do you have there?” Arthur asked David.

“It’s a translation book,” David said. “To help me learn wyvern.” He flipped through the pages, eyes darting side to side as he read. “Where’s the section on curse words?”

Linus crossed his arms. “I doubt they would have put such a thing in—”

“In the back,” Phee said. “Last three pages.”

David gleefully flipped to the back of the book, smile widening as he read. After a moment, he lifted his head and said, “Click click rawwwr, clickety-click.”

Linus lifted a hand to his throat. “Well, I never . We do not use such language in this house.”

Phee snorted. “Keep telling yourself that.”

“You made this?” Arthur asked Phee.

She shrugged, looking away with a scowl. “ I didn’t. We all did. Thought it would help. It’s not a big deal.”

“I think it is,” Arthur said. “Whose idea was it?”

Phee rolled her eyes. “It was mine.”

“I see. That was kind of you, Phee.”

She flushed, her wings trembling as David continued to read, his face inches from the pages. A moment later, she leaned over and started pointing out tips and tricks she’d learned in her own quest to understand Theodore.

It wasn’t long before they were joined by the rest of the household, each of the children bringing down their own bags, gathering in the entryway as Arthur rose from his chair. Linus joined him as Phee and David stood with the others, all waiting to see what Arthur would say next. Sal stood with his hands behind his back, Theodore perched on his shoulder.

“We’ve discussed what’s going to happen starting tomorrow,” Arthur said. “As we did with Linus, we will show our guest kindness and courtesy, and absolutely no one will make threats up to and including bodily harm and/or death.”

Everyone looked at Lucy and Talia. “What?” Talia asked. “I’m a gnome . I’m supposed to be threatening. It’s, like, my thing.”

“Right there with you, sister from another mister,” Lucy said. “Except I’m not a gnome, just the incarnation of evil.”

“Be that as it may,” Arthur said, “we don’t want to run the risk of anything negative going into a report. As such, I expect all of you to be on your best behavior.”

“And each of us must play our parts in order to keep David from being discovered,” Linus said. “The inspector can’t know he’s here.”

David raised his hand.

Amused, Arthur said, “Yes, David?”

“What if they see me? Will Lucy and Talia kill the inspector and bury them in the garden?”

“Yes,” Lucy and Talia said together.

“ No, ” Linus said loudly.

Theodore chirped and squeaked, spreading his wings.

“Don’t tell me what he said!” David cried. “I want to figure it out on my own.” He opened the book once more, flipping through the pages before stopping on one, eyes narrowing. “Hmm,” he said. “So, if I’ve got this right, Theodore just said… um. Okay. He said… ah! He said that murder is legal, but only if you don’t get caught.” He squinted at the translation text. “Wait, that can’t be right.”

“There will be no killing,” Linus said sternly. “Or maiming,” he added as Lucy opened his mouth. “And David, if you are discovered, we will be right by your side. Though we want to avoid that if we can, we must prepare for any eventuality.” He eyed each of the children warily. “It’s why we’ve asked you to bring us anything that might be… misconstrued.”

“You better not throw anything away,” Lucy warned. “If you do, there is nowhere on this earth you could hide that I wouldn’t find you.”

“That threat worked better on me when I didn’t know you liked footie pajamas,” Linus said.

“That’s because they have a flap for my butt cheeks,” Lucy said. “Humanity’s finest invention, next to music. If I grow up and decide to enslave the human race, I’ll make footie pajamas mandatory for everyone.”

“Until then,” Arthur said, “we are on our best behavior. Show us what you brought. Theodore, let’s start with you.”

Theodore flew down from his perch on Sal’s shoulder, tugging his bag over to Arthur’s feet. Gripping the bottom of the sack, he upended it, spilling out its meager contents on the floor: a few of his baby fangs that had fallen out, a green rock that looked like an oversized arrowhead with a thin line of quartz through the middle, and a familiar brass button with teeth imprinted on it.

Linus bent over, scooping up the button, bouncing it in his hand. “Why is this dangerous?”

Phee translated for David as Theodore explained that if the inspector saw how much he loved the button, she might try to take it away. It had been done before, he said, and he thought that meant the inspector might try to do the same. It wasn’t dangerous to her, but dangerous to him as he didn’t want to lose one of his treasures.

Linus reached down and patted Theodore’s head, the wyvern leaning into it, eyes fluttering shut. “I don’t think they’d take your button, but if you feel strongly about it, I will carry it on my person at all times and return it to you once they leave. Deal?”

Deal, Theodore chirped.

Chauncey went next, deciding that a comprehensive explanation was needed for each of the items he presented, most of which were sharp seashells or sea glass he’d found buried in the sand. There was also a pile of pine cones. “It’s not what it looks like,” Chauncey said quickly as Arthur arched an eyebrow. “I’m just… collecting them. Yes, collecting them in order to make… a… pine cone… diorama?”

“Oof,” Phee said. “That wasn’t even remotely believable.”

Chauncey groaned. “I can’t even lie right.” He threw up his tentacles. “Congratulations! You caught me. I eat pine cones after everyone goes to bed, but it’s fine, I can stop whenever I want!”

“Of course you can,” Linus said. “Phee?”

She turned over her own sack, the contents spilling out onto the floor. Her contribution was a bit more involved than Theodore’s or Chauncey’s, bits of driftwood and spiny leaves, along with an impressive dagger with a jeweled hilt that glittered in the light.

“Where did you get that?” Arthur asked.

“Won it playing cards,” Phee said.

“What,” Linus said.

She shrugged. “I’m good at Go Fish. You know how it is. J-Bone didn’t believe me when I said no one had beaten me at Go Fish, so he bet his dagger. And then I kicked his ass.”

“Phee,” Linus said.

Theodore gripped the dagger in his claws, rolling over onto his back to bring the blade up to his face to inspect. His tongue snaked out, flicking against the jewels. He chirped three times, and Phee was immediately outraged. “What do you mean they’re fake?”

“Talia,” Arthur said. “You’re up.”

“I didn’t bring any of my tools,” she said, shuffling forward and picking up her bag. “They aren’t weapons but implements of my trade. If the inspector has a problem with that, they can die mad about it.”

“Noted,” Arthur said.

Talia turned her bag over, and Arthur almost wished he could be surprised by what he saw, but he wasn’t. At least a dozen glass bottles, small with fat, circular bases where liquid sloshed. Each bottle had the same design drawn onto it: a skull and crossbones.

“Is that poison?” Linus asked, aghast.

“It is,” Talia said. “Of my own concoction, and I grew all the ingredients myself. Hemlock, deadly nightshade, white snakeroot, with a pinch of cinnamon for taste. According to my calculations, it should take only thirty seconds before anal leakage starts, quickly followed by leakage from everywhere else.”

“Anal leakage?” David asked with wide eyes, hands going back to cover his rear.

“That sounds like the name of a band,” Lucy said. “Ladies and gentlemen, presenting… Anal Leakage! Guess what kind of music we’d play?”

Linus sighed. “Gospel.”

“Nope! Gos—oh. Yeah. That’s right.”

“Are you stalling, Lucy?” Arthur asked mildly. “I see that it’s your turn.”

“Ha!” he said. “I have no problem turning anything over, because Linus said if we try, anything can happen.”

Linus smiled. “That’s exactly right, Lucy. Thank you for—”

“Which means anything can be a weapon if you try hard enough.” He began to tick off his fingers. “Spoons. A flight of stairs. Sinkholes. Peanut butter. Air.”

“ Lucy, ” Linus warned.

“What? It’s true!”

“Be that as it may, we do not use sinkholes or peanut butter as weapons. Funnily enough, we’ve talked about this very thing. Twice.” He shook his head. “At least Sal doesn’t have poison or death by spoon on his mind.”

Sal fidgeted.

Arthur cleared his throat pointedly.

Sal made a face and then pulled out his hands from behind his back. Arthur almost laughed when Linus started to splutter in shock. “Is that—where did you— why did you—is that a sword ?”

It was. A long, flat blade with a wooden hilt wrapped in red fabric. It looked heavy, but Sal held on to it tightly.

“How?” Linus asked helplessly.

“J-Bone’s kind of bad at cards,” Sal explained, scratching the back of his neck. “He said he could beat me at Old Maid. Turns out he couldn’t.”

“Arthur?”

“Yes, Linus?”

“Why is the owner of the record store giving our children weapons?”

“Because he’s not very good at cards,” Arthur explained. “He should really practice more before making bets against others. Lucy, it’s your turn.”

Lucy sighed dramatically before scooping up his bag. Without looking away from Linus, he tipped the bag over, spilling out its contents. A small ax. An aerosol spray can with what appeared to be a lighter attached in front of the nozzle. A throwing star. A garrote. Last but certainly not least, three red tubes with black wicks sticking out the top.

“Is that dynamite?” Arthur asked.

Lucy lit up. “I’m so glad you asked! It is dynamite. I was saving it for something special, like when we need to get rid of a body but then Talia hurts her hand and can’t dig a grave so I suggest blowing it up instead and everyone agrees and then I get to light the dynamite and run and voilà ! No more body to worry about.”

“Wow,” Talia said. “That was impressive. I’m on Team Lucy.”

“Me too,” David said.

“And me!” Chauncey said, jumping up and down. “I want to blow up someone’s body!”

“I bet it’ll rain organs,” Phee said. “Cloudy with a chance of lungs.”

“See?” Lucy asked, a picture of perfect innocence. “It’s not just me.”

“Be that as it may,” Arthur said, “we aren’t going to be blowing up anyone.”

“ Thank you, Arthur,” Linus said, frowning down at Lucy.

“At least not until the inspector has left,” Arthur continued. “I don’t think I need to impress on any of you how serious this is. As unfair as it can seem, our future rests in the hands of whoever DICOMY will be sending. I expect each of you to be on your best behavior. Lucy, that includes you.”

“Why does it sound like you trust the process?” Sal asked.

Arthur blinked in surprise. “Explain, if you please.”

Sal shrugged awkwardly, and Theodore muttered in his ear. Sal nodded along with whatever Theodore was saying. By the time the wyvern finished, Sal looked determined. “You’re making it seem like we have to bend over backwards for DICOMY. That if we try hard enough, they’ll believe us when we say this place is safe and where we want to be.”

“Why wouldn’t that be the case?” Linus asked.

“Why should we do anything for them?” Sal asked. “If they’re so worried about what we’re capable of, shouldn’t they bend over backwards for us ? Why is it on our shoulders to prove anything? We’re kids.”

“You are,” Arthur agreed. He looked at each of the children in turn. “I wish I had a better answer. If I could shield you from this, I would.”

“But since he can’t,” Linus said, “it’s up to us. We’ll show DICOMY they picked the wrong family to trifle with. If push comes to shove, they won’t know what hit them.” He bent over, scooping up a stick of dynamite, gripping it tightly. “Trust me on that. I’ll stick this where the sun doesn’t shine.”

“Ooh,” Lucy whispered. “That made me feel tingly.” He rushed forward, wrapping himself around Linus’s leg, tilting his head back. “Even though it was my idea, I’ll let you be the one to light it.”

“A perfect gentleman,” Linus said, patting the top of his head.

“So you see, children,” Arthur said. “They may have the strength of the government behind them, but we have each other. I think DICOMY will find themselves extremely outmatched. Come, now. Let’s clean up this mess and prepare for tomorrow.”

For the rest of the day, they scoured the house, looking for anything that could be used against them. Sal and Theodore put plastic plugs into each of the outlets, lest Lucy decide to stick a fork in one again, just to see what would happen. David, Chauncey, and Lucy were tasked with putting soft covers on every sharp corner. Phee and Talia took to their jobs with gusto, growing flowers and leafy vines over the exterior cellar doors to make them appear as if they hadn’t been opened in ages, but not so much that David couldn’t escape through them should the need arise.

At midday, Zoe called from Helen’s shop, speaking with Arthur and letting him know she’d be back on the island the following morning before their guest arrived. “Helen will bring them out.”

“Are you sure?” Arthur asked. “Linus or I could do it. Helen doesn’t need to make more trouble for herself than she already has.”

She chuckled. “Too late for that, don’t you think?”

“I’m—”

“If you apologize again, I’m going to scream. Helen offered. I accepted. Simple as that. Get with it, Parnassus. DICOMY doesn’t get to decide what a family should look like, or how a home should be. It’s high time they remember that, and that we’re not afraid of them.”

“I am,” Arthur admitted. “Very much so.”

“Do you trust me?”

“You know I do.”

“Good,” Zoe said. “Because I have a few tricks up my sleeve, ones they won’t see coming. Consider it a last resort should things go south.”

“That certainly sounds disturbing. I approve.”

That night, after a subdued supper, Linus made a decision. He stood from the table, telling the children to clean up the kitchen, and that he’d be back shortly. Just as Sal and David finished washing the last of the dishes, Linus popped his head back in, ordering them all to change into their pajamas and to meet him at the front door.

Upstairs, Arthur asked, “Just what are you up to?”

Linus looked up from his half-buttoned sleep shirt. “You’ll see. It isn’t much, but I think it’ll be enough to distract them, at least for a little while. Hopefully, they’ll sleep through the night.”

Arthur snorted as he patted Calliope on the head. She sat on the bed, tail twitching behind her, eyes tracking Linus’s every movement. “Have you met them?”

Back downstairs, the children had gathered near the front door, each wearing their striped pajamas, aside from Theodore.

“Ready?” Linus asked, pushing his way through the children to the door.

“Are we going to sleep in the forest?” Lucy asked, tugging on his pant leg. “I’ve always wanted to see if there were night monsters. I bet they’re big with fangs and claws and filled with rage that only subsides when sucking out the marrow from the bones of unsuspecting—”

“There will be no marrow sucking,” Linus said sternly.

Lucy hung his head, shoulders slumped. “Yet another thing we can’t do with bones. What’s the point of even having bones if we don’t get to play with them?”

“We won’t be going into the forest,” Linus said. “I have something different in mind. Single file, children! You are responsible for the person in front of you. Should we arrive at our destination with a missing member, the person whose job it was to ensure their safety will be lucky enough to listen to me regale them with stories about—Well, then. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you get in line that fast before.”

“You know how to threaten with the best of them,” Sal told him.

“I do try,” Linus said. “Follow me!”

He led the way, crickets chirping loudly as the sun ignited the horizon in shades of red and orange and pink. The first stars had started to shine, and the moon looked like a translucent ghost haunting the western skies.

They followed Linus along the side of the house, heading toward Talia’s garden. Ever the courteous gnome, she stopped them every few seconds to discuss the latest trends in horticulture, including a study she’d read in Gardening Science Monthly that said plants responded more favorably when sung to.

Talia saw them first: the twinkling fairy lights that had been draped along the railing of the gazebo. The wooden floor was covered in at least a dozen pillows and what appeared to be almost every blanket in the house. In the corner, the small portable Zenith record player, spinning dead-people music in the form of Buddy Holly, singing if you knew Peggy Sue, you’d know why he felt blue without Peggy, his Peggy Sue.

“Is this for us?” David asked, looking around with wide eyes.

“It is,” Linus said. “Tonight, I thought we should be together. The next two weeks are going to be busy for all of us, and we should have a night when the only thing we have to worry about is Chauncey’s night gas.”

“I’m biologically unique!” Chauncey exclaimed to no one in particular.

Talia went to the blankets and pillows first, moving them around until she’d made a perfect nest for herself. Theodore did the same, a bigger one for him and Sal. Lucy decided that Phee needed to be brained with a pillow. Unfortunately for him, Phee proved to be quicker, flying up and over Lucy, landing behind him, and then snatching the pillow from his hands. Before he could turn around, she swung the pillow at the back of his head, sending him sprawling onto the floor.

“Do me!” David cried.

Naturally, Phee obliged.

Which then dissolved into a pillow fight to end all pillow fights. By the time the battle had ended, goose feathers floated around them as Lucy screamed he gave up when Theodore tried to shove a pillow down his throat. Linus lay on his back on the floor of the gazebo, breathing heavily, wiping the sweat from his brow.

“That went well,” Arthur said, standing above him and looking down, head cocked.

“Too… old… to… function,” Linus wheezed, face red, hair plastered against his forehead.

“Ah, well, you certainly didn’t act like it,” Arthur said. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen a grown man hurl a pillow at a child with as much force as you did.”

“We should tell that to the inspector,” Lucy said as he peered over his shoulder, trying to look at the flap on the seat of his pajamas. “I bet they’ll find it hysterical without holding it against us.”

“Or,” Linus said, rolling over onto his stomach, “we don’t do that at all and instead attempt to act at least a little normal so that we don’t make… things… worse.”

“Children,” Arthur said, “it’s time to settle in. Make sure you… David? Is there an issue?”

David stood near the steps to the gazebo, gripping the railing with one hand, the other balled into a fist. He tried to smile, but it came out as a grimace. “I… uh.” He looked away, gnawing on his bottom lip. “It can be kind of hard for me to sleep when it’s not cold. Is it okay if I make some ice for me?”

“Way ahead of you,” Linus said, pushing himself up off the floor. “Here, look.” He motioned for David to move to the right side of the gazebo, near where Lucy and Talia were sitting. Linus lifted up one of the blankets. There, underneath, were rows of frozen ice packs, each about six inches wide, nearly a foot long. The blanket had a zipper along the side, and when Linus opened it so David could see the interior, more ice packs jutted out.

David reached out and touched the corner of one of the ice packs.

“I know you can make your own ice,” Linus said. “But I thought I’d help out a little in case you were tired. If you need something, all you have to do is ask.”

“Except if it’s a chainsaw,” Lucy said, lying on his back, kicking his feet above him.

Arthur said, “Children, that’s enough chatter. Settle in, and we’ll see whose turn it is to tell a story.”

“It’s mine !” Chauncey yelled, eyes poking up through a pile of blankets he was hidden under. “I didn’t get to do it last time because Lucy took too long reenacting his favorite exorcisms.”

Arthur shook his head. “By my count, it’s actually Phee’s turn. Chauncey, last time, you told the devastatingly beautiful story of how you fell in love, only to realize your affections weren’t returned because the object of said affections was a rock.”

“Rocky Stonesworth,” Chauncey said sadly.

“So,” Arthur continued, “it’s up to Phee to send us off into dreamland. Let’s give her our undivided attention, and as a reminder to the more vocal members of the audience, commentary is frowned upon, even if you think it’s amusing.”

“He’s talking about you, ” Talia said, shoving Lucy.

He shoved her back. “He is not . I bet I can be quieter longer than you can.”

Talia and Lucy settled down with the rest of the children—save Phee, who stood above them, the sun finally dipping below the horizon. Her wings glittered in the semidarkness, her hair hanging loosely on her shoulders. She waited until she had their undivided attention before nodding. “And now,” she said in an ominous voice, fingers crooked like claws, “I will tell you a tale most foul. A story that’ll haunt your dreams and follow you into your waking hours. A fable of the folly of men, and the lengths they go to in order to escape their own mortality. And every single word of it is true .”

“Oh no,” Chauncey whispered. “True stories are real .”

“It begins on an unseasonably cool April morning. Our heroine—an amazing forest sprite who is good at pretty much everything she does—wakes up, not knowing that today is the day when everything will change, and all good feelings will be gone from the world as darkness spreads. Because today is the day that Linus Baker decides he wants to grow a mustache.”

“Boo!” all the children hissed.

“It was fine, ” Linus retorted. “I happen to think I looked dashing.”

“Yeah, like you were dashing right toward us to kidnap us,” Lucy said.

Linus ignored him. “I shaved it off after four days. But it was my choice and had nothing to do with the fact that Theodore kept asking me if he could sample the worm growing on my face.”

“Phee?” Arthur asked. “Is there more to your tale?”

“Oh yes,” she said. “I haven’t even gotten to the part where the mustache becomes sentient and decides to take over the world. And since Linus is attached to it, he turns into a villain and then we save him with a dull razor, shaving foam, and love.”

“On with it, then,” Linus said, resigned to his part in Phee’s story. “I don’t know why it has to be a dull razor, but I must admit to being a tad intrigued.”

“There had better be explosions,” Talia warned her.

“Of the destructive and the emotional kind,” Sal said.

“Who do you think you’re talking to?” Phee asked, looking moderately offended. “There are going to be at least six explosions.”

“Real or imaginary?” David asked.

All the children turned toward Linus and Arthur with matching expressions of extraordinarily effective pleading. Arthur glanced at Linus, who shrugged. “One explosion,” Arthur decided. “But it cannot cause any damage.”

“Hurray!” Lucy cheered as David beamed. “I’ll make it happen in the air. Phee, you tell me when it’s time, and I’ll handle the rest. David, you’re gonna love this. Arthur and Linus never let us explode things.”

“Or people,” Arthur said.

“Or people,” Lucy said with a grimace.

“I can’t believe this place is real, ” David whispered in awe.

Phee nodded and cleared her throat. “Back to the story. There I was, not knowing that everything was about to change because of a line of hair on a man’s upper lip. At first, it looked like a smudge of dirt, but before long, it grew to the size of a sickly caterpillar.” She leaned forward, wings rustling. “And then… it began to whisper .”

“Ooh,” the children breathed, rapt attention on Phee.

“It wasn’t that bad, was it?” Linus whispered to Arthur as Phee continued.

Arthur chuckled, laying his head against Linus’s. “It was not. I happened to find it delightful, but then everything about you is.”

Linus rolled his eyes fondly. “Foolish, besotted man.”

By the time Phee finished (complete with a single explosion high in the sky which turned into fireworks that rained down streaks of gold and green and red), the children were tucked safely into their makeshift beds, Lucy struggling to stay awake, head lolling then shooting back up. They applauded her—including Linus, who might have clapped harder than the rest of them—and she bowed before sinking into her spot next to Chauncey. Little conversations sprang up between them, each quieter than the last. David laughed over something Talia told him, lying on his side, cold blanket tugged up to his shoulder.

Arthur sat propped up against the side of the gazebo, looking out onto the island beyond the garden, the moonlight causing the shadows of the trees to stretch long. In the distance, the crash of waves against the cliffs below could be heard. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky, only a vast field of stars that seemed endless. Linus lay next to him, holding Arthur’s hand against his chest, fingers spread wide, the slow, calm beat of Linus’s heart a metronome for a song only Arthur could hear.

He was startled from his thoughts—disordered though they were—when someone said his name.

He looked up to find Sal watching him, Theodore tucked in next to him, his head resting on Sal’s stomach as it rose and fell, eyes closed. The other children were asleep, along with Linus who had begun to snore softly. “Yes?”

“We’re going to make it.”

Arthur swallowed past the lump in his throat. When he spoke again, his voice was rough, soft. “Is that right?”

Sal nodded. “Whatever they throw at us, whatever happens, we’re going to make it. We know you’re scared.” He laughed quietly. “I am, too, I guess.”

“Are you?”

“Yeah, but…” He looked down at his brothers and sisters. “Worth it. All of it.”

Arthur watched his son closely. “Even with…?”

“Worth it,” Sal repeated, stroking Theodore’s snout with the tip of his finger. “Linus told me something once, and I think about it a lot. He said it’s okay to not be okay, so long as it doesn’t become all we know.”

“He’s right,” Arthur said.

“Maybe you should remember that sometimes,” Sal said. “Might help.”

Arthur snorted in surprise. “Is that right?”

“Yes,” Sal said before yawning, the back of his wrist against his mouth. “Besides, we have one thing the government doesn’t. And it’s going to change everything.”

“What’s that?” Arthur asked as Sal closed his eyes. “What do we have?”

His son whispered two words before drifting off to sleep.

“Each other.”