by TJ Klune
“Hello?” he called.
There was no answer.
Feeling slightly braver, he rolled the window down halfway. The thick scent of the ocean filled his nose. Leaves rustled on the branches of the trees. “Hello?”
Nothing.
“Right,” he said. “Well. Perhaps we can just stay in here until tomorrow.”
And then he heard the unmistakable giggle of a child.
“Or maybe we should leave,” he said weakly.
Calliope scratched the front of the crate.
“I know, I know. But there appears to be something out there, and I don’t know if either of us wants to be eaten.”
She scratched again.
He sighed. She’d been good for the most part. The trip had been long, and it wasn’t fair of him to leave her cooped up.
“Fine. But you will be quiet while I sit here and think and try to ignore childlike laughter coming from the strange house so very far away from everything I know.”
She didn’t put up a fight when he opened the crate and pulled her into his lap. She sat regally, staring out the window, eyes wide. She didn’t make a sound when he stroked her back.
“All right,” Linus said. “Let’s review, shall we? I can either do what I was sent here to do, or I can sit here and hope a better idea comes to me, preferably where I keep all my bits and bobs as they are.”
Calliope dug her claws into his thighs.
He winced. “Yes, yes. I suppose you’re right. It is cowardly, but it also means we stay alive.”
She licked her paw slowly before brushing it over her face.
“No need to be rude,” he muttered. “Fine. If I must.” He reached for the door handle. “I can do this. I will do this. You stay here, and I’ll—”
He didn’t have time to react. He opened the door, and Calliope leapt from his lap. She hit the ground and took off running toward the garden.
“Of all the— You stupid cat! I will leave you here!”
He would do no such thing, but empty threats were better than no threats at all.
Calliope disappeared beyond a line of perfectly maintained bushes. He thought he saw a flash of her tail, but then she was gone.
Linus Baker was not a fool. He prided himself in that regard. He was well aware of his limitations as a human being. When it was dark, he preferred to be locked safely inside his house, wearing his monogrammed pajamas, a record playing on the Victrola, holding a warm drink in his hands.
That being said, Calliope was essentially his only friend in the entire world.
So when he climbed out of the car, rocks crunching under his feet in the driveway, it was because he understood that sometimes, one had to do unsavory things for those one cared about.
He followed where she’d run off to, hoping she hadn’t gotten far. The sun was almost gone, and while the house itself was still foreboding even though lights appeared to be on inside, the sky above was lit in colors he wasn’t sure he’d ever seen before, at least not mixed together as they were. He could hear the waves crashing far down below the cliff, and seagulls screamed overhead.
He reached the line of bushes that Calliope had disappeared behind. There was a small stone path that led into what he thought was the garden, and he hesitated only briefly before entering.
The garden was far bigger than it had first appeared. The gazebo that he’d seen from the road was farther ahead, strung with red and orange paper lanterns that swung in the breeze. Their lights flickered softly, and there came the distant sound of chimes.
The garden itself was blooming wildly. He didn’t see any sunflowers, but there were calla and Asiatic lilies. Dahlias. Celosias. Chrysanthemums, orange gerberas, and Chinese bellflowers. There were even beautyberries, something he hadn’t seen since he was a child. The air was thick and redolent, and it made him slightly dizzy.
“Calliope,” he called softly. “Come now. Don’t make this difficult.”
She didn’t appear.
“Fine, then,” he said irritably. “I can always make a new friend. After all, there are many cats who need to be adopted. A new kitten would fix this problem quite easily. I’ll just leave you here. It’s for the best.”
He would do no such thing, of course. He continued on.
There was an apple tree growing near the house, and Linus blinked when he saw red and green and pinkish apples, all different varieties growing on the same limbs. He followed the trunk down toward the ground and saw—
A little statue.
A garden gnome.
“How quaint,” he murmured as he moved toward the tree.
The statue was bigger than the ones he had seen before, the tip of its pointed cap about waist-high. It had a white beard, and its hands were clasped at its front. The paint job that had been done on the statue was remarkably detailed, almost lifelike in the fading light. The eyes were bright blue, and its cheeks were rosy.
“Strange statue, aren’t you?” he said, hunkering down in front of it.
Had Linus been in his right mind, he would have noticed the eyes. However, he was tired, out of sorts, and worried about his cat.
Therefore, the noise that came out of him wasn’t that surprising when the gnome statute blinked and said rather haughtily, “You can’t just say something like that about a person. It’s rude. Don’t you know anything?”
His scream was strangled as he fell backward, hand digging into the grass underneath him.
The gnome sniffed. “You’re awfully loud. I don’t like it when people are loud in my garden. If you’re loud, you can’t hear the flowers talking.” And she (because she was a she, beard and all), reached up and straightened her cap. “Gardens are quiet spaces.”
Linus struggled to find his voice. “You’re … you…”
She frowned. “Of course I’m me. Who else would I be?”
He shook his head, managing to clear the cobwebs before latching on to a name. “You’re a gnome.”
She blinked owlishly at him. “Yes. I am. I’m Talia.” She bent over and picked up a small shovel that had been laying on the grass next to her. “Are you Mr. Baker? If you are, we’ve been expecting you. If not, you’re trespassing, and you should leave before I bury you here in my garden. No one would ever know because the roots would eat your entrails and bones.” She frowned again. “I think. I’ve never buried anyone before. It would be a learning experience for the both of us.”
“I’m Mr. Baker!”
Talia sighed, sounding incredibly disappointed. “Of course you are. No need to shout about it. But is it too much to ask for a trespasser? I’ve always wanted to see if humans make good fertilizer. It seems like they would.” She eyed him up and down hungrily. “All that flesh.”
“Oh dear,” Linus managed to say.
She huffed out a breath. “We don’t get trespassers here. Unless … I saw a cat. Did you bring it as a gift for the house? Lucy will be excited about that. And maybe when he’s done with it, he’ll let me use what’s left. It’s not the same as a human, but I’m sure it’ll work.”
“She’s not an offering,” Linus said, aghast. “She’s a pet.”
“Oh. Darn.”
“Her name is Calliope!”
“Well, we better find her before the others do. I don’t know what they’ll think of her.” She grinned at him, her teeth large and square. “Aside from looking tasty, that is.”
Linus squeaked.
She waddled toward him, her stubby legs moving quickly. “Are you going to lie there all night? Get up. Get up!”
He did. Somehow, he did.
He was sweating profusely as he followed her farther into the garden, listening as she muttered under her breath. It sounded as if she were speaking Gnomish, her grunts low and guttural, but Linus hadn’t ever heard it spoken aloud before, so he couldn’t be sure.
They reached the gazebo, which creaked as they stepped onto it. The paper lanterns were brighter now, swinging on their lines. There were chairs with thick, comfy cushions. Undernea
th them was an ornate rug, the edges of which were curled.
Talia went to a small chest that was set off to the side. She pushed open the lid and hung her shovel on a hook inside, next to other gardening tools. Once she seemed satisfied that everything was in place, she nodded and closed the lid.
She turned back toward him. “Now, if I were a cat, where would I be?”
“I … don’t know.”
She rolled her eyes. “Of course you don’t. Cats are cunning and mysterious. That doesn’t seem like something you’d understand.”
“I beg your—”
She stroked her beard. “We need help. Fortunately, I know just who to ask.” She looked at the ceiling of the gazebo. “Theodore!”
Linus frantically thought back to the files he hadn’t looked at. Oh, what a fool he’d been. “Theodore. Who is—”
From somewhere above came a cry that sent shivers down Linus’s spine.
Talia’s eyes were sparkling. “He’s coming. He’ll know what to do. He can find anything.”
Linus took a step back, ready to grab Talia and run if needed.
A dark shape swooped into the gazebo, landing artlessly on the floor. It squawked angrily as it tripped over its too-big wings, rolling end over end until it crashed into Linus’s legs. Linus did his best not to shriek, but unfortunately, his best wasn’t good enough.
A scaly tail twitched as its owner stared up at him with bright orange eyes.
Linus had never actually seen a wyvern in person before. They were quite rare and thought to be descended from ancient reptiles that once roamed the earth, though they were barely larger than a housecat. Many considered them to be nuisances, and for a long time, they were hunted down, their heads used as trophies, their skin made into fashionable shoes. It wasn’t until laws were enacted protecting all magical creatures that the barbaric acts ceased, but by then, it’d almost been too late, especially in the face of empirical evidence that wyverns were capable of emotionally complex reasoning that rivaled even humans. Their numbers had dwindled alarmingly.
So, it was with fascination (tinged, of course, with horror) that Linus stared down at the wyvern at his feet, a tail beginning to wrap around his ankle.
It—he, Linus reminded himself—was smaller than Calliope, though not by much. His scales were iridescent, the light from the lanterns above casting a kaleidoscope of colors. His hind legs were thickly muscled, the claws at the tips of his feet black and wicked sharp. He didn’t have front legs; instead, his wings were long and leathery like a bat’s. His head was curved downward, the snout ending in twin slits. His tongue snaked out and flicked against Linus’s loafers.
His orange eyes blinked slowly. He jerked his head up toward Linus, and … chirped.
Linus’s heart was thundering in his chest. “Theodore, I presume?”
The wyvern chirped again. He wasn’t unlike a bird. A very large, scaly bird.
“Well?” Talia asked.
“Well, what?” Linus croaked out, wondering if it was rude to try to kick the wyvern away. The tail was tightening around his leg, and Theodore’s fangs were awfully big.
“He’s asking you for a coin,” Talia said, as if it were obvious.
“A … coin?”
“For his hoard,” Talia said, as if he were daft. “He’ll help you, but you have to pay him.”
“That’s not … I don’t…”
“Ohhhh,” Talia said. “Do you not have a coin? That isn’t good.”
He looked up at her frantically. “What? Why?”
“Perhaps I’ll have human fertilizer after all,” she said ominously.
Linus immediately reached for his pockets. Surely he had—there had to be something—
Aha!
He pulled his hand out triumphantly.
“There!” he crowed. “I have a … button?”
Yes, a button. It was small and made of brass, and for the life of him, Linus couldn’t remember where it’d come from. It wasn’t really his style. Linus tended toward muted colors, and this was bright and shiny and—
Theodore clicked in the back of his throat. He almost sounded as if he were purring.
Linus looked down again to see Theodore picking himself up from the floor. He seemed to have a bit of trouble; his wings were far too big for something of his size. His legs kept getting caught in them, causing him to stumble. Theodore chirped angrily, before using his tail wrapped around Linus’s calf as support. He managed to right himself before letting Linus go, never taking his eyes off the button. As soon as he was upright, he began to bounce on his legs around Linus, opening and closing his jaws.
“Well, give it to him,” Talia said. “You can’t just offer a wyvern a gift and then keep it from him. The last time someone did that, he lit them on fire.”
Linus looked up at her sharply. “Wyverns can’t breathe fire.”
She grinned again. “You’re not as gullible as you look. And you look really gullible. I’ll have to remember that.”
Theodore was jumping higher and higher, trying to get his attention, wings fluttering. He was chirping loudly, and his eyes were blazing.
“All right, all right,” Linus said. “You’ll get it, but I won’t have you making a scene. Patience is a virtue.”
Theodore landed on the ground and spun himself in a circle before arching his neck up toward Linus. He opened his mouth and waited.
His fangs were very big. And very sharp.
“You have to put it in his mouth,” Talia whispered. “Quite possibly your whole hand.”
Linus ignored her. Swallowing thickly, he reached down and set the tip of the button in Theodore’s mouth. The wyvern bit down slowly, taking the button. Linus pulled his hand away as Theodore fell onto his back, wings spreading out on the floor. His stomach was pale and looked soft. He raised his back legs to his mouth until he could clutch the button. Holding it in his claws, he lifted the button toward his head, studying it carefully, spinning it around to see either side. He chirped loudly as he flipped himself over. He glanced back at Linus before spreading his wings and clumsily taking off. He almost tripped, but at the last moment, managed to fly off toward the house.
“Where’s he going?” Linus asked faintly.
“To put it with the rest of his hoard,” Talia said. “Something you’ll never find, so don’t even think about it. A wyvern is very protective over his hoard and will maim anyone who tries to take it from him.” She paused, considering. “It’s underneath the sofa in the living room. You should go check it out.”
“But you just said— Ah. I see.”
She stared innocently at him.
“He was supposed to help us find Calliope,” he reminded her.
“He was? I never said that. I just wanted to see what you’d give him. Why do you have buttons in your pocket? That’s not where they go.” She squinted at him. “Do you not know that?”
“I know where—” He shook his head. “No. I won’t. I am going to find my cat with or without your help. And if I have to tromp through your garden to do it, I will.”
“You wouldn’t dare.”
“Wouldn’t I?”
She sniffed. “Phee.”
“Bless you,” Linus said.
“What? I didn’t sneeze. I was— Phee!”
“Yeah, yeah,” another voice said. “I heard you the first time.”
Linus whirled around.
There was a dirty girl of perhaps ten years of age standing behind them. She had smudges of dirt on her face that almost covered the bright freckles dotting her pale skin. She blew out a breath, and a lock of fire-red hair fluttered off her forehead. She was wearing shorts and a tank top. She was barefoot, and her toenails had grime underneath them.
But it was the thin wings that rose from her back that caught Linus’s attention the most. They were translucent, lined with veins, and they curled around her shoulders, much larger than he would expect from one her size.
A sprite, like Ms. Chapelwhite, though t
here were marked differences. There was an earthy sent emanating from her that reminded Linus of the drive through the trees to get to the house, dense and thick. He thought it was possible they were her doing.
A forest sprite.
Linus had only met a handful of sprites before. They tended to be solitary creatures, and the younger they were, the more dangerous. They weren’t in full control of their magic. Once, Linus had seen the aftermath of a young lake sprite who had felt threatened by a group of people on a boat. The water level had risen almost six feet, and what remained of the boat had floated on the choppy surface in pieces.
He didn’t know what had happened to that sprite after he filed his report. That information was above his pay grade.
This sprite however—Phee—reminded him of the lake sprite from years before. She was looking at him distrustfully, her wings twitching. “This him?” she asked. “Doesn’t seem like much.”
“He’s not gullible,” Talia said. “So he has that going for him at least. He brought a cat that escaped.”
“Better not let Lucy find it. You know what he’ll do.”
Linus had to regain control of the situation. They were just children, after all. “My name is Linus Baker. And her name is Calliope. I’m—”
Phee ignored him as she walked by him, the tip of her left wing smacking him in the face. “It’s not in the woods,” she told Talia.
Talia sighed. “I didn’t think so, but figured I’d ask.”
“I need to go get cleaned up,” Phee told her. “If you haven’t found it by the time I’m done, I’ll come back and help.” She glanced back at Linus before walking out of the gazebo toward the house.
“She doesn’t like you,” Talia said. “Don’t feel too bad about it, though. She doesn’t like most people. It isn’t personal, I don’t think. She would just rather you weren’t here. Or alive.”
“I’m sure,” Linus said stiffly. “Now, if you could point me toward—”
Talia clapped her hands in front of her beard. “That’s it! I know where we need to look! They were supposed to be getting it ready for you, and I bet Sal’s got her. He’s good with strays.”
She waddled toward the opposite end of the gazebo before looking over her shoulder at him. “Come on! Don’t you want to get your cat?”
