by TJ Klune
Arthur shook his head. “Not that I’m aware of. I think … however grotesque it may be, I think there’s something to it when he says he has spiders on the brain. There is much we don’t know about what it means to be the Anti—”
“Ah,” Linus chided, squeezing Arthur’s hand. “We don’t say that word around here.”
Arthur smiled quietly. “No, I don’t suppose we do. Thank you for reminding me. The spiders, while certainly not actual spiders, are a representation of what’s going on in his head. Little threads of darkness woven into his light.”
“Parts of a whole,” Linus said. “We all have our issues. I have a spare tire around my middle. His father is Satan. Nothing that can’t be worked out if we try hard enough.”
Arthur tilted his head back toward the ceiling, closing his eyes as his smile widened. “I rather like you just the way you are.”
Linus felt overwarm again. He was sure his palm was sweating heavily, but couldn’t find the strength to pull it away. “I—well. That’s … I suppose that’s good.”
“I suppose.”
He was desperate to change the subject before he said something he’d regret. It was a battle he was losing, but he had to fight.
He let go of Arthur’s hand as he said, “So, to the village, then? I see you’ve made up your mind.”
Arthur opened his eyes and sighed. He looked at Linus. “You were right. It’s probably time. I worry, but then I always will.”
“I’m sure everything will be fine,” Linus said, taking a step back. “And if it’s not, I assure you I’ll speak my mind. I don’t have the time nor the patience for any rudeness.” He felt strangely untethered, as if he were floating outside his own body. He wondered if this would all seem like a dream tomorrow. “Time for bed, I think. The morning will be here before we know it.”
He turned, sure his face was bright red. He was almost to the door when Arthur said his name.
He stopped, but didn’t turn around.
“I meant what I said.” Arthur’s voice was hushed.
“About?”
“Liking you the way you are. I don’t know that I’ve ever thought that more about anyone I’ve ever met.”
Linus gripped the door knob. “That’s … thank you. That’s very kind of you to say. Good night, Arthur.”
Arthur chuckled. “Good night, Linus.”
And with that, Linus fled the bedroom.
* * *
He didn’t sleep the rest of the night.
Once he’d pushed his bed back to its rightful place in the guest house bedroom, he’d collapsed on top of it, sure he’d pass out after the night he’d had.
He didn’t.
Instead, he lay awake, thinking of the way Arthur’s hand had felt in his, the way they’d fit together. It was foolish, and most likely dangerous, but in the quiet darkness, there was no one who could take it away from him.
FOURTEEN
Merle stood on the ferry, gaping.
Linus leaned out the open window from the front passenger seat. “Are you going to lower the gate?”
Merle didn’t move.
“Useless man,” Linus muttered. “I don’t know why we’re supposed to trust him in charge of a large boat. I’m surprised he hasn’t killed anyone yet.”
“Are we going to crash and sink in the ocean and maybe die?” Chauncey asked. “That would be neat.”
Linus sighed. He really needed to learn to censor himself better. He turned around to look in the back of the van. Six children stared at him with varying degrees of interest at the idea of sinking in the ocean and dying, Lucy and Chauncey more so than the others.
Zoe, sitting in the third row, arched an eyebrow at him, indicating without so much as a single word that this was his mess and he might as well own up to it.
He hoped he wouldn’t live to regret this.
Chances were pretty high he would.
“We’re not going to sink into the ocean and die,” Linus said, as patiently as possible. “It’s merely an expression used by adults, and therefore, children such as yourselves shouldn’t say anything like it.”
Arthur snorted from the driver’s seat, but Linus ignored him. He was on very strange ground with Arthur since the night in his bedroom. Where once he’d had no problem in speaking his mind to the master of the house, he now found himself blushing and sputtering as if he were a school boy. It was ridiculous.
“Do adults think about death a lot?” Lucy asked. He cocked his head at an odd angle. “That must mean I’m an adult too, because I think about it all the time. I like dead things. I would still like you if you were dead, Mr. Baker. Maybe even more.”
Zoe smothered a laugh with the back of her hand and turned to look out the window.
Useless. Her and Arthur both.
“Adults don’t think about death a lot,” Linus said sternly. “In fact, they barely think about it at all. Why, it doesn’t even cross my mind.”
“Then why are so many books written by adults about mortality?” Phee asked.
“I don’t—it’s because—that’s neither here nor there! What I’m trying to say is that there is to be no more talk about death or dying!”
Talia nodded sagely as she stroked her beard. “Exactly. Because it’s better not to know if we’re about to die. That way, we don’t start screaming right now. It’ll be a surprise. We can always scream then.”
Theodore chirped worriedly, hiding his head under his wing as he sat on Sal’s lap. Sal reached down and stroked his back.
“I can tell you when you’re going to die,” Lucy said. He leaned his head back and stared at the ceiling of the van. “I think I could see the future if I tried hard enough. Mr. Baker? Do you want me to see when you’re going to die? Ooh, yes, it’s coming to me now. I can see it! You’re going to perish in a terrible—”
“I don’t,” Linus snapped. “And I will tell you again, while we’re in the village, you can’t go around offering to tell people about what fate awaits them!”
Lucy sighed. “How am I supposed to make new friends if I can’t tell them about how they’ll die? What’s the point?”
“Ice cream and records,” Arthur said.
“Oh. Okay!”
This was a very bad idea.
“Do you think I look good?” Chauncey asked for what had to be the hundredth time. “I don’t know if I got my outfit quite right.”
He wore a tiny trench coat, and a top hat was set between his eyes. He said it was his disguise, but it did little. It’d been his idea, and Linus hadn’t felt like arguing, especially when Chauncey had exclaimed quite loudly that he couldn’t go to the village nude, even though that was how he spent most of his time on the island. Linus had never thought about it that way. And now he couldn’t not.
“You look fine,” Linus said. “Dashing, even.”
“Like a spy hidden in the shadows about to reveal a big secret,” Sal told him.
“Or like he’s going to open his coat and flash us,” Talia muttered.
“Hey! I wouldn’t do that! Only if you asked!”
Zoe was no longer trying to hide her laughter.
Linus turned back around in the seat, staring out the windshield. Merle was still gaping at them.
“Second thoughts?” Arthur asked. Linus didn’t have to look at him to know he was smiling.
“No,” Linus said. “Of course not. This is going to be fine. This is going to— Good God, man! Lower the damn gate!”
“Ooooh,” the children said.
“Mr. Baker cursed,” Talia whispered in awe.
It was going to be fine.
* * *
“We’ll be back later this afternoon,” Arthur said to Merle as they exited the ferry. “I do hope that won’t be a problem. I’ll make sure there’s something a little extra in it for you.”
Merle nodded, still slack-jawed. “That’s … that’s fine, Mr. Parnassus.”
“I assumed it would be. It’s good to see you again.”
Merle fled back to the ferry.
“Odd fellow, isn’t he?” Arthur asked. He drove toward the village.
As it was toward the end of September and therefore the beginning of the off-season, the village of Marsyas wasn’t as bustling as it normally was. Even when Linus had arrived three weeks prior, there were still crowds on the sidewalks, peering into the shops, or children in swimsuits, following their parents who wore flip-flops on their pasty feet, carrying umbrellas and towels and coolers as they headed toward the beach.
The town wasn’t dead, exactly, but quiet, which put Linus at ease. He wanted this to go as smoothly as possible, so they could do it again after he left. The fact that he was thinking in terms of the orphanage remaining as it was never really crossed his mind. That would come later.
But those who were on the street didn’t do much to hide the fact that they were gawking.
Talia, nearest to the window, waved as they drove by a woman and her two children.
The children waved back.
The mother grabbed them and held them close as if she thought they were about to be snatched.
Chauncey, who sat on the opposite end of the bench, plastered his face against the window, eyes darting around. “There’s the hotel! I see it! Look at it! Look at— Oh. My. God. There’s a bellhop. A real, live bellhop! Look! Look.”
And there was, a thin man helping an elderly woman wearing an inordinate amount of fur from an expensive car. They heard Chauncey’s unholy screech, and Linus looked back in time to see Chauncey press his mouth against the glass and blow out a large puff of air, causing his head to expand.
The old woman staggered, hand going to her throat. The bellhop managed to catch her before she fell.
“Wow,” Chauncey breathed as he peeled his face from the glass. “Bellhops can do everything.”
It was going to be fine.
It was.
Arthur pulled into a car lot reserved for those headed to the beach. Since it was the off-season, it was mostly empty, and there was no one in the pay booth, which had been shuttered. He pulled into the first free space and turned off the van. “Children,” he said mildly. “Please exit the vehicle and buddy up.”
A herd of charging, heavily pregnant rhinoceroses would have been quieter than the children were at that moment.
Linus gripped the report in his lap as the van rocked back and forth. The third report was sealed in the envelope as it always was, stamped and addressed to Extremely Upper Management, care of the Department in Charge of Magical Youth. He thought about going to the post office first, but figured it would be best to wait until they were finished. No need for distractions. He set it on the dashboard.
“All right?” Arthur asked quietly.
Linus glanced at him before remembering how their hands felt together, and looked away again. Such frivolous thoughts. “I’m fine,” he said gruffly. “Everything is fine.”
“I believe that’s your mantra for today. You’ve said it enough.”
“Yes, well, the more I say it, perhaps the more it will be true.”
Arthur reached out and touched his shoulder briefly. “The children will be on their best behavior.”
“It’s not them I’m worried about,” Linus admitted.
“I distinctly remember a man who proclaimed he wouldn’t stand for rudeness. Quite the fierce sight he made. I was impressed.”
“You should probably get out more if that impressed you.”
Arthur laughed. “You are delightful. And just look! I am out here. Now. Let’s see what we see, shall we? We can’t stay in the van forever.”
No, they couldn’t, even if Linus wanted to. He was being silly, but he couldn’t curb the strange twist of dread in the pit of his stomach. This had been his idea, one he’d pushed for, but now that they were here?
He looked out the windshield. On the side of the building in front of them, under an advertisement for Chunky Cola—We Have All the Chunks!—there was a banner, reminding people to SEE SOMETHING, SAY SOMETHING.
“You have their identification papers?” Linus asked quietly.
“I do.”
“Okay.”
Linus opened the door and stepped out of the van.
The children had lined up in pairs at the rear. Lucy and Talia. Sal and Theodore. Phee and Chauncey. They had come up with their buddies on their own, and while Linus had figured Sal and Theodore would be together, the idea of Lucy and Talia was enough to send shivers down his spine. They tended to feed off each other. He’d had to tell Talia in no uncertain terms that she could not bring her shovel, much to her displeasure.
Which was why he was startled when Arthur said, “Phee and Chauncey, you’re with Ms. Chapelwhite. Sal and Theodore, you’re with me. Lucy and Talia, you are assigned to Mr. Baker.”
Lucy and Talia turned their heads slowly in unison, matching smiles on their faces that sent a cold chill down Linus’s spine.
He sputtered. “Perhaps we should—I mean, there’s really no need for—I think we should—oh dear.”
“What’s the matter, Mr. Baker?” Lucy asked sweetly.
“Yes, Mr. Baker,” Talia asked. “What’s the matter?”
“I’m fine,” he said. “Everything is fine. Though, I think it would be a good idea if we all stick together.”
“As much as we can,” Arthur said easily. His slacks were too short for his legs again. His socks were purple. Linus was doomed. “Though, I think most of them will get bored inside the record store, and who better to help Lucy choose music than you? Children, did you remember your allowances?”
All of them nodded, except for Chauncey, who wailed, “No! I forgot! I was too busy getting dressed! Now I’m broke, and I have nothing.”
“Luckily for you, I figured that to be the case,” Arthur said. “Which is why I gave yours to Zoe.”
Chauncey immediately calmed, looking up at Arthur in adoration.
Arthur looked down at his watch. “If we end up going our separate ways, plan on meeting up at the ice cream parlor at half past two. Agreed?”
Everyone agreed.
“Then let’s go!” Arthur said cheerfully.
Lucy and Talia immediately reached up and took Linus’s hands.
“Do you think there’s a graveyard here, Mr. Baker?” Lucy asked. “I would like to see it, if there is.”
“I told you I should have brought my shovel,” Talia muttered. “How am I supposed to dig up dead bodies without my shovel?”
Perhaps Linus was going to live to regret this after all.
* * *
As much as Linus tried to avoid it, they managed to separate from the group after approximately three minutes and twenty-six seconds. Linus wasn’t quite sure how it happened. One moment, they were all together, and the next, Talia grunted something in Gnomish that seemed to express extreme happiness, and they were pulled into a store, a bell chiming overhead as the door closed behind them.
“What?” Linus asked, glancing over his shoulder to see the others continuing down the street. Arthur winked at him before continuing on. “Wait, maybe we should—”
But Talia wasn’t to be deterred. She pulled from Linus’s grasp and marched forward, muttering to herself in Gnomish.
“Oh no,” Lucy moaned. “Of all the places we could have gone into, she picked the worst.”
Linus blinked.
They were in a hardware store.
And Talia was pacing in front of a display of gardening equipment, stroking her beard and inspecting each trowel and spade and fork hoe. She stopped and gasped. “These are the new B.L. Macks! I didn’t even know they were out yet!” She reached out and pulled a queerly shaped spade from the display, the handle adorned with imprints of flowers. She turned and showed it to Linus. “These are the top-rated spades in Garden Tools Monthly! I didn’t think they were going to be released until next spring! Do you know what this means?”
Linus had no idea. “Ye-es?”
Talia nodded furious
ly. “Exactly! Just think! I can buy this, and we can go to the graveyard like Lucy wanted! I can dig up so many things with this!”
“Don’t say that so loudly!” Linus hissed at her, but she ignored him, proceeding to mime digging as if getting used to the grip and heft of the spade.
Even Lucy seemed interested. “It’s a little small,” he said doubtfully. “How are you going to dig up an entire grave with that little thing?”
“It’s not about the size,” Talia scoffed. “But what you do with it. Isn’t that right, Mr. Baker?”
Linus coughed. “I—that’s quite right, I suppose.”
“And I’m a gnome, Lucy. You know how well I can dig.”
Lucy nodded, looking relieved. “Good. Because we might have to dig up at least three or four bodies—”
“We’re not digging up any bodies,” Linus snapped. “So get that idea out of your heads right now.”
“We’re not?” Talia asked, looking down at the spade. “But then what’s the point?”
“The point? The point of what?”
“Going to the graveyard,” Lucy said, tugging on his hand.
“We’re not going to the graveyard!”
Talia squinted up at him. “But you said we could.”
“Oh no,” Lucy moaned. “Is he going senile? He’s so old, he’s losing his mind! Help! Please, someone help us! This man who is supposed to be watching us is going senile and I worry what he might do!”
A squat woman appeared down one of the aisles looking worried, a smudge of dirt on her forehead, gardening gloves on her hands. She held a pair of pruning shears. “My goodness, what’s going on? Are you all … right…?”
She stopped when she saw Talia with the spade. She looked slowly over to Lucy, who grinned at her, showing many teeth.
She took a step back. “You’re from the island.”
“Yes,” Talia said in a no-nonsense voice. “And I’d like to talk to you about the B.L. Macks. When did they come in? Are they as good as their rating suggests? They seem to be lighter than I expected.”
“We’re going to the graveyard,” Lucy added in an ominous monotone. “Do a lot of people die here? I hope so.”
