The next drawer down held his pajamas and the only nonwork clothes he’d brought, pants and a polo shirt.
He backed away from the bureau slowly until his legs hit the edge of the bed. He sat down roughly, staring at the drawers and the open closet.
“I think,” he said to Calliope, “that I’m in over my head.”
She didn’t have an opinion one way or another.
Shaking his head, he reached for his suitcase, pulling the files out and onto his lap.
“Foolish,” he muttered. “Next time, know what you’re walking into.”
He took a deep breath before opening the file on top.
“Oh,” he said rather breathlessly when he read about a wyvern named Theodore.
“What?” he choked out when he opened the file for a fourteen-year-old boy called Sal.
He didn’t manage to say anything at all for Talia, though a bead of sweat trickled down his brow.
He was right about Phee. A forest sprite, and a powerful one at that.
He recoiled sharply at what he saw for a boy called Chauncey. He was ten years old, and next the word Mother, it read UNKNOWN. The same for his father. And his species. It appeared no one seemed to know, exactly, what Chauncey actually was. And now that Linus had seen him in person, he wasn’t sure either.
Extremely Upper Management was right.
The children weren’t like anything he’d ever seen before.
* * *
He gave very real consideration to ignoring the dinner invitation and pulling the heavy quilt up and over his head, blocking out the strange world he’d found himself in. Maybe if he slept, things would make more sense upon waking.
But then his stomach grumbled, and Linus realized he was hungry.
Ravenous, even.
He poked his not inconsiderable stomach. “Must you?”
It gurgled again.
He sighed.
Which is why he found himself standing at the front door to the main house, steeling his nerves. “It’s no different than any other assignment,” he muttered to himself. “You’ve been in this situation before. On with it, old boy. You’ve got this.”
He reached up and banged the metal knocker against the door three times.
And waited.
A minute later, he knocked again.
Still no response.
He wiped the sweat from his brow as he stepped back, looking at the side of the house. There were lights on through the windows, but it didn’t appear anyone was coming to the door.
He shook his head as he stepped again to the door. After a moment of indecision, he reached for the knob. It turned easily under his hand, and he pushed.
The door opened.
Inside was a foyer that led to a wide set of stairs to the second floor. The banisters were wooden and smooth. A large chandelier hung above the foyer, the crystals glittering in the light. He stuck his head through the doorway, listening.
He heard.… music? It was faint, but still. He couldn’t make out the song, but it felt familiar somehow.
“Hello?” he called.
No one answered.
He stepped into the house, closing the door behind him.
To his right was a living room, a large overstuffed couch set in front of a dark fireplace. There was a painting above the fireplace, a whimsical portrait of swirling eddies. He thought he saw the ruffled skirt of the couch shift, but he couldn’t be sure it wasn’t just a trick of the low light.
Ahead were the stairs.
To his left was a formal dining room, though it didn’t appear to be in use. The smaller chandelier above the table was dark, and the table was covered with books, old by the looks of them.
“Hello?” he tried again.
No one responded.
He did the only thing he could.
He followed the sound of the music.
The closer he got, the more the notes filled in, trumpets low and sharp, a sweet masculine voice singing that somewhere beyond the sea, she’s there watching for me.
Linus had this record. He loved it so.
As Bobby Darin sang about watching ships from golden sands, Linus moved through the dream, fingers tracing along the books on the table. He barely glanced down at the titles, entranced by the telltale scratch of a record spinning.
He came to two swinging doors, portholes in their center.
He stood on his tiptoes, peering through them.
The kitchen was bright and airy. It was bigger than any kitchen he’d ever seen before. He was sure the entire guest house could fit inside, with room to spare. Lights hung from the ceiling surrounded by glass globes like fishbowls. He could see a gigantic refrigerator next to an industrial-sized oven. The granite counters were sparkling clean, and—
His jaw dropped.
Ms. Chapelwhite was moving through the kitchen, feet barely touching the floor. Her wings glittered behind her, much brighter than Phee’s had been. They fluttered with every step she took.
But it was the other person in the kitchen that caught Linus’s eye the most.
Lucy was standing on a stepstool in front of the counter. He had a plastic knife in his hand and was chopping a tomato, dropping the pieces into a large pink bowl to his left.
And he was bouncing along with Bobby Darin. As the orchestra swelled mid-song, drums beating, trumpets blaring, he shook his entire body in time with the music. Bobby came back in, saying he knew without a doubt, his heart would lead him there.
And Lucy was rocking his head back, bellowing the words as he danced.
Ms. Chapelwhite was singing along with him, twirling in the kitchen as she moved in and out of sight.
It was a feeling of unreality that washed over Linus then, a discordant wave that felt like it was sucking him down. He couldn’t catch his breath.
“What are you doing?” a voice whispered.
Linus let out a strangled yelp and turned to find Phee and Talia standing behind him. Phee had cleaned herself up, her red hair like fire, her freckles more pronounced. Her wings were folded against her back.
Talia had changed into a different outfit, though it was remarkably similar to the one she’d been wearing before, sans cap. Her long, white hair hung down on her shoulders, the same luxuriant color as her beard.
They both stared up at him suspiciously.
Linus didn’t know what to say. “I’m…”
“Spying?” Phee suggested.
He stiffened. “Absolutely not—”
“We don’t like spies here,” Talia said ominously. “The last spy who tried to infiltrate our house was never heard from again.” She leaned forward, eyes narrowing. “Because we cooked him and ate him for supper.”
“You did no such thing,” Mr. Parnassus said, appearing out of nowhere. Linus was beginning to understand it was something he did. At some point, he’d removed his coat. He now wore a thick sweater, the ends of which fell over the backs of his hands. “Because we’ve never been so lucky as to have a spy. A spy suggests someone capable of infiltration without displaying their intent. Anyone that has come here has made their intentions perfectly clear. Isn’t that right, Mr. Baker?”
“Yes,” he said. “Quite.”
Mr. Parnassus smiled. “And besides, we don’t harm our guests. Certainly not to the point of murder. That would be rude.”
That didn’t make Linus feel any better.
“Beyond the Sea” gave way to Bobby singing about wanting a girl to call his own so he wouldn’t have to dream alone.