“I’m not going to marry the ocean—”
“Ohhh,” Talia said, eyes wide, mustache twitching. “Because you’re already married, right?”
“You’re married?” Phee demanded. “Who is your wife? Is she still in your suitcase? Why would you put her there? Is she a contortionist?”
“Is your wife your cat?” Lucy asked. “I like cats, but they don’t like me.” His eyes started to glow red. “They worry I’ll eat them. To be fair, I’ve never had one before, so I don’t know if they’re delicious or not. Is your wife delicious, Mr. Baker?”
“We don’t eat pets, Lucy,” Mr. Parnassus said, wiping his mouth daintily.
The red faded from Lucy’s eyes immediately. “Right. Because pets are friends. And since Mr. Baker’s cat is his wife, that’s like his best friend.”
“Exactly,” Mr. Parnassus said, sounding amused.
“No,” Linus said. “Not exactly. Why, I never—”
“I like being round,” Talia announced. “It means there’s more of me to love.”
“I love you, Talia,” Chauncey said, laying one of his eyes on her shoulder. That same eye turned slowly to look at Linus. “Can you tell me more about the city? Is it bright at night? Because of all the lights?”
Linus could barely keep up. “I—I suppose it is, but I don’t like being out at night.”
“Because of the things in the dark that could rip your bones from your flesh?” Lucy asked through a mouthful of bread.
“No,” Linus said, feeling queasy. “Because I would rather be home than anywhere else at all.” That was truer now than it’d ever been before.
“Home is where you feel like yourself,” Ms. Chapelwhite said, and Linus could only agree. “It’s the same for us, isn’t it, children? Home is where we get to be who we are.”
“My garden is here,” Talia said.
“The best garden,” Mr. Parnassus said.
“And my trees,” Phee added.
“The most wonderful trees,” Mr. Parnassus agreed.
Theodore chirped, and Ms. Chapelwhite stroked one of his wings. “Your button, yes. It is here too.”
“What a lovely gift,” Mr. Parnassus said, smiling at the wyvern.
“And where else can I practice being a bellhop but at home?” Chauncey asked. “You have to practice something before being good at it.”
“Practice makes perfect,” Mr. Parnassus said.
“And this is the only place in the world where I don’t have to worry about priests trying to stick a cross on my face to cast my soul back to the pits of hell,” Lucy announced. He laughed as he shoved more bread in his mouth.
“Pesky priests, to be sure,” Mr. Parnassus said.
“Are you going to take our home away from us?”
The table fell quiet.
Linus blinked. He looked around for the source of the voice and was surprised to find it came from Sal. Sal, who was looking down at the table, hands curled into fists. His mouth was set into a thin line, and his shoulders were shaking.
Mr. Parnassus reached out and laid his hand on one of Sal’s fists. A long finger tapped the inside of Sal’s wrist. He said, “That isn’t Mr. Baker’s intention. I don’t think he ever wishes for something like that to happen. Not to anyone.”
Linus thought to disagree, but he didn’t think it would do any good. Especially in the light of an obviously traumatized child. And while Mr. Parnassus wasn’t wrong exactly, he didn’t like when someone else spoke for him.
Mr. Parnassus continued. “His job is to make sure I’m doing my job correctly. And what is my job?”
“To keep us safe,” the children intoned. Even Sal.
“Precisely,” Mr. Parnassus said. “And I like to think I’m good at it.”
“Because you’ve had practice?” Chauncey asked.
Mr. Parnassus smiled at him. “Yes. Because I’ve had practice. And if I have my say, you will never be separated.”
That was a challenge, and Linus didn’t care for it one bit. “I don’t think it’s right to—”
“Who’s ready for dessert?” Ms. Chapelwhite asked.
The children began to cheer.
SEVEN
Mr. Parnassus led Linus down a long hallway at the top of the stairs. “The children’s rooms,” he said, nodding at the doors on either side of the hall. There were signs hung from each of them with the names of the children: Chauncey and Sal on the right. Phee and Talia on the left. He pointed toward a hatch in the ceiling. The outline of a wyvern had been drawn on it. “Theodore’s nest is up in the turret. He has a small hoard up there, but his favorite place is under the couch.”
“I’ll want to inspect them,” Linus said, making a mental note of the layout.
“I figured you would. We can arrange for that tomorrow, seeing as how the children will be getting ready for bed shortly. Either Ms. Chapelwhite can show you while the children are in their studies, or we can do it before, and then you can join us in the classroom.”
“What about Ms. Chapelwhite?” Linus asked, staring at the etchings of trees into the wood of Phee’s door as they passed it by.
“She was here long before we ever were,” Mr. Parnassus said. “The island is hers. We’re merely borrowing it. She lives deep in the woods on the other side of the island.”
Linus had so many questions. This island. This house. This man. But another was more prominent, given the number of doors he’d counted. Near the end of the hall, four remained. One was marked as a bathroom for the girls. The other was for the boys. A third door had ARTHUR’S OFFICE written in a legend on it. “And Lucy? Where does he stay?”
Mr. Parnassus stopped in front of the office and nodded toward the remaining door. “In my room.”
Linus’s eyes narrowed. “You share a room with a small boy—”
“Nothing untoward, I assure you.” He didn’t sound offended by the implication. “There was a large walk-in closet that I had converted into a room for Lucy when he came to stay with us. It … it’s better for him if I’m near. He used to have such terrible nightmares. He still does, sometimes, though they aren’t as vicious as they used to be. I like to think his time here has helped. He doesn’t like being far away from me, if he can help it, though I am trying to teach him independence. He’s … a work in progress.”
Mr. Parnassus opened the office door. It was smaller than Linus expected, and crammed full, almost uncomfortably so. There was a desk set in the middle, surrounded by stacks of books, many of which leaned precariously. There was a single window that looked out over the ocean. It appeared endless in the night. In the distance, Linus saw the flashing wink of a lonely lighthouse.
Mr. Parnassus shut the door behind them, nodding for Linus to take a seat. He did so, taking out a small notebook that he always carried in his pocket, filled with notes he kept on each of his cases. He’d been lax in his duties here so far, kept off-kilter by the very idea of this place, but that would do no longer. He’d always prided himself on the copious notes he took, and if he was to give weekly reports as Extremely Upper Management requested, he would make sure they were the best he’d ever written.