“And why did she?” Linus asked. “This is her island. Sprites are fiercely territorial. Why did she allow you here at all?”
Mr. Parnassus shrugged again. “The greater good, I suppose.”
He spoke just like a sprite, in vague little circles. Linus didn’t appreciate it. “And what would that be?”
“To see children who aren’t wanted by anyone be allowed to prosper. You know as well as I do that the term orphanage is a misnomer, Mr. Baker. No one comes here looking to adopt.”
No, he supposed they didn’t, seeing as how the Marsyas Orphanage was hidden from most everyone. But did that really matter? Had he known any of the children in an orphanage such as this to be adopted? He couldn’t think of a single instance. How had he never noticed that before? “Theodore?”
“Isn’t this all in your files, Mr. Baker?”
No. It wasn’t. In fact, Linus thought Mr. Parnassus had been correct when he’d said they were nothing but bones. “It’s best I hear it directly from the source. Nuances can be missed when they are merely words on paper.”
“He’s not just an animal,” Mr. Parnassus said.
“I never said he was.”
He sighed. “No, I don’t suppose you did. Forgive me. I’ve dealt with people like you before. I forget that you’re not all the same, even though I don’t know quite what to make of you yet.”
Linus felt strangely bare. “What you see is what you get with me. This is all I am.”
“Oh, I doubt that immensely,” he said. “Theodore is … special. I know you know just how rare someone like him is.”
“Yes.”
“He’s still a juvenile, though his precise age is unknown. He … thinks differently than the rest of us, and though we understand each other, it’s more in abstract thought rather than specifics. Does that make sense?”
“Not in the slightest,” Linus admitted.
“You’ll see,” Mr. Parnassus said. “You’re here for an entire month, after all. And I believe that leaves one child left, though I think you did that on purpose. Ms. Chapelwhite says she found you fainted dead away at the mere thought.”
Linus flushed as he cleared his throat. “It was … unexpected.”
“That’s a good word to use to describe Lucy, I’m sure.”
“Is he…” Linus hesitated. Then, “Is it true? Is he the actual Anti—I mean, the son of the Devil?”
“I believe he is,” Mr. Parnassus said, and Linus’s breath caught in his throat. “Though the notion of what someone like him is supposed to be is more fiction than fact.”
“If that’s true, then he’s supposed to bring about the End of Days!” Linus exclaimed.
“He’s six years old.”
“He proclaimed himself to be hellfire and darkness when he threatened me!”
Mr. Parnassus chuckled. “It was his way of saying hello. He’s got a morbid sense of humor for one so young. It’s endearing once you get used to it.”
Linus gaped at him.
Mr. Parnassus sighed as he leaned forward. “Look, Mr. Baker. I know it’s—a lot to swallow, but I’ve had Lucy for a year. There were plans to … well. Let’s just say this was a last resort. Regardless of his parentage, he is a child. And I refuse to believe that a person’s path is set in stone. A person is more than where they come from.”
“Than the sum of their parts.”
Mr. Parnassus nodded. “Yes. Exactly. Lucy might cause fear in the majority of the world, but he doesn’t cause it in me. I’ve seen what he is capable of. Behind the eyes and the demon in his soul, he is charming and witty and terribly smart. I will fight for him as I would for any of my children.”
That didn’t sit right with Linus. “But they’re not yours. You’re the master of the house, not their father. They are your charges.”
Mr. Parnassus smiled tightly. “Of course. A slip of the tongue. It’s been a long day, and I expect tomorrow will bring much of the same. It’s worth it, though.”
“Is it?”
“Of course. I couldn’t see myself doing anything different. Can you?”
“We’re not here to talk about me, Mr. Parnassus,” Linus pointed out.
He spread his hands. “And why is that? You seem to know everything about us. And anything you don’t know can be read in what I’m sure is a meticulous file.”
“Not everything,” Linus said, closing his notebook. “For example, there doesn’t seem to be much information about you. In fact, your file was rather thin. Why is that?”
Mr. Parnassus looked amused again, and Linus wondered what he was missing. “Shouldn’t that be a question for Extremely Upper Management? They’re the ones who sent you here.”
He was right, of course. It was disconcerting how little information there was. Mr. Arthur Parnassus’s file told him nothing more than his age and education. There’d been an odd statement at the end: Mr. Parnassus will be exemplary for the more problematic of children given his capabilities. Linus hadn’t known what to make of that, and now, seeing him face to face only left him with more questions. “I have a feeling they won’t tell me much more than they already have.”
“In that, I suspect you’d be right.”
Linus stood. “I expect full transparency and your cooperation in this investigation.”
Mr. Parnassus laughed. “What happened to this being a visit?”
“That was your word, sir, not mine. We both know what this is. The only reason DICOMY would have sent me here was if there was cause for concern. And I can see why. You have a powder keg under your roof, one more powerful than should ever exist.”
“And he should be found at fault for existing? What choice did he have in the matter?”
That felt like a discussion for when Linus had his wits about him. Or possibly never. The implications alone made him feel faint again. “I am here to see if further action should be taken.”
“Further action,” Mr. Parnassus said, frustration slipping into his voice for the first time. “They have no one, Mr. Baker. No one but me. Do you really think DICOMY would allow someone like Lucy into one of their schools? Think hard before you answer.”
“That’s neither here nor there,” Linus said stiffly.
Mr. Parnassus looked toward the ceiling. “Of course it’s not. Because that’s what happens after you’re done, and that’s none of your concern.” He shook his head. “If you only knew.”
“If there isn’t anything amiss, then you have nothing to worry about,” Linus said. “You may think me callous, Mr. Parnassus, but I assure you I do care. I wouldn’t be in this position if I didn’t.”
“I believe that you believe that.” He looked at Linus again. “My apologies, Mr. Baker. Yes, you will do your job, one way or another. But I think if you open your eyes, you’ll see what’s right in front of you rather than what’s listed in a file.”
Linus’s skin felt like it was crawling. He needed to get out of this office. It seemed as if the walls were closing in. “Thank you for your hospitality, even if you didn’t have a choice. I’m going to retire for the night. It’s been a rather eventful day, and I expect more of the same tomorrow.”