But, as it turned out, drugs were never a problem, and while Linus did enjoy a glass of wine with dinner once a month, it never turned into more than that.
And as for girls, his mother needn’t have worried. By then, Linus had already noticed how his skin had tingled when his seventeen-year-old neighbor, Timmy Wellington, mowed the lawn without his shirt on. No, girls weren’t going to bring about Linus Baker’s downfall.
So no, Linus hadn’t been of the religious sort at all.
Granted, that was before he knew the Antichrist was a six-year-old on Marsyas Island. For the first time in his life, Linus wished he had a crucifix or a Bible or something with which to protect himself should Lucy decide he needed a sacrifice in order to come into his full powers.
It certainly didn’t help when he passed Phee and Talia in the garden, both of them watching every step he took toward the main house. “Dead man walkin’,” Talia intoned in a flat voice. “We got a dead man walkin’ here.”
Phee covered up her laughter with a cough.
“Good afternoon,” he said stiffly.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Baker,” Phee and Talia said sweetly, though Linus knew better.
They whispered behind him as he reached the porch to the main house. He glanced back at them, and they waved cheekily.
Oddly, he found himself struggling against a smile at the sight of them.
He scowled instead.
He walked inside the house. He heard Ms. Chapelwhite singing in the kitchen. She’d warmed up to him considerably ever since their trip to the beach. And by that, he meant she acknowledged his presence with a nod that almost seemed cordial rather than perfunctory.
He closed the door behind him and heard a chirp coming from the couch in front of the fireplace. He looked down to see a scaly tail sticking out from underneath. “Hello, Theodore,” he said.
The tail disappeared, and Theodore stuck his head out, tongue flicking. He chirped again, this time a question. Linus didn’t need to speak wyvern to understand what he was asking for. “I already gave you one this morning. The more you get, the less you appreciate their worth.” He felt a little silly, given that plastic buttons were worth nothing at all, but it still felt important to impart such a lesson.
Theodore sighed morosely and disappeared back under the couch, grumbling to himself.
He walked up the stairs, the wood creaking ominously under his weight. The sconces on the walls appeared to flicker, and Linus told himself it was just because the house was old, and the wiring probably could use some upkeep. He made a mental note to ask in his report about the status of funding to the Marsyas Orphanage. Mr. Parnassus had seemed dismissive at the idea of funding, but Linus thought he had to be mistaken.
The doors to the bedrooms on the second floor were shut on either side of him, with the exception of Chauncey’s. Linus was about to pass his room when he stopped, hearing Chauncey talking inside. He peeked through the slightly open door to see Chauncey standing in saltwater in front of a full-length mirror near the window, a porter’s cap on his head between the stalks of his eyes. “How do you do, Mr. and Mrs. Worthington?” Chauncey asked, one of his tentacles lifting the cap as he bowed low. “Welcome back to the Everland Hotel! May I take your luggage? Oh, why thank you for noticing, Mrs. Worthington! Yes, I did get a new uniform. Only the best for Everland. I do hope you enjoy your stay!”
Linus left him to it.
He wondered if it would be too much to get Chauncey a coat to complete his costume. Perhaps he could see if there was something in the village—
No. That wasn’t what he was here for. He was here to observe and nothing more. He couldn’t influence the orphanage. It wouldn’t be proper. The RULES AND REGULATIONS were specific about such matters.
He thought he heard movement behind Sal’s door, but it was shut tight. Best not to attempt to say hello. He wouldn’t want to frighten the poor boy.
In addition to having never seen inside of Sal’s room, he had yet to go through the last door in the hall. Mr. Parnassus hadn’t invited him before today, though Lucy had on numerous occasions, much to Linus’s chagrin. He knew he’d have to inspect both before he left the island, but he’d been putting it off this first week, something he shouldn’t have done.
He stood in front of the door for a long moment, before taking a deep breath and raising his shaking hand to knock.
Before he could, the door unlatched and opened just a smidge.
Linus took a step back. There didn’t seem to be any light coming from inside.
He cleared his throat. “Hello?”
No response.
He steeled his nerves and pushed open the door.
The late afternoon sun had been bright when he’d walked inside the house, the sea air warm. But the interior of the room reminded him of being back in the city, dark and cold and dank. He took a step inside. And then another.
And then another.
The door slammed shut behind him.
He spun around, heart in his throat. He was reaching for the door when candles flared to life around him, spouts of fire reaching up two feet or more.
“Welcome to my domain,” a child’s voice rang out behind him. “You have entered here at my invitation.” The voice cackled. “Bear witness to the true depth of my power! I am Lucifer! I am Beelzebub, the prince of devils! I am—”
“—going to find yourself with a loss of privileges if you should decide to continue,” Linus heard Mr. Parnassus say.
The candles snuffed out.
The darkness faded.
Sunlight poured in through the window.
Linus blinked against the bright light.
Mr. Parnassus sat in a high-backed chair near the window, legs crossed, hands in his lap, an amused expression on his face. There was an empty chair across from him, undoubtedly for the boy who lay on his back on the thick rug.
“He heard you coming,” Mr. Parnassus said with a shrug. “I cautioned him against it, but since this is his time to do as he wishes, I thought he shouldn’t be stifled.”
Lucy looked up at Linus, who was plastered against the bedroom door. “I am who I am.”
“Quite,” Linus said, his voice a squeak, barely able to peel himself from the door.
The room itself was large and spacious. There was a four-poster bed set against the far wall, made of dark wood, ornate vines and leaves carved into the posts. There was a desk, far older than the others in the house, covered in reams of paper and stacks of books. An unlit fireplace sat opposite the bed. If Linus hadn’t just been frightened half out of his mind, he would have thought it would be perfect for cold winter nights.
“Would you like to show Mr. Baker your room?” Mr. Parnassus asked Lucy. “He’d probably like to see it very much. Wouldn’t you, Mr. Baker?”
No. No, he wouldn’t. Not very much at all. “Ye-es,” Linus said. “That certainly seems … doable.”
Lucy turned over on his stomach, propping his chin in his hands. “Are you sure, Mr. Baker? You don’t sound so sure.”
“I’m sure,” Linus said firmly.
Lucy picked himself up off the ground. “Well, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
Mr. Parnassus sighed. “Lucy, you’re going to give Mr. Baker the wrong idea.”
“And what idea would that be?”