There was a leaf so green that only a sprite could have grown it.
There was a piece of a broken record.
There was a picture that looked as if it’d been torn from a magazine, of a smiling bellhop, helping a woman with her bags.
There was a picture of Arthur as a younger man, the edges curled with age.
And next to it, piled lovingly, were buttons.
So many buttons.
It’s the little things, I expect. Little treasures we find without knowing their origin. And they come when we least expect them. It’s beautiful, when you think about it.
Linus blinked against the sudden burn in his eyes.
“It’s wonderful,” he whispered.
Theodore chirped that of course it was. He went to the buttons and nudged his nose into the pile as if searching for something. His tail thumped against the floor as he lifted his head.
In his mouth was a familiar brass button.
He turned and walked toward Linus.
Linus watched as his jaw clenched. Theodore bit down onto the button before dropping it to the floor.
Linus could see the impressions of Theodore’s fangs in the brass.
Theodore nudged it toward him. He looked up at Linus and chirped.
“For me?” Linus asked. “You want me to take it?”
Theodore nodded.
“But that’s—” Linus sighed. “It’s yours.”
Theodore nudged it toward him again.
Linus did the only thing he could—he took it.
He sat up from the floor, pressing his back against the couch. He stared down at the button in his hand, tracing a finger over the grooves from Theodore’s fangs. The wyvern poked his head out from underneath the couch and chirped up at him.
“Thank you,” Linus said quietly. “It’s the nicest thing anyone has ever given me. I’ll keep it for always.”
Theodore lay his head against Linus’s thigh.
They stayed there as the evening sunlight drifted along the wall.
* * *
It was Thursday morning when the anger of men came to a head.
Linus was in the kitchen with Zoe and Lucy, who was bellowing at the top of his lungs along with Bobby Darin’s sweet, sweet voice. Linus was smiling, and he was laughing, though his heart felt like shards in his chest. Sticky buns were in the oven, and if he listened hard enough (though Lucy was doing his very best to make sure he couldn’t), he would hear the sounds of the others moving throughout the house.
“So many leftover pecans,” Zoe said. “I’m not sure we needed to—”
Linus startled when she dropped the bowl she was washing back into the sink, soapy water splashing onto the floor.
She stood stiffly. Her fingers twitched, her wings unfurling, moving hummingbird-fast.
“Zoe?” Linus asked. “Are you all right? What’s happened?”
“No,” she whispered as Lucy continued to sing, unaware. “No, not now. They can’t. They can’t.”
Lucy said, “What? Who are you—”
Zoe turned around, little soap bubbles falling from her fingers and floating to the floor. Her eyes were brighter than Linus had ever seen before, filled with an otherworldly light, irises glittering like shattered glass. Not since Linus had known her had he been afraid of her, and this was still true. But he would be foolish to think that she was anything but an old and powerful sprite, or forget that he was merely a guest on her island.
He started toward her slowly, not wanting to surprise her in case she’d become unaware of his presence. Before he could reach her, Arthur burst into the kitchen, eyes narrowed. The room grew warmer, and for a moment, Linus thought he saw the flash of fire, though it might have just been a trick of the morning light.
“What is it?” he demanded. “What’s happened?”
“The village,” Zoe said, her voice soft and dreamy, her words almost like musical notes. “They’re gathering at the shore of the mainland.”
“What?” Lucy asked. “Why? Do they want to come here?” He frowned down at the pecans on the countertop. “They can’t have my sticky buns. I made them just the way I like them. I know sharing is a nice thing to do, but I don’t feel very nice today.” He looked to Linus. “Do I have to share my sticky buns?”
“Of course not,” Linus said evenly. “If that’s what they want, they’ll have to make their own.”
Lucy grinned, though it seemed nervous. “I made two for you, Mr. Baker. I don’t want you wasting away.”
“Lucy,” Arthur said. “Would you please gather the others in the classroom? It’s almost time to begin your lessons.”
Lucy sighed. “But—”
“Lucy.”
He grumbled under his breath as he hopped down from his stool. He paused at the kitchen doorway, glancing back at the three of them. “Is something wrong?”
“Of course not,” Arthur said. “Everything is perfectly fine. If you please, Lucy.”
He hesitated only a moment longer before leaving the kitchen, calling for the others, telling them that apparently sticky buns wouldn’t get them out of their lessons as he’d thought they would.
Arthur went to Zoe, gripping her by the shoulders. Her eyes cleared, and she blinked rapidly. “You felt it too.”
Arthur nodded. “Have they started to cross?”
“No. They’re … stopped. At the docks. I don’t know why. But the ferry hasn’t left the village.” Her voice hardened. “They would be foolish to try.”
A chill arced down Linus’s spine. “Who?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “But there are a few of them.” She looked past Arthur into nothing. “They’re angry. It’s like a storm.”
Arthur dropped his hands and took a step back. “You will stay here with the children. Go on as normal. Tell them nothing is amiss. I’ll deal with this myself. I’ll return as soon as I’m able.”
She reached for him, hands circling his wrist. “You shouldn’t have to do this, Arthur, not after what … let me go. I will—”
Arthur backed away from her slowly. “No. On the chance they still come to the island, the children will need you more. You can protect them better than I could. If it comes down to it, take them to your house. Close the forest behind you so that nothing gets through. Cover the whole island if you have to. We’ve talked about this, Zoe. We always knew this was a possibility.”
She looked as if she were about to argue, but subsided at the expression on Arthur’s face. “I don’t want you going alone.”
“He won’t be,” Linus said.
They turned to him in surprise, as if they’d forgotten he was there at all.
He sucked in his stomach and puffed out his chest, hands on his hips. “I don’t know what’s going on, exactly, but I have a good idea. And if it has anything to do with the people in the village, then it’s high time I gave them a piece of my mind.” He thought he probably looked ridiculous, and his words didn’t have the weight to them he’d hoped, but he didn’t break their gazes.
Arthur said, “I won’t have you in any danger, Linus. It would be best if you—”