He turned slowly.
Standing between them and the crowd was Arthur Parnassus, though not as he’d been.
The phoenix had risen.
His arms were spread wide away from him. The wings Linus had glimpsed briefly in the darkened cellar were stretched at least ten feet on either side of Arthur. Fire crawled up and down his arms and shoulders. Above him, the head of the phoenix pulled back, the rock held in its beak. It bit down, shattering the rock into tiny pieces that rained down in front of Arthur.
There was fear in the people before them, yes, fear that wouldn’t be cured by such a display, even one as magnificent as this. But it was tempered by the same wonder he’d seen in Helen, the same wonder he was sure was on his own face.
The wings fluttered, fire crackling.
The phoenix tilted its head back and cried out, a piercing shriek that warmed Linus to his core.
Linus left Helen standing on the dock.
He circled Arthur slowly, ducking under one of the wings, feeling the heat of them on his back.
Arthur was staring straight ahead, his eyes burning. The phoenix flapped its wings, little tendrils of fire spinning off. It cocked its head as it stared down at Linus, eyes blinking slowly.
Without a second thought, Linus reached up and cupped Arthur’s face. His skin was hot, but Linus wasn’t afraid of being singed and blackened. Arthur would never allow it.
The fire tickled against the backs of his hands. “There, there,” Linus said quietly. “That’s enough of that, I think. You’ve made your point quite well.”
The fire faded from Arthur’s eyes.
The wings pulled back.
The phoenix lowered its head toward them. Linus looked up at it and gasped when the great bird pressed its beak against his forehead momentarily before it too was gone in a thick plume of black smoke.
“You’ve gone and done it now,” Linus whispered.
“It was time,” Arthur said. Sweat dripped down his forehead, and his face was pale. “All right?”
“Quite. I’d like to avoid a rock upside the head if at all possible, so it’s much appreciated.” He dropped his hands, aware that they still had an audience. He was angry, angrier than he’d been in a long time. He started to turn to give them a piece of his mind, to threaten them within an inch of their lives, but stopped when Arthur shook his head. “You’ve had your say. Let me.”
Linus nodded tightly, though he didn’t leave Arthur’s side. He glared at the crowd, daring any of them to throw another rock.
Whatever fight had been in them was gone. Their eyes were wide, their faces pale. Their signs lay forgotten on the ground. Marty had removed his neck brace, probably because he’d wanted to look up and see the phoenix unleashed.
Arthur said, “I don’t know you as well as I’d like. And you don’t know me. If you did, you would have known that attempting to harm me and mine is never a good idea.”
Linus grew warm again, though the phoenix was gone.
The crowd took another step back.
Arthur sighed, shoulders slumping. “I don’t … I don’t know what to do here. I don’t know what to say. I’m under no impression that words alone will change hearts and minds, especially when those words come from me. You fear what you don’t understand. You see us as chaos to the ordered world you know. And I haven’t done much to fight that, given how isolated I’ve kept the children on the island. Perhaps if I’d…” He shook his head. “We make mistakes. Constantly. It’s what makes us human, even if we’re different from one another. You see us as something to be feared. And for the longest time, I’ve seen you as nothing but living ghosts from a past I’d give anything to forget. But this is our home, and one we share. I won’t beg. I won’t plead. And if push comes to shove, I will do what I must to ensure the safety of my wards. But I hope to avoid that if at all possible. Instead, I’ll ask for you to listen instead of judging that which you don’t understand.” He looked to Marty, who shrank back. “Lucy meant you no real harm,” he said, not unkindly. “If he had, your insides would be on your outside.”
“Perhaps a little less,” Linus muttered as the crowd gasped in unison.
“Too right,” Arthur said. Then, louder, “Not that he’d ever do that. All he wanted was his records. He does love them so. Regardless of what else he is, he is still a child, as they all are. And don’t all children deserve to be protected? To be loved and nurtured so that they may grow and shape the world to make it a better place? In that way, they are no different than any other child in the village, or beyond. But they’re told they are, by people such as yourselves, and people who govern them and our world. People who put rules and restrictions in place to keep them separated and isolated. I don’t know what it will take to change that, if anything. But it won’t start at the top. It’ll start with us.”
The crowd watched him warily.
Arthur sighed. “I don’t know what else to say.”
“I do,” Helen said, stepping forward. She was furious, her hands balled into fists. “You have the right to assemble peacefully. You have the right to express your opinions. But the moment it crosses the line into violence, it becomes a matter of legality. Magical youth are protected by laws, as all children are. Any harm that comes to them will be met with the swiftest of consequences. I’ll make sure of it. I’ll do my level best to make sure anyone who lays a hand on a child, magical or not, will wish they hadn’t. You may think you can shrug off anything Linus or Arthur says, but mark my words, if I even catch a whiff of further discord, I will show you why I’m not to be trifled with.”
Norman was the first to react.
He stormed off, pushing his way through the crowd, muttering to himself.
The postmaster followed, though he glanced back over his shoulder, a stunned expression on his face.
A few more walked after them. Marty tried to leave too, but Helen said, “Martin Smythe! You stay right where you are. You and I are going to have a very long conversation about proper etiquette in group settings and the penalties of lying. And if it was you who threw that rock, I’m going to drain your trust fund and donate it all to charity.”
“You can’t!” Marty wailed.
“I can,” Helen said primly. “I’m the trustee. And it would be very, very easy.”
The crowd dispersed. Linus was startled when a few people muttered apologies toward Arthur, though they kept their distance. He expected news of what they’d seen to spread through the village rapidly. He wouldn’t be surprised if the story would eventually end up as Arthur having turned into a monstrous bird and threatening to burn their skin from their bones and destroy the village.
Merle said, “I’ll take you back to the island, if you want. Half price.”
Linus snorted. “I think we’ll be fine, Merle. But thank you for your generosity.” He paused, considering. “And I really mean that.”
Merle grumbled under his breath about a salt road putting him out of business as he walked down the dock toward his ferry.
Arthur was watching the people walk away toward the village. “Do you think they’ll listen?” he asked Helen.
Helen frowned. “I don’t know. I hope so, but then I hope for many things that don’t always come to be.” She looked at him almost shyly. “Your feathers were very pretty.”