Somewhere Beyond the Sea, page 3
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“Maybe.”
“You don’t have to do it right now, especially if you’re not ready.” She stroked his back.
“It’s stupid,” he mumbled. “A woman came in. She had, like, seven suitcases. And,” he continued dreamily, “Mr. Swanson”—the hotel’s lead bellhop, his true hero—“was busy with another customer, so I went to help her.”
“Sounds like you,” Phee said.
“But when I offered to take her bags for her, she screamed that a sea slug was trying to steal her belongings.”
“A sea slug?” Phee said. “Please. She should be so lucky.”
“Right?” Chauncey said, pulling out of the hug. “Mr. Swanson heard her and came over. I thought he was going to take her bags instead, but you know what he did?”
“What?”
“He told me that people like her aren’t welcome in our fine establishment, and then he kicked her out of the hotel!”
“Whoa,” Phee said, sounding as impressed as Arthur felt. “I bet that pissed her off.”
“I thought she was going to explode,” Chauncey said. “Then Mr. Swanson said it was lunchtime, and we ate sandwiches and he told me about all the other bellhops he’d met.”
“But,” Phee said.
“But,” Chauncey said, “I just don’t get it. All I want to do is help. I can’t control how I look. It’s not my fault I’m—”
“Handsome as crap?” Phee said.
Chauncey gaped at her. “What.”
“You’re handsome,” she said. “And even better, unique. I’ve never seen anyone look like you. Your eyes? Pfft, get out of here. Those are so cool. You think any of us could pull off a trench coat like you do? Remember how funny I looked when I tried on your bellhop cap? But when you put it on, all I want to do is pack a bag just so you can take it from me even though I’m not going anywhere.”
“I am pretty good at taking luggage.”
“You are,” she said. “I can’t tell you something like that won’t happen again. But all you need to do is remind yourself it’s on them, not you.”
“I’m not a monster,” Chauncey said.
“Nope,” Phee said. “You’re Chauncey. The best Chauncey I’ve ever known.”
“And I’m handsome as crap.”
“Hell yes.”
“And I can eat all the pine cones I want because they’re not human.”
“Except it probably won’t feel good when you have to poop.”
“All my poops feel good, so no worries there!”
Another crash from the kitchen, followed by a small devil cursing in colorful language that he absolutely did not learn in this house. “Gangrenous donkey testicles!”
“Follow my lead,” Arthur whispered, pulling Linus partway down the hall. They stopped in front of Sal’s room. Winking at Linus, Arthur raised his arms above his head in a stretch, yawning quite ferociously. Raising his voice—so that the sound carried down the hall and stairs—he said, “Oh my, that was such a restful sleep. Wouldn’t you agree, dear Linus?”
“Quite!” Linus practically shouted. “I’m not even remotely concerned about the state of the kitchen and instead am focused on how rested I feel!”
They both had to stifle laughter when Chauncey began to yell, “Battle stations! Battle stations! The chickens are coming home to roost!”
Another din from the kitchen, this time followed by Lucy shouting, “But we’re not ready yet! Choke the chickens!”
When Arthur and Linus reached the top of the stairs, Phee and Chauncey smiled up at them as innocent as the day was young.
“Good morning,” Arthur said cheerfully as he and Linus descended the stairs. “Phee, Chauncey, did you sleep well?”
“So well,” Chauncey warbled. “And even better, we’re not doing anything illegal!”
“Yet,” Linus said.
Arthur and Linus took turns hugging Phee and Chauncey, both of the children holding on tightly. Once done, Linus glanced at Arthur and said, “Time seems to have slipped away from us this morning. You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”
“Who, us?” Phee asked, batting her eyelashes.
“We have no idea what you’re talking about,” Chauncey said.
“Hmm,” Arthur said. “Well, I suppose we should start preparing breakfast. Linus, why don’t you see where the other children are and I’ll just go into the kitchen and—”
Phee and Chauncey hurried toward the kitchen doors, blocking the entrance. “You can’t,” Phee said. “It’s … occupied.”
Above them, through the porthole windows in the double doors, Arthur saw a flash of reptilian scales fly by, with what looked to be a whisk grasped in his claws. A moment later, a lovely face appeared in one of the portholes, eyes widening. Sal disappeared a second later, followed by Lucy shouting, “What do you mean they’re right outside?”
“We’re going to be in so much trouble,” Talia said, out of sight. “How did you get batter on the ceiling?”
“By aiming,” Lucy said. “Duh.”
“Oh no!” Chauncey said loudly. “I just remembered that I needed to talk to Arthur and Linus about stuff! And things!”
“Name two,” Linus said, folding his arms.
“Potatoes and Portugal,” Chauncey said promptly.
“What about them?” Arthur asked.
“I have absolutely no idea,” Chauncey said. He deflated. “Sorry, Phee. I did my best.”
“You sure did … something,” Phee said. “Well, our cover’s blown, so we might as well get this over with.” She glared up at Linus and Arthur. “It was all of our idea, so if we’re going to get grounded, you have to ground all of us.”
“Sounds serious,” Arthur said gravely.
“And more than a little worrying,” Linus said.
“Hold, please,” Phee said. She grabbed Chauncey by the tentacle, backing them both through the double doors slowly. Though she did her best to keep Arthur and Linus from seeing the kitchen, the doors cracked open enough for herself and Chauncey to slip through, but also to give Arthur and Linus a glimpse of the kitchen itself.
When the doors swung closed, Linus said, “What was that on the walls?”
“It looked like ketchup,” Arthur said. “Isn’t it wonderful?”
“You and I have very different definitions of the word.”
“Perhaps you need to attend a vocabulary lesson then,” he teased.
Inside, hushed voices. But since these voices belonged to a group of six children being who they were, “hushed” was, perhaps, a bit of a misnomer.
“They know!” Chauncey whisper-shouted. “They’re standing right there, and they know everything. We’re doomed.”
“Lucy,” Phee said. “What the hell did you do to the counters?”
“I had trouble cracking eggs,” Lucy said. “And then Calliope walked in it, and now we have neat sticky paw prints on the floor.”
“How’d they get on the ceiling?” Chauncey asked.
“I accidentally reversed gravity when I was trying to measure butter.”
“Oh,” Chauncey said. “That makes sense. I bet that happens to a lot of people because cooking is hard.”
Theodore chirped loudly, and Sal said, “Theodore’s right. We should take responsibility for the mess we’ve made.”
“You didn’t make any mess,” Talia said. “Lucy did. And so did I because it’s not fair that he gets to smash all the eggs.”
“I didn’t. I tried to let you do one, and you threw it against the wall!”
“No,” Sal said. “We’re in this together.”
“Yeah,” Chauncey said. “Let’s all get grounded. Who’s with me? Why is no one raising their tentacles?”
Theodore clicked in his throat twice, followed by a low growl, and the children burst into laughter. “Yeah, Linus would do that, wouldn’t he?” Phee said. “I bet his face would turn red too.”
Linus huffed quietly. “Well, I never.”
“Your face is a little flushed,” Arthur whispered. “Are you ill, dear Linus?”
“They think they’re funny because of you.”
“Phee,” Sal said, “you distract them until we’re ready. Everyone else, let’s clean up as best we can. The quicker we work, the sooner we’ll be done.”
Phee slipped through the double doors, smiling widely. “Hello!” she said as if they hadn’t heard every single word. “Thank you for your patience. It’s appreciated.”
“Wonderful,” Arthur said. “Shall we go into the kitchen right this very second?”
“Uh,” Phee said, glancing back over her shoulder. “Not … yet? Oh! I just remembered. Linus, I wanted to ask you something very, very important. It’s all I’ve been thinking about for the last minute or so.”
“We await with bated breath,” Arthur said.
“Right,” Phee said. “So. Um.” She winced when something fell to the floor in the kitchen. Before Arthur could comment on it, Phee blurted (quite loudly), “Your organs!”
Linus groaned. “This again? How many times do I need to tell Talia that no matter what she says, I won’t sign a ‘do not resuscitate’ while also granting permission for her to harvest my liver, kidney, and lungs. I don’t know where she got the idea my organs would help her roses, but they won’t.”
“That’s what I told her,” Phee said. “And then I reminded her that it was only a matter of time, so. Win-win!”
Arthur lowered his voice. “We heard you talking to Chauncey.”
Phee fidgeted uncomfortably. Out of all the children, Phee was the biggest enigma. She loved her brothers and sisters and supported them completely. Arthur knew her to be compassionate, kind, and more than a little prickly. That being said, she still struggled with being complimented, or having attention placed upon her. It was a tricky line to walk with her: lay it on too thick, and she’d shut down, waving it off and changing the subject. He’d made it his mission to tell her at least once a day how proud he was of her.
“It’s not a big deal. Chauncey needed someone to talk to, and I was right there. Anyone would have done the same.” She shrugged, averting her gaze.
“Perhaps,” Arthur said. “But Chauncey didn’t come to me with it. He did not come to Linus, nor any of the others. He came to you, Phee. He trusts you with his happiness, but also with his troubles.”
“He shouldn’t have troubles,” Phee retorted. “I thought things were supposed to be better. You said they would be.” She deflated before they could reply. “Sorry,” she muttered. “That isn’t fair.”
“It’s absolutely fair,” Linus said, “we did tell you that. And I wish I had a better answer for you other than that these things take time. I’m sorry.” He took her hand in his.
Phee looked back up at Linus, and Arthur was struck by the softness in her eyes, a chink in her formidable armor. Every now and then, she’d grace them with a peek of the girl underneath, and he treasured these moments as much as Theodore did his buttons. “Thanks, Linus. You’re all right.”
He squeezed her hand. “Anything for you. Now, are we going to see the kitchen, or are you—”
But before he could finish, Lucy yelled in unfettered joy, “You can breathe fire? Holy crap, Theodore! Let’s burn everything!”
“And that’s our cue,” Arthur said.
“This is what happens when you sleep late,” Linus muttered. “Just when you think you’re getting extra rest, someone breathes fire.”
TWO
Arthur pushed through the kitchen doors so quickly they bounced off the walls. The conversation ceased immediately as everyone froze.
First, there was Lucy, dragging a chair across the kitchen, his tongue stuck out between his teeth in concentration. His eyes were ringed with red (as they often were when he was doing something that might be dangerous), the cowlicks on either side of his head giving the appearance of black horns made of hair. He wore a frilly pink apron over his frayed plaid shorts and billowing white shirt.
Then there was Talia, a short, squat garden gnome holding at least a dozen eggs. Her white, luxurious beard rested on her chest, the end curled into a little loop. Atop her head, a pointy red cap, the end of which crooked to the left, a tuft of her white hair curling out onto her forehead. She wore a blue vest with a black belt around her waist, and brown trousers with black work boots that rose to her knees, spotted with what appeared to be yolk. Her exposed skin—face and hands—was tanned, evidence of the hours she spent out in the garden. Her cherry-red lips turned into an O as her blue eyes narrowed.
Next was Sal, their resident shifter, who could turn from a boy into a tiny, fluffy dog in the blink of an eye. At fifteen, Sal was the oldest child on the island, the one the other children looked up to. Coming into his own, the once quiet boy had begun using his voice more and more, an extension of the words he put on a page that never failed to enchant whoever was lucky enough to read them. He was tall—as tall as Linus now, much to their chagrin—and while obviously a teenager (lamenting over spots on his nose and forehead, few though there were), he was an old soul, his dark eyes catching almost everything. He, too, wore shorts—tan—and a short-sleeved collared shirt—a warm yellow—with pearl snap buttons, complimenting his dark brown skin. His hair was longer these days, tightly coiled in a way Zoe had taught him how to manage.
Chauncey sat in a mop bucket on the floor near Sal, a soap bubble resting on top of his head between his eye stalks. Above him, sitting on the counter, a Machiavellian feline: Calliope, near the sink, tail swishing dangerously, licking batter off her right front paw, dismissive gaze trained on Arthur.
And Theodore, maw wide open, rows of sharp wyvern teeth on display. He stood on the floor, wings spread, head cocked back, smoke rising from his slitted nostrils. When he saw Arthur, his jaws snapped closed, and he swallowed down whatever had been about to come out. A moment later, he burped out a black cloud of smoke, frantically using his wings to try to make it dissipate in a poor attempt to hide the evidence.
“Uh,” Lucy said. “I can explain?”
“Can you?” Arthur said mildly as Phee and Linus crowded behind him. “Because it sounds as if you’re trying to get Theodore to start fires.”
“That’s exactly what I was doing!” Lucy said. “You know me so well. We don’t need this chair, right? It’s Linus’s, but he told me he likes standing when eating.”
Linus snorted. “I said no such thing.”
“Theodore?” Arthur said. “Is it true? Can you create fire?”
The wyvern glanced at Sal, who nodded. Theodore began to click and growl, spreading his wings and moving his head up and down. Arthur listened intently as Theodore explained that he’d woken up a few days before with a brightness in his chest he’d never felt before. He ignored it at first, but it made him itchy, like his skin was vibrating. He hadn’t said anything because he thought it’d pass on its own.
It wasn’t until this very morning when he’d woken up, stretched, yawned, and breathed a small gout of fire. It hadn’t hurt, he added, clicking and chirping that it had felt good, like stretching a stiff muscle. He chirped a question that Arthur—for all he’d seen and done—didn’t have the answer to.
“I don’t know,” he said, tapping his chin. “I was under the impression that wyverns—though descended from dragons—were incapable of creating fire. Linus? Have you ever heard of a wyvern making fire?”
“No,” Linus said from somewhere behind him. “Granted, Theodore’s the only wyvern I know, but I thought they hadn’t evolved in such a way as to make fire. Something about not having the gland that secretes the oily mixture needed to ignite.”
“It’s green,” Chauncey said from his bucket. “Like me.”
“Green fire,” Arthur said. “Can you control it?”
Theodore hesitated for a moment before nodding.
Arthur took a step back and said, “Show me, if you feel up to it.”
Theodore pranced on his two feet, claws clicking on the tile floor as he spun in a circle, obviously eager. He waved his right wing for them to take a step back to give him enough room. Linus, for his part, opined that perhaps indoors wasn’t the best place for a demonstration of fire, but he was quickly outvoted when everyone (including Arthur) booed him. Linus then reminded them of the last time an event involving fire had occurred indoors (Talia’s birthday; too many candles and not enough fire extinguishers). “And that’s the reason I think we should consider going outside to—”
It was about this time that Theodore reared his head back, eyes narrowed. A ripple of iridescent light moved across the black scales along his back toward his head. As Theodore opened his mouth, Arthur smelled the comforting familiarity of smoke and flame, and then a jet of green fire shot from Theodore, stretching at least five feet, the heat immense. It only lasted a few seconds before the fire died out, but Theodore was obviously pleased with himself, puffing out his chest and hopping on either foot as smoke leaked from between his jaws.
Pleased, that is, until the banner hanging above the table caught fire and began to burn. Arthur whirled around, raised his hand, and sucked the fire down into his palm. It formed a crackling sphere that snuffed out when he closed his fingers around it.
“Well done, Theodore,” Arthur said, suitably impressed.
“Again!” Lucy yelled, punching his fists in the air. “Again!”
“And this is why we don’t breathe fire inside the house,” Linus said, hands on his hips. “You can’t just … There’s not…” He frowned. “Why does the sign above the table say HAPPY BIRT?”
“It’s supposed to say ‘birthday,’” Sal said, scratching the back of his neck.
“I like ‘happy birt’ better,” Talia said as she tossed the eggs into the mop bucket, causing Chauncey to proclaim he was egg drop soup. “It sounds dumb and amazing, like Lucy.”
“Happy birt!” Lucy crowed.
“I knew this was going to blow up in our faces,” Phee muttered.
“Oh no,” Chauncey whispered as eggs bobbed around him. “What are we supposed to sing now? The happy birthday song doesn’t work when it’s a happy birt song. Haaaaaapppy birt to you. See? It sounds like nothing.”
“Maybe.”
“You don’t have to do it right now, especially if you’re not ready.” She stroked his back.
“It’s stupid,” he mumbled. “A woman came in. She had, like, seven suitcases. And,” he continued dreamily, “Mr. Swanson”—the hotel’s lead bellhop, his true hero—“was busy with another customer, so I went to help her.”
“Sounds like you,” Phee said.
“But when I offered to take her bags for her, she screamed that a sea slug was trying to steal her belongings.”
“A sea slug?” Phee said. “Please. She should be so lucky.”
“Right?” Chauncey said, pulling out of the hug. “Mr. Swanson heard her and came over. I thought he was going to take her bags instead, but you know what he did?”
“What?”
“He told me that people like her aren’t welcome in our fine establishment, and then he kicked her out of the hotel!”
“Whoa,” Phee said, sounding as impressed as Arthur felt. “I bet that pissed her off.”
“I thought she was going to explode,” Chauncey said. “Then Mr. Swanson said it was lunchtime, and we ate sandwiches and he told me about all the other bellhops he’d met.”
“But,” Phee said.
“But,” Chauncey said, “I just don’t get it. All I want to do is help. I can’t control how I look. It’s not my fault I’m—”
“Handsome as crap?” Phee said.
Chauncey gaped at her. “What.”
“You’re handsome,” she said. “And even better, unique. I’ve never seen anyone look like you. Your eyes? Pfft, get out of here. Those are so cool. You think any of us could pull off a trench coat like you do? Remember how funny I looked when I tried on your bellhop cap? But when you put it on, all I want to do is pack a bag just so you can take it from me even though I’m not going anywhere.”
“I am pretty good at taking luggage.”
“You are,” she said. “I can’t tell you something like that won’t happen again. But all you need to do is remind yourself it’s on them, not you.”
“I’m not a monster,” Chauncey said.
“Nope,” Phee said. “You’re Chauncey. The best Chauncey I’ve ever known.”
“And I’m handsome as crap.”
“Hell yes.”
“And I can eat all the pine cones I want because they’re not human.”
“Except it probably won’t feel good when you have to poop.”
“All my poops feel good, so no worries there!”
Another crash from the kitchen, followed by a small devil cursing in colorful language that he absolutely did not learn in this house. “Gangrenous donkey testicles!”
“Follow my lead,” Arthur whispered, pulling Linus partway down the hall. They stopped in front of Sal’s room. Winking at Linus, Arthur raised his arms above his head in a stretch, yawning quite ferociously. Raising his voice—so that the sound carried down the hall and stairs—he said, “Oh my, that was such a restful sleep. Wouldn’t you agree, dear Linus?”
“Quite!” Linus practically shouted. “I’m not even remotely concerned about the state of the kitchen and instead am focused on how rested I feel!”
They both had to stifle laughter when Chauncey began to yell, “Battle stations! Battle stations! The chickens are coming home to roost!”
Another din from the kitchen, this time followed by Lucy shouting, “But we’re not ready yet! Choke the chickens!”
When Arthur and Linus reached the top of the stairs, Phee and Chauncey smiled up at them as innocent as the day was young.
“Good morning,” Arthur said cheerfully as he and Linus descended the stairs. “Phee, Chauncey, did you sleep well?”
“So well,” Chauncey warbled. “And even better, we’re not doing anything illegal!”
“Yet,” Linus said.
Arthur and Linus took turns hugging Phee and Chauncey, both of the children holding on tightly. Once done, Linus glanced at Arthur and said, “Time seems to have slipped away from us this morning. You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”
“Who, us?” Phee asked, batting her eyelashes.
“We have no idea what you’re talking about,” Chauncey said.
“Hmm,” Arthur said. “Well, I suppose we should start preparing breakfast. Linus, why don’t you see where the other children are and I’ll just go into the kitchen and—”
Phee and Chauncey hurried toward the kitchen doors, blocking the entrance. “You can’t,” Phee said. “It’s … occupied.”
Above them, through the porthole windows in the double doors, Arthur saw a flash of reptilian scales fly by, with what looked to be a whisk grasped in his claws. A moment later, a lovely face appeared in one of the portholes, eyes widening. Sal disappeared a second later, followed by Lucy shouting, “What do you mean they’re right outside?”
“We’re going to be in so much trouble,” Talia said, out of sight. “How did you get batter on the ceiling?”
“By aiming,” Lucy said. “Duh.”
“Oh no!” Chauncey said loudly. “I just remembered that I needed to talk to Arthur and Linus about stuff! And things!”
“Name two,” Linus said, folding his arms.
“Potatoes and Portugal,” Chauncey said promptly.
“What about them?” Arthur asked.
“I have absolutely no idea,” Chauncey said. He deflated. “Sorry, Phee. I did my best.”
“You sure did … something,” Phee said. “Well, our cover’s blown, so we might as well get this over with.” She glared up at Linus and Arthur. “It was all of our idea, so if we’re going to get grounded, you have to ground all of us.”
“Sounds serious,” Arthur said gravely.
“And more than a little worrying,” Linus said.
“Hold, please,” Phee said. She grabbed Chauncey by the tentacle, backing them both through the double doors slowly. Though she did her best to keep Arthur and Linus from seeing the kitchen, the doors cracked open enough for herself and Chauncey to slip through, but also to give Arthur and Linus a glimpse of the kitchen itself.
When the doors swung closed, Linus said, “What was that on the walls?”
“It looked like ketchup,” Arthur said. “Isn’t it wonderful?”
“You and I have very different definitions of the word.”
“Perhaps you need to attend a vocabulary lesson then,” he teased.
Inside, hushed voices. But since these voices belonged to a group of six children being who they were, “hushed” was, perhaps, a bit of a misnomer.
“They know!” Chauncey whisper-shouted. “They’re standing right there, and they know everything. We’re doomed.”
“Lucy,” Phee said. “What the hell did you do to the counters?”
“I had trouble cracking eggs,” Lucy said. “And then Calliope walked in it, and now we have neat sticky paw prints on the floor.”
“How’d they get on the ceiling?” Chauncey asked.
“I accidentally reversed gravity when I was trying to measure butter.”
“Oh,” Chauncey said. “That makes sense. I bet that happens to a lot of people because cooking is hard.”
Theodore chirped loudly, and Sal said, “Theodore’s right. We should take responsibility for the mess we’ve made.”
“You didn’t make any mess,” Talia said. “Lucy did. And so did I because it’s not fair that he gets to smash all the eggs.”
“I didn’t. I tried to let you do one, and you threw it against the wall!”
“No,” Sal said. “We’re in this together.”
“Yeah,” Chauncey said. “Let’s all get grounded. Who’s with me? Why is no one raising their tentacles?”
Theodore clicked in his throat twice, followed by a low growl, and the children burst into laughter. “Yeah, Linus would do that, wouldn’t he?” Phee said. “I bet his face would turn red too.”
Linus huffed quietly. “Well, I never.”
“Your face is a little flushed,” Arthur whispered. “Are you ill, dear Linus?”
“They think they’re funny because of you.”
“Phee,” Sal said, “you distract them until we’re ready. Everyone else, let’s clean up as best we can. The quicker we work, the sooner we’ll be done.”
Phee slipped through the double doors, smiling widely. “Hello!” she said as if they hadn’t heard every single word. “Thank you for your patience. It’s appreciated.”
“Wonderful,” Arthur said. “Shall we go into the kitchen right this very second?”
“Uh,” Phee said, glancing back over her shoulder. “Not … yet? Oh! I just remembered. Linus, I wanted to ask you something very, very important. It’s all I’ve been thinking about for the last minute or so.”
“We await with bated breath,” Arthur said.
“Right,” Phee said. “So. Um.” She winced when something fell to the floor in the kitchen. Before Arthur could comment on it, Phee blurted (quite loudly), “Your organs!”
Linus groaned. “This again? How many times do I need to tell Talia that no matter what she says, I won’t sign a ‘do not resuscitate’ while also granting permission for her to harvest my liver, kidney, and lungs. I don’t know where she got the idea my organs would help her roses, but they won’t.”
“That’s what I told her,” Phee said. “And then I reminded her that it was only a matter of time, so. Win-win!”
Arthur lowered his voice. “We heard you talking to Chauncey.”
Phee fidgeted uncomfortably. Out of all the children, Phee was the biggest enigma. She loved her brothers and sisters and supported them completely. Arthur knew her to be compassionate, kind, and more than a little prickly. That being said, she still struggled with being complimented, or having attention placed upon her. It was a tricky line to walk with her: lay it on too thick, and she’d shut down, waving it off and changing the subject. He’d made it his mission to tell her at least once a day how proud he was of her.
“It’s not a big deal. Chauncey needed someone to talk to, and I was right there. Anyone would have done the same.” She shrugged, averting her gaze.
“Perhaps,” Arthur said. “But Chauncey didn’t come to me with it. He did not come to Linus, nor any of the others. He came to you, Phee. He trusts you with his happiness, but also with his troubles.”
“He shouldn’t have troubles,” Phee retorted. “I thought things were supposed to be better. You said they would be.” She deflated before they could reply. “Sorry,” she muttered. “That isn’t fair.”
“It’s absolutely fair,” Linus said, “we did tell you that. And I wish I had a better answer for you other than that these things take time. I’m sorry.” He took her hand in his.
Phee looked back up at Linus, and Arthur was struck by the softness in her eyes, a chink in her formidable armor. Every now and then, she’d grace them with a peek of the girl underneath, and he treasured these moments as much as Theodore did his buttons. “Thanks, Linus. You’re all right.”
He squeezed her hand. “Anything for you. Now, are we going to see the kitchen, or are you—”
But before he could finish, Lucy yelled in unfettered joy, “You can breathe fire? Holy crap, Theodore! Let’s burn everything!”
“And that’s our cue,” Arthur said.
“This is what happens when you sleep late,” Linus muttered. “Just when you think you’re getting extra rest, someone breathes fire.”
TWO
Arthur pushed through the kitchen doors so quickly they bounced off the walls. The conversation ceased immediately as everyone froze.
First, there was Lucy, dragging a chair across the kitchen, his tongue stuck out between his teeth in concentration. His eyes were ringed with red (as they often were when he was doing something that might be dangerous), the cowlicks on either side of his head giving the appearance of black horns made of hair. He wore a frilly pink apron over his frayed plaid shorts and billowing white shirt.
Then there was Talia, a short, squat garden gnome holding at least a dozen eggs. Her white, luxurious beard rested on her chest, the end curled into a little loop. Atop her head, a pointy red cap, the end of which crooked to the left, a tuft of her white hair curling out onto her forehead. She wore a blue vest with a black belt around her waist, and brown trousers with black work boots that rose to her knees, spotted with what appeared to be yolk. Her exposed skin—face and hands—was tanned, evidence of the hours she spent out in the garden. Her cherry-red lips turned into an O as her blue eyes narrowed.
Next was Sal, their resident shifter, who could turn from a boy into a tiny, fluffy dog in the blink of an eye. At fifteen, Sal was the oldest child on the island, the one the other children looked up to. Coming into his own, the once quiet boy had begun using his voice more and more, an extension of the words he put on a page that never failed to enchant whoever was lucky enough to read them. He was tall—as tall as Linus now, much to their chagrin—and while obviously a teenager (lamenting over spots on his nose and forehead, few though there were), he was an old soul, his dark eyes catching almost everything. He, too, wore shorts—tan—and a short-sleeved collared shirt—a warm yellow—with pearl snap buttons, complimenting his dark brown skin. His hair was longer these days, tightly coiled in a way Zoe had taught him how to manage.
Chauncey sat in a mop bucket on the floor near Sal, a soap bubble resting on top of his head between his eye stalks. Above him, sitting on the counter, a Machiavellian feline: Calliope, near the sink, tail swishing dangerously, licking batter off her right front paw, dismissive gaze trained on Arthur.
And Theodore, maw wide open, rows of sharp wyvern teeth on display. He stood on the floor, wings spread, head cocked back, smoke rising from his slitted nostrils. When he saw Arthur, his jaws snapped closed, and he swallowed down whatever had been about to come out. A moment later, he burped out a black cloud of smoke, frantically using his wings to try to make it dissipate in a poor attempt to hide the evidence.
“Uh,” Lucy said. “I can explain?”
“Can you?” Arthur said mildly as Phee and Linus crowded behind him. “Because it sounds as if you’re trying to get Theodore to start fires.”
“That’s exactly what I was doing!” Lucy said. “You know me so well. We don’t need this chair, right? It’s Linus’s, but he told me he likes standing when eating.”
Linus snorted. “I said no such thing.”
“Theodore?” Arthur said. “Is it true? Can you create fire?”
The wyvern glanced at Sal, who nodded. Theodore began to click and growl, spreading his wings and moving his head up and down. Arthur listened intently as Theodore explained that he’d woken up a few days before with a brightness in his chest he’d never felt before. He ignored it at first, but it made him itchy, like his skin was vibrating. He hadn’t said anything because he thought it’d pass on its own.
It wasn’t until this very morning when he’d woken up, stretched, yawned, and breathed a small gout of fire. It hadn’t hurt, he added, clicking and chirping that it had felt good, like stretching a stiff muscle. He chirped a question that Arthur—for all he’d seen and done—didn’t have the answer to.
“I don’t know,” he said, tapping his chin. “I was under the impression that wyverns—though descended from dragons—were incapable of creating fire. Linus? Have you ever heard of a wyvern making fire?”
“No,” Linus said from somewhere behind him. “Granted, Theodore’s the only wyvern I know, but I thought they hadn’t evolved in such a way as to make fire. Something about not having the gland that secretes the oily mixture needed to ignite.”
“It’s green,” Chauncey said from his bucket. “Like me.”
“Green fire,” Arthur said. “Can you control it?”
Theodore hesitated for a moment before nodding.
Arthur took a step back and said, “Show me, if you feel up to it.”
Theodore pranced on his two feet, claws clicking on the tile floor as he spun in a circle, obviously eager. He waved his right wing for them to take a step back to give him enough room. Linus, for his part, opined that perhaps indoors wasn’t the best place for a demonstration of fire, but he was quickly outvoted when everyone (including Arthur) booed him. Linus then reminded them of the last time an event involving fire had occurred indoors (Talia’s birthday; too many candles and not enough fire extinguishers). “And that’s the reason I think we should consider going outside to—”
It was about this time that Theodore reared his head back, eyes narrowed. A ripple of iridescent light moved across the black scales along his back toward his head. As Theodore opened his mouth, Arthur smelled the comforting familiarity of smoke and flame, and then a jet of green fire shot from Theodore, stretching at least five feet, the heat immense. It only lasted a few seconds before the fire died out, but Theodore was obviously pleased with himself, puffing out his chest and hopping on either foot as smoke leaked from between his jaws.
Pleased, that is, until the banner hanging above the table caught fire and began to burn. Arthur whirled around, raised his hand, and sucked the fire down into his palm. It formed a crackling sphere that snuffed out when he closed his fingers around it.
“Well done, Theodore,” Arthur said, suitably impressed.
“Again!” Lucy yelled, punching his fists in the air. “Again!”
“And this is why we don’t breathe fire inside the house,” Linus said, hands on his hips. “You can’t just … There’s not…” He frowned. “Why does the sign above the table say HAPPY BIRT?”
“It’s supposed to say ‘birthday,’” Sal said, scratching the back of his neck.
“I like ‘happy birt’ better,” Talia said as she tossed the eggs into the mop bucket, causing Chauncey to proclaim he was egg drop soup. “It sounds dumb and amazing, like Lucy.”
“Happy birt!” Lucy crowed.
“I knew this was going to blow up in our faces,” Phee muttered.
“Oh no,” Chauncey whispered as eggs bobbed around him. “What are we supposed to sing now? The happy birthday song doesn’t work when it’s a happy birt song. Haaaaaapppy birt to you. See? It sounds like nothing.”
