The House in the Cerulean Sea(17)

He didn’t know what to do with that. He’d never really been seen before. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“That you look unexpected.”

“Do you often speak without saying anything at all?”

“Quite often. But not this time, Mr. Baker.” She took another corner at a much lower speed. “I thought you would be younger. Your type usually is.”

“My type?”

“Caseworkers. Been doing it long?”

He frowned. “Long enough.”

“And do you enjoy your work, Mr. Baker?”

“I’m good at it.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

“It’s the same thing.”

She shook her head. “Why were you sleeping on the platform? Couldn’t you have done that on the train?”

“I wasn’t sleeping. I was—” It hit him, then, what he’d forgotten since he’d been rudely awoken. “Oh my.”

“What?’

“Oh my.” He couldn’t catch his breath.

Ms. Chapelwhite looked alarmed. “Are you having a heart attack?”

He didn’t know. He’d never had one before, and he couldn’t be sure what they felt like. But given that he was forty years old with extra pounds and high blood pressure, that certainly seemed like a possibility.

“Damn,” he heard her mutter as she jerked the car to the side of the road, slamming the brakes.

Linus struggled to breathe, putting his forehead on the top of the crate. His vision had narrowed to pinholes, and there was a roaring in his ears. He was sure he was about to pass out again (or possibly die from a heart attack), when he felt a cool hand press against the back of his neck. He managed to suck in a deep breath as his heart rate slowed.

“There,” he heard Ms. Chapelwhite say. “That’s better. Another breath, Mr. Baker. That’s it.”

“The file,” he managed to say. “I read the file.”

She squeezed the back of his neck once before letting go. “About Lucy?”

“Yes. I didn’t expect it.”

“No, I don’t suppose you did.”

“Is it…”

“True?”

He nodded, face still pressed against the crate.

She didn’t respond.

He lifted his head, looking over at her.

She was staring straight ahead, hands in her lap. “Yes,” she finally said. “It’s true.”

“How on earth is this possible?”

She shook her head. “It’s not—he’s not what you think. None of them are.”

That startled him. “I didn’t even look at the other files.” A terrible thought struck him. “Are the others worse?”

She ripped off her sunglasses, looking at him sharply. “It can’t be any worse because there’s nothing wrong with any of them. They’re children.”

“Yes, but—”

“No buts,” she snapped. “I know you have a job to do, Mr. Baker. And I know you probably do it well. Too well, if you ask me. You would have to in order for DICOMY to send you here. We’re not exactly orthodox.”

“I should say not. You have the Antichrist on the island.”

“Lucy isn’t—” She shook her head, obviously frustrated. “Why are you here?”

“To ensure the safety of the children,” he said as if it were second nature. “To see that they are being provided for. Cared for. And that they aren’t in danger, either from themselves or others.”

“And that goes for all children, correct?”

“Yes, but—”

“No buts. It doesn’t matter where he came from. Or what he is. He is a child, and your job, as much as it is mine or Arthur’s, is to protect him. And all the others.”

He gaped at her.

She slid her sunglasses back on. “Close your mouth, Mr. Baker. You don’t want to swallow a bug.”

She gunned the engine again and pulled back onto the road.



* * *



“Seven files,” he said a few minutes later after coming out of his daze.

“What?”

“Seven files. I was given seven files. Six children. The master of the orphanage. That’s seven.”

“Rudimentary counting a priority at DICOMY, is it?”

He ignored the barb. “There isn’t one for you.” He saw a sign in the distance, approaching on the right at the top of the next hill.

“Of course not. I’m not employed by DICOMY. I told you. I’m a caretaker.”

“Of the house?”

“That. And also the island. Runs in the family. Has for generations.”

Linus Baker had been in his job for a long time. And yes, he was good at it. He could think analytically, could notice the little cues that others could not. It was why, he thought, he’d been chosen for this assignment.

That being said, he should have recognized it the moment he opened his eyes on the platform. Fainting after receiving the shock of his life shouldn’t have been an excuse.

The violet in her eyes should have given it away. It hadn’t been a trick of the light.

“You’re a sprite,” he said. “An island sprite.”