The House in the Cerulean Sea(22)

Linus struggled to find his voice. “You’re … you…”

She frowned. “Of course I’m me. Who else would I be?”

He shook his head, managing to clear the cobwebs before latching on to a name. “You’re a gnome.”

She blinked owlishly at him. “Yes. I am. I’m Talia.” She bent over and picked up a small shovel that had been laying on the grass next to her. “Are you Mr. Baker? If you are, we’ve been expecting you. If not, you’re trespassing, and you should leave before I bury you here in my garden. No one would ever know because the roots would eat your entrails and bones.” She frowned again. “I think. I’ve never buried anyone before. It would be a learning experience for the both of us.”

“I’m Mr. Baker!”

Talia sighed, sounding incredibly disappointed. “Of course you are. No need to shout about it. But is it too much to ask for a trespasser? I’ve always wanted to see if humans make good fertilizer. It seems like they would.” She eyed him up and down hungrily. “All that flesh.”

“Oh dear,” Linus managed to say.

She huffed out a breath. “We don’t get trespassers here. Unless … I saw a cat. Did you bring it as a gift for the house? Lucy will be excited about that. And maybe when he’s done with it, he’ll let me use what’s left. It’s not the same as a human, but I’m sure it’ll work.”

“She’s not an offering,” Linus said, aghast. “She’s a pet.”

“Oh. Darn.”

“Her name is Calliope!”

“Well, we better find her before the others do. I don’t know what they’ll think of her.” She grinned at him, her teeth large and square. “Aside from looking tasty, that is.”

Linus squeaked.

She waddled toward him, her stubby legs moving quickly. “Are you going to lie there all night? Get up. Get up!”

He did. Somehow, he did.

He was sweating profusely as he followed her farther into the garden, listening as she muttered under her breath. It sounded as if she were speaking Gnomish, her grunts low and guttural, but Linus hadn’t ever heard it spoken aloud before, so he couldn’t be sure.

They reached the gazebo, which creaked as they stepped onto it. The paper lanterns were brighter now, swinging on their lines. There were chairs with thick, comfy cushions. Underneath them was an ornate rug, the edges of which were curled.

Talia went to a small chest that was set off to the side. She pushed open the lid and hung her shovel on a hook inside, next to other gardening tools. Once she seemed satisfied that everything was in place, she nodded and closed the lid.

She turned back toward him. “Now, if I were a cat, where would I be?”

“I … don’t know.”

She rolled her eyes. “Of course you don’t. Cats are cunning and mysterious. That doesn’t seem like something you’d understand.”

“I beg your—”

She stroked her beard. “We need help. Fortunately, I know just who to ask.” She looked at the ceiling of the gazebo. “Theodore!”

Linus frantically thought back to the files he hadn’t looked at. Oh, what a fool he’d been. “Theodore. Who is—”

From somewhere above came a cry that sent shivers down Linus’s spine.

Talia’s eyes were sparkling. “He’s coming. He’ll know what to do. He can find anything.”

Linus took a step back, ready to grab Talia and run if needed.

A dark shape swooped into the gazebo, landing artlessly on the floor. It squawked angrily as it tripped over its too-big wings, rolling end over end until it crashed into Linus’s legs. Linus did his best not to shriek, but unfortunately, his best wasn’t good enough.

A scaly tail twitched as its owner stared up at him with bright orange eyes.

Linus had never actually seen a wyvern in person before. They were quite rare and thought to be descended from ancient reptiles that once roamed the earth, though they were barely larger than a housecat. Many considered them to be nuisances, and for a long time, they were hunted down, their heads used as trophies, their skin made into fashionable shoes. It wasn’t until laws were enacted protecting all magical creatures that the barbaric acts ceased, but by then, it’d almost been too late, especially in the face of empirical evidence that wyverns were capable of emotionally complex reasoning that rivaled even humans. Their numbers had dwindled alarmingly.

So, it was with fascination (tinged, of course, with horror) that Linus stared down at the wyvern at his feet, a tail beginning to wrap around his ankle.

It—he, Linus reminded himself—was smaller than Calliope, though not by much. His scales were iridescent, the light from the lanterns above casting a kaleidoscope of colors. His hind legs were thickly muscled, the claws at the tips of his feet black and wicked sharp. He didn’t have front legs; instead, his wings were long and leathery like a bat’s. His head was curved downward, the snout ending in twin slits. His tongue snaked out and flicked against Linus’s loafers.

His orange eyes blinked slowly. He jerked his head up toward Linus, and … chirped.

Linus’s heart was thundering in his chest. “Theodore, I presume?”

The wyvern chirped again. He wasn’t unlike a bird. A very large, scaly bird.