The House in the Cerulean Sea(26)

“But there’s—”

“Sir!” a wet and warbled voice exclaimed from behind him. “Might I take your coat?”

Linus turned to see—

“Chauncey!” Talia said, sounding delighted.

There, standing (sitting?) in the hallway, a tiny dog peering out around him, was an amorphous green blob with bright red lips. And black teeth. And eyes on stalks that stuck high above his head, seemingly moving independently of each other. He didn’t have arms so much as tentacles with tiny little suckers along their lengths. He was not quite see-through, though Linus could make out the faint outline of Sal hiding behind him.

“I’m not wearing a coat,” Linus heard himself say, though he hadn’t actually instructed his brain to say it.

Chauncey frowned. “Oh. That’s … disappointing.” His eyes wiggled around as he seemed to brighten. As in literally brighten, because he became a lighter shade of green. “No matter! I’ve already attended to your luggage, sir! It’s been placed in your room, as has the barbaric cage I assume is for your cat that is now sleeping on your pillow.” He held out one of his tentacles.

Linus stared at it.

“Ahem,” Chauncey coughed, flipping the tip of his tentacle toward him twice.

“You have to pay him,” Talia hissed from behind him.

Again, independent of any thought, Linus felt himself reach back for his wallet. He opened it up, found a single, and handed it over. It instantly soaked through as Chauncey’s tentacle closed over it. “Wow,” he whispered as he pulled the bill close, eyes drooping on their stalks to look it over. “I did it. I’m a bellhop.”

Before Linus could respond to that, a chilling voice rang out, sounding as if it were coming from everywhere. The air, the floors, the very walls that surrounded them.

“I am evil incarnate,” the dastardly voice said. “I am the blight upon the skin of this world. And I will bring it to its knees. Prepare for the End of Days! Your time has come, and the rivers will run with the blood of the innocents!”

Talia sighed. “He’s such a drama queen.”





SIX


Linus Baker, for what it was worth, did care about the children he was tasked with observing. He didn’t think one could do what he did and lack empathy, though he couldn’t understand how someone like Ms. Jenkins had ever been a caseworker before being promoted to Supervision.

And so when faced with a perceived threat, and even though everything felt topsy-turvy, Linus did the only thing he could: He moved to protect the children.

Talia squawked angrily as he shoved her behind him toward Sal and Chauncey. “What are you doing?”

He ignored her, the ringing in his ears he’d heard since he’d arrived on the island now turning into a full-blown roar. He took a step toward the open door, and he swore on everything he had that the darkness settling outside had somehow gotten darker. He believed if he stepped out onto the porch, the stars above would be blotted out, and all that would remain would be eternal night.

“What’s going on?” Chauncey whispered behind him.

“I have no idea,” Talia said irritably.

Sal barked nervously, a high-pitched yip.

“Probably,” Talia said.

Linus took a step toward the door. He should have realized that accepting this assignment was going to be the last thing he’d do. He wondered if Lucy had already taken out Mr. Parnassus and whoever (or whatever) had been in the main house with them. He couldn’t be sure if there were other things that Extremely Upper Management hadn’t made him aware of. If there was a clear path, perhaps he could get the children to the car. He’d need to get Calliope into her crate, but he’d rather have an angry cat to deal with than a devil. He didn’t know how he’d get them off the island, but—

He stepped onto the porch.

It was darker, perhaps darker than it’d ever been before. He could barely see the flowers just off the porch. Everything else was lost to the darkness. It was as if the night were a living thing and had consumed the world. Linus’s skin felt electrified.

“Hello,” a sweet voice said from beside him.

Linus gasped and turned his head.

There, standing at the edge of the porch, was a child.

Lucy looked exactly as he had in the photograph. His black hair was windswept, and his eyes were red and ringed with blue. He looked so small, but the smile on his face was twisted into a sneer, and his fingers were twitching at his sides, as if he were barely restraining himself from reaching out and tearing Linus limb from limb.

“It’s nice to see you,” Lucy singsonged before giggling. “I knew you’d come, Mr. Baker. Though, by the time I’m done with you, you’ll wish you hadn’t.” The smile widened until it seemed like his face would split in half. Flames began to rise behind him, though they didn’t seem to burn the house, and Linus couldn’t feel the heat that should have been pouring off of them. “I’m going to enjoy this far more than you could ever—”

“That’s enough, Lucy.”

And just like that, everything switched off.

Lucy groaned, and the red disappeared from his eyes. The fire subsided. The blackness winked out, and the remains of the sunset appeared on the horizon. The stars were bright, and Linus could see the main house across the way.