The House in the Cerulean Sea(29)

“What?” he asked no one in particular.

The bedroom at the end of the hall was small, but functional. There was a desk facing the window that opened out to the cliff overlooking the sea. A chair was pressed against it. Near what appeared to be a closet door was a small bureau. A bed with an oversize quilt sat against the opposite wall. Calliope was on the pillow, tail curled around her. She opened a single eye as he entered, tracking his movement.

He opened his mouth and was about to speak to her when the words stuck in his throat.

His suitcase sat on the bed, opened and empty.

He rushed toward it. “Where are my things?”

Calliope yawned and tucked her face in her paws, breathing deeply.

The files for the children and Mr. Parnassus were still secure in a side pocket, the zipper closed. They didn’t appear to have been trifled with. But his clothes were gone, and so was—

He looked around wildly.

There, on the floor, near the desk, sat Calliope’s bowls. One had been filled with water, the other with her kibble, the bag of which was placed to the side of the desk. On top of the desk was his copy of RULES AND REGULATIONS.

He went to the closet and threw open the doors.

His shirts and ties and slacks were hung carefully from the hangers. Next to them was the one coat he’d brought, though he hadn’t been sure he’d need it.

His spare loafers were sitting on the floor.

Leaving the door open, he went to the bureau. Inside, stacked neatly, were his socks and undergarments.

The next drawer down held his pajamas and the only nonwork clothes he’d brought, pants and a polo shirt.

He backed away from the bureau slowly until his legs hit the edge of the bed. He sat down roughly, staring at the drawers and the open closet.

“I think,” he said to Calliope, “that I’m in over my head.”

She didn’t have an opinion one way or another.

Shaking his head, he reached for his suitcase, pulling the files out and onto his lap.

“Foolish,” he muttered. “Next time, know what you’re walking into.”

He took a deep breath before opening the file on top.

“Oh,” he said rather breathlessly when he read about a wyvern named Theodore.

“What?” he choked out when he opened the file for a fourteen-year-old boy called Sal.

He didn’t manage to say anything at all for Talia, though a bead of sweat trickled down his brow.

He was right about Phee. A forest sprite, and a powerful one at that.

He recoiled sharply at what he saw for a boy called Chauncey. He was ten years old, and next the word Mother, it read UNKNOWN. The same for his father. And his species. It appeared no one seemed to know, exactly, what Chauncey actually was. And now that Linus had seen him in person, he wasn’t sure either.

Extremely Upper Management was right.

The children weren’t like anything he’d ever seen before.



* * *



He gave very real consideration to ignoring the dinner invitation and pulling the heavy quilt up and over his head, blocking out the strange world he’d found himself in. Maybe if he slept, things would make more sense upon waking.

But then his stomach grumbled, and Linus realized he was hungry.

Ravenous, even.

He poked his not inconsiderable stomach. “Must you?”

It gurgled again.

He sighed.

Which is why he found himself standing at the front door to the main house, steeling his nerves. “It’s no different than any other assignment,” he muttered to himself. “You’ve been in this situation before. On with it, old boy. You’ve got this.”

He reached up and banged the metal knocker against the door three times.

And waited.

A minute later, he knocked again.

Still no response.

He wiped the sweat from his brow as he stepped back, looking at the side of the house. There were lights on through the windows, but it didn’t appear anyone was coming to the door.

He shook his head as he stepped again to the door. After a moment of indecision, he reached for the knob. It turned easily under his hand, and he pushed.

The door opened.

Inside was a foyer that led to a wide set of stairs to the second floor. The banisters were wooden and smooth. A large chandelier hung above the foyer, the crystals glittering in the light. He stuck his head through the doorway, listening.

He heard.… music? It was faint, but still. He couldn’t make out the song, but it felt familiar somehow.

“Hello?” he called.

No one answered.

He stepped into the house, closing the door behind him.

To his right was a living room, a large overstuffed couch set in front of a dark fireplace. There was a painting above the fireplace, a whimsical portrait of swirling eddies. He thought he saw the ruffled skirt of the couch shift, but he couldn’t be sure it wasn’t just a trick of the low light.

Ahead were the stairs.

To his left was a formal dining room, though it didn’t appear to be in use. The smaller chandelier above the table was dark, and the table was covered with books, old by the looks of them.

“Hello?” he tried again.

No one responded.

He did the only thing he could.

He followed the sound of the music.

The closer he got, the more the notes filled in, trumpets low and sharp, a sweet masculine voice singing that somewhere beyond the sea, she’s there watching for me.