The House in the Cerulean Sea(45)

So, no, Linus wasn’t necessarily jumping on the invitation.

But he had a job to do.

It was why he was here.

And the more he learned about Lucy, the better prepared he’d be when reporting to Extremely Upper Management.

(It had nothing to do with the idea of also getting to know Mr. Parnassus a little better. And even if it did, it was because the file on the master told him next to nothing, and he needed to be thorough. It was outlined as such in the RULES AND REGULATIONS, page 138, paragraph six, and he would follow it to the letter.)

“Does he know I’ll be there?” Linus asked, wiping the sweat from his brow.

Mr. Parnassus chuckled. “It was his idea.”

“Oh dear,” Linus said faintly.

“Should I tell him to expect you?”

No. No, he shouldn’t. In fact, he should tell Lucy that Linus had taken ill and would be down for the evening. And then Linus could spend his Friday night in his pajamas listening to the little radio in the living room and pretending he was at home. It wasn’t a record player, but it would do in a pinch. “Yes,” he said. “I will be there.”

Mr. Parnassus smiled widely. Linus felt his skin flush at the sight of it. “Wonderful,” he said. “I think you’ll be surprised. Five o’clock sharp, Mr. Baker.” He whirled on his heel and headed toward the main house, whistling a jaunty tune.

Linus closed the door and slumped against it. “Well, old boy, you’ve stepped into it now, haven’t you?”

Calliope sat in the windowsill, blinking slowly in the sunlight.



* * *



Linus Baker had never been the religious sort. While he didn’t mind if others were, it was never for him. His mother had been … not quite fervent but so close that there was barely a difference. She took him to church on Sundays, and he’d sit in his freshly starched shirt that itched terribly, and would stand when he was supposed to stand, and kneel when he was supposed to kneel. He liked the hymns, though he couldn’t carry a tune if he’d been given a bucket, but that was about it. He thought it preposterous: the idea of fire and brimstone, that sinners went to Hell while everyone else went to Heaven. Sins seemed to be subjective. Oh, murder was bad, and harming others was too, but was that comparable to someone who’d nicked a candy bar from the corner store when they were nine years old? Because if it was, Linus was destined for Hell given the Crunchie bar he’d slipped into his pocket and consumed late at night while hiding under his comforter.

When he’d become old enough to understand the power of the word no, he hadn’t had to go to church after that. No, he’d told Mother, no, I don’t think I want to go.

She’d been upset, of course. She worried about his soul, telling him that he was going to go on a path from which he wouldn’t be able to return. There would be drugs and booze and girls, and she would be there to pick up the pieces because that’s what a mother did (and, he thought, to tell him I told you so).

But, as it turned out, drugs were never a problem, and while Linus did enjoy a glass of wine with dinner once a month, it never turned into more than that.

And as for girls, his mother needn’t have worried. By then, Linus had already noticed how his skin had tingled when his seventeen-year-old neighbor, Timmy Wellington, mowed the lawn without his shirt on. No, girls weren’t going to bring about Linus Baker’s downfall.

So no, Linus hadn’t been of the religious sort at all.

Granted, that was before he knew the Antichrist was a six-year-old on Marsyas Island. For the first time in his life, Linus wished he had a crucifix or a Bible or something with which to protect himself should Lucy decide he needed a sacrifice in order to come into his full powers.

It certainly didn’t help when he passed Phee and Talia in the garden, both of them watching every step he took toward the main house. “Dead man walkin’,” Talia intoned in a flat voice. “We got a dead man walkin’ here.”

Phee covered up her laughter with a cough.

“Good afternoon,” he said stiffly.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Baker,” Phee and Talia said sweetly, though Linus knew better.

They whispered behind him as he reached the porch to the main house. He glanced back at them, and they waved cheekily.

Oddly, he found himself struggling against a smile at the sight of them.

He scowled instead.

He walked inside the house. He heard Ms. Chapelwhite singing in the kitchen. She’d warmed up to him considerably ever since their trip to the beach. And by that, he meant she acknowledged his presence with a nod that almost seemed cordial rather than perfunctory.

He closed the door behind him and heard a chirp coming from the couch in front of the fireplace. He looked down to see a scaly tail sticking out from underneath. “Hello, Theodore,” he said.

The tail disappeared, and Theodore stuck his head out, tongue flicking. He chirped again, this time a question. Linus didn’t need to speak wyvern to understand what he was asking for. “I already gave you one this morning. The more you get, the less you appreciate their worth.” He felt a little silly, given that plastic buttons were worth nothing at all, but it still felt important to impart such a lesson.

Theodore sighed morosely and disappeared back under the couch, grumbling to himself.

He walked up the stairs, the wood creaking ominously under his weight. The sconces on the walls appeared to flicker, and Linus told himself it was just because the house was old, and the wiring probably could use some upkeep. He made a mental note to ask in his report about the status of funding to the Marsyas Orphanage. Mr. Parnassus had seemed dismissive at the idea of funding, but Linus thought he had to be mistaken.