“The cellar,” Sal said quietly.
A flash of memory—screaming until his voice was hoarse, fire raging around him, smoke thick and noxious—and he didn’t push it away. He let it settle, gave it room to breathe, and though he felt the low thrum of decades-old anger, it smoldered rather than burned. The children didn’t know everything about his time on the island, but they knew enough. “Yes, the cellar. However, it wasn’t just that. It was this house. The island. The people in charge who thought they knew what was best for the rest of us. They didn’t.”
“But you still came back here,” Talia said.
“I did,” Arthur agreed. “Because I believed—and still do—that places, just like people, can hold power over you if you let them. Unearned power that gives them the right to decide how others should be treated simply because of who they are. Do you know what generational trauma is?”
“It’s when one group of people goes through something bad,” Sal said. “And then it affects the next generations too.”
“Yes, Sal. That’s correct. Perhaps it’s missing a bit of the nuance behind it, but for purposes of this discussion, it’s enough.” He looked across the table at Linus, who smiled warmly and nodded. “I wasn’t treated right when I was a child, but I was far from the only one. You have all experienced it for yourselves, in one form or another. I wish I could take that from you, but I can’t. And I don’t know if I would have the right, even if I could. You are more than the sum of your parts, but your past is still that: yours. I wouldn’t presume to take something from you that you might not want to give up, even if it’s painful to think about. I want to do the next best thing: use my voice to bring attention not only to this island, but to others who might not have found their home yet.”
“Are you going to talk about us?” Phee asked.
“I am,” Arthur said. “Not in too many specifics, but I think it’s important for people to hear just how far each of you has come. But take heart, my children, and know that your secrets are safe.”
“He wants to brag about you,” Helen said. “He’s just too modest to call it as such.”
Arthur snorted. “Yes, I suppose that’s what it is. I do want to brag about each of you. Sal’s words. Chauncey as a bellhop. Lucy being an expert in all things music. Phee with her trees, and Talia with her garden. I bet no other wyvern has a hoard as magnificent as Theodore’s.”
“We are pretty amazing,” Chauncey agreed. “You have my permission to tell them that I ink now.”
“Noted,” Arthur said dryly. “But this isn’t just about me or even us. It’s about the wider magical world, and what we want going forward. The changes that must be made. The laws that must be repealed to make way for a world where anyone and everyone has a chance to be free to do with their lives what they wish.”
“That sounds like a lot of work,” Talia said, tugging the end of her beard, something she did when she was thinking hard.
“It does,” Arthur said. “Because it will be.” He looked at each of them in turn. “I won’t lie to you. The road ahead will not be smooth. No matter what I—we say, there will always be those who refuse to accept the truth. They surround themselves with like-minded people, and it creates an echo chamber that’s nigh on impossible to escape. A feedback loop that never ends. We must—”
“Aren’t we doing the same?” Sal asked suddenly, causing everyone to look at him. He winced a little, started to slouch in his seat, but stopped before he could get too far. Instead of trying to make himself as small as possible, he sat upright, squaring his shoulders.
“Explain, Sal, if you please.”
Sal looked down at his plate, picking up a fork and pushing around the remains of his breakfast. “We’re surrounded by like-minded people. We all want the same thing, or something close to it. Isn’t that an echo chamber? How does that make us any different?”
“Excellent,” Arthur said, and Sal flushed, lips quirking. “I don’t think I’ve told you today how impressed I am by you. You are correct, which is exactly why I need to take our truth out of this house and into the ears of the people we don’t trust to hear it yet. Even then, I prefer to think of standing before a vast lake on a windless day: the surface smooth until one of us—say, you, Sal—picks up a stone and tosses it into the water. What happens then?”
“It causes ripples,” Phee said.
“Yes,” Arthur said. “And what if you, Phee, picked up your own stone and threw it in along with Sal? And the rest of you did the same? The ripples would bounce off each other, spreading in new directions, growing as more people toss their stones in. And if we keep on doing it, who knows how far the ripples could reach in the end?”
Sal nodded. “We keep on throwing stones until someone listens.”
“I don’t know why we just don’t throw stones at them,” Talia muttered. “Seems to be a waste of a good rock if you ask me.”
“Because violence is never the answer,” Arthur said.
Talia smiled sweetly. “But it can be the question.”
“It can,” Arthur allowed. “But I believe the greatest weapon we have at our disposal is our voices. And I am going to use my voice for you, and for me. Hate is loud. We are louder.”
“What if they don’t listen?” Phee asked. “What if they don’t care what you have to say? What if they come here and try and take us away again?”
“They wouldn’t get very far,” Zoe said, the flowers in her hair opening and closing. “The island belongs to me as much as I belong to it. Should anyone try and come here with the thought of removing anyone from their home, they’re going to have a rude awakening.”
Arthur nodded. “And we have to try because if we don’t, no one else will.”
He did not miss the surreptitious glance exchanged between Helen and Zoe.
Theodore clicked and growled, tongue snaking out across his lips, eyes bright.
Arthur closed his eyes and took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. When he opened his eyes again, he found everyone watching him, waiting for his answer. He smiled gently and said, “No, Theodore. I don’t believe it will affect the petition for adoption.”
“Because you want to be our dad,” Chauncey said.
Out of the mouths of babes. “I do,” Arthur said. “More than anything in the world.”
“It’s going to be on the radio?” Phee asked.
“It is,” Arthur said. “And I know you’ll want to listen, but I’m not so sure that’s a good idea.”
“Why?” Talia asked. “If you’re going to talk about us, we should probably listen to make sure you describe my garden right. Make sure you mention my begonias. I’m awfully proud of them.”
“As you should be,” Linus said, glancing at Arthur, who nodded. “But these things can be … complicated. Some of the questions Arthur will be asked might seem unfair, or even rude. While Arthur and I are expecting this, it won’t make things any easier.” He smiled. “And if all goes well, we’ll bring someone back with us.”
“David,” Sal said.
Talia rolled her eyes. “Of course it’s another boy. So many penises in this house.”
“I don’t have a penis,” Chauncey said. “It’s more like a cloaca.”
