“We can worry about tomorrow, or we can dance. I know what I want.”
Linus watched him for a moment. Then, “Who am I to refuse such an offer?”
Arthur pulled him close, hands on Linus’s hips. Linus put his own hands over Arthur’s shoulders, fingers in the back of his hair. They began to sway back and forth, feet shuffling on green carpet. Leaning his forehead against Linus’s, Arthur whispered, “Let them listen to what joy sounds like. Maybe they’ll learn a thing or two.”
FOUR
Bandycross stood ominously before them, a Gothic revival building made of darkened stone and constructed in the latter part of the eighteenth century. Two towers rose on either side of the pointed gable, and a layered archivolt sat above the massive double doors. The rose window above the archivolt was made of stained glass, a five-pointed star at its center. The building was beautiful and menacing at once, low curls of fog crawling along the streets and sidewalks.
Arthur and Linus stood opposite Bandycross, watching the gaggle of reporters gathering on the front steps, most of them holding either a camera or a microphone in addition to an umbrella. There were at least two dozen of them, but they were outnumbered by something Arthur did not expect.
In the streets, blocking traffic, a crowd of people from all walks of life. The old, the young, magical and human. They held signs lambasting the proceedings, and as Arthur and Linus looked on, a chant picked up. “Magical rights are human rights! Magical rights are human rights!” Cameras clicked and flashed, reporters shouted questions that went unanswered as the crowd yelled and marched in a wide circle. Beyond them, rows of barricades lined with police holding back counter-protesters spewing filth in the form of jeers, teeth bared in furious snarls. They, too, held signs, some displaying that old chestnut SEE SOMETHING, SAY SOMETHING.
“We could try and get in through the back,” Linus said, sounding worried. “We have time.”
Arthur shook his head. “I won’t hide, Linus. To do so might give the notion that I’m ashamed. I am anything but. No. We will walk in through the front doors with our heads held high and prove to them that we will not be intimidated.”
“But what if someone means you harm?”
“Then they will see what I’m capable of,” Arthur said in a hardened voice. “I am a child no longer. I can handle myself.”
“I know,” Linus said, sounding rather helpless. “But I don’t want anything to happen to you.”
Arthur said, “Shortly after you came to the island, you rightly took me to task for keeping the children from the village. You said something I’ve never forgotten: that the longer the children stay hidden away on the island, the harder it would become for them. That the island wasn’t forever, and that world outside was waiting.”
“That certainly sounds like me,” Linus said begrudgingly. “And I assume you’re taking the point I was making about the children and applying it to yourself.”
“I am,” Arthur agreed. “When we live in fear, it controls us. Every decision we make is smothered by it. I refuse to live like that any longer. I have every right to walk in through those front doors, same as anyone else.”
“You do,” Linus said. “And I wouldn’t dream of taking that away from you. My apologies if it sounded like that’s what I meant. I’m just…”
“Worried.”
“Yes.”
Arthur reached over and straightened Linus’s tie, smoothing it down the front of his chest. He had on a black suit—the first time he’d worn one since leaving DICOMY permanently. His tie was a lovely shade of reddish-orange, the color of fire. It was not lost on Arthur the reason Linus had picked that tie in particular: a little sign, a burst of flame in the muted gray of this rain-drenched city.
Arthur, too, wore a suit. His coat and trousers were navy blue, his dress shirt covered in blooms that reminded him of Talia’s garden. The top plastic button at his throat had been replaced by a brass one, sewn on with care. His tie was a wonderful shade of green, not unlike a certain bellhop. His shortened trousers revealed gray socks with little fluffy Pomeranians on them. Pinned to his shirt, a small gold leaf plucked from a tree on the island grown by a forest sprite. On his jacket, a pocket square, black with little red devil horns on it.
“Just … be careful,” Linus said. “Listen. Watch. Don’t give more away than you get in return. And for the love of all that’s holy, do not mention the animal skulls Lucy collects, especially to the reporters. Professionalism, Arthur. It’s all about professionalism, even if we have to fudge the truth a bit.”
Arthur kissed his forehead. “Noted. Come. The sooner we arrive, the sooner we’ll be finished.”
With Linus at his side, Arthur held his head high as he crossed the street, stepping around the standing puddles on the road, fastening the buttons of his suit coat. A heavyset man with curly hair and crooked teeth saw them first. He stood on the third step, an ancient camera hanging around his neck by a leather strap. His gaze moved around the crowd, landed on Arthur, stuttered, then moved swiftly to Linus. His eyes widened as he looked back at Arthur. “Arthur Parnassus!” he yelled, nearly falling as he stumbled down the steps. His camera came out, and flash, flash, flash. “Sir! Is there any truth to the rumors that the Antichrist is plotting the end of the world?”
The effect on the crowd was instantaneous. A brief moment of silence—as if all the world held its breath—and then an explosion of noise as everyone turned toward them—reporters, protestors, counter-protestors, all shouting at once, microphones and signs raised.
Arthur and Linus were swarmed, people reaching out, touching Arthur’s shoulders, his arms, his hands, his back. Linus squawked angrily as someone bumped into him hard, knocking him forward. Arthur managed to keep him upright as they pushed their way toward Bandycross, questions being shouted at them from all directions. Beyond them, the counter-protestors hurled vitriol, screaming “SEE SOMETHING, SAY SOMETHING!” over and over again.
They managed to reach the steps of Bandycross, climbing halfway before Arthur stopped, turning around. He held up his hands as cameras flashed. Linus stood next to him, their arms brushing together.
“I’ll keep this brief,” Arthur said, raising his voice. “I am honored to have been invited to Bandycross today to speak of my history with the Department in Charge of Magical—”
“Where is the Antichrist?” someone shouted. Though he couldn’t see who it was, it sounded like the man who’d spotted them first. “Can you promise he’s not going to split the planet open like an egg?”
“Oh,” Arthur said. “I highly doubt it. You see, he’s still learning how to crack chicken eggs properly, so I expect it’ll be quite some time before he’s ready for planetary destruction.”
Every face stared up at him in shock.
“Remember what I told you about your sense of humor?” Linus hissed at him. “Now is not the time to try and be funny!”
“Try,” Arthur huffed. “Ouch.” He raised his voice once more. “That was a poor attempt at humor. My apologies. To answer your question, Earth will not be destroyed today.”
“Or anytime in the future,” Linus added loudly.
“Too right,” Arthur said. He saw a girl of perhaps ten or eleven standing in the crowd between a man and a woman who appeared to be her parents. In her hands, she held a glittery sign that read MAGIC MAKES THE WORLD BEAUTIFUL. She waved shyly at him, and he winked in return, causing her to grin widely.
“Dana Jergins,” a woman said, stretching her microphone toward him, her perfect teeth on full display in a shark’s grin. “The Daily View. Mr. Parnassus, why are you here today?”
He leaned forward until his mouth was inches from the microphone. “I was invited.”
The skin under her right eye twitched, but the skilled facade held. “And why were you invited? Out of everyone in the world, why you?”
“That’s a question for those sending the invitation, don’t you think?”
She wasn’t to be deterred. Even as the other reporters began to shout their questions, her voice rose above them, pointed, unignorable. “Is it because you’re a phoenix who has found himself in possession of some of the most dangerous children ever known?”
The other reporters fell silent.
