“Possession?” Arthur repeated, eyes narrowing. “They aren’t things. They are people, just like you and me. And they are no more a danger than any other child in the world.”
“That’s not quite true, though, is it?” Dana said. “Other children can’t do what those in your care can. Our readers deserve to know what you’re doing to keep the magical youth contained.”
“Contained?” Linus said. “Contained? Do you hear yourself? My God, what is wrong with all of you?” He puffed out his chest, glaring down at the reporters. “You should thank your lucky stars that Arthur Parnassus agreed to even be here. He’s already done more than you ever will. And you can quote me on that. Good day.” He began to turn toward the Bandycross entrance.
The reporters instantly shouted more questions.
He looked over his shoulder, mouth curved in a bland smile, and said, “Good. Day.” Then he pulled Arthur up the stairs, muttering under his breath about nosy busybodies who knew nothing about anything.
“Ah, professionalism,” Arthur teased, trying to settle his nerves. “A lost art.”
“Shut it, you,” Linus grumbled. “They were frothing at the mouth. It’s only going to get worse from here.”
The interior of Bandycross was just as impressive as the exterior had proven to be. The vaulted ceilings of the lobby were high, thick wooden beams crisscrossing at least fifty feet above a cream stone-tiled floor. Rain pattered against stained glass, and Arthur wondered what it would look like in sunlight, a kaleidoscope of fractured color. It felt impressive, but artificially so, as if anyone who stepped into this great hall was supposed to be intimidated by all the pomp and circumstance. Instead, it left Arthur as cold as the walls and floors appeared.
Rows of people in suits and dresses and fancy hats stood in lines before security guards situated behind high wooden desks that set them at least a foot and a half above those whose credentials they were inspecting. The lines appeared to be moving at a good clip with a mixture of reporters and the public, all of whom had earned a place at the hearing by lottery. According to Linus, there was great interest in the proceedings, and they’d supposedly had tens of thousands of entries into the lottery. All told, Linus expected an audience of hundreds, a mixture of the public, the press, and those with official government positions. Arthur understood why; it wasn’t every day that a magical being was invited to speak against government programs designed for magical beings.
They were deciding which line to stand in—Linus saying they couldn’t wait long, as time was already growing short—when a nervous-looking Desi woman appeared before them wearing a plaid skirt and a black blazer, her inky-black hair pulled back into a loose ponytail. She held thick folders in her arms, papers sticking out, the edges bent. “Arthur Parnassus? Linus Baker?”
“Yes?” Linus asked warily.
“My name is Larmina,” she said. “I’ve been asked to bring you inside.”
Linus frowned. “And who’s doing the asking?”
She glanced around, head turning as if on a swivel before she leaned forward, dropping her voice. “A friend.”
“Interesting,” Arthur said. “I would have thought us without friends here.”
Larmina blanched. “Not all of us are…” She shook her head. “It doesn’t matter. Please. If you’ll follow me, I’ll take you to where you’re supposed to be.”
Arthur studied her for a moment. For her part, she didn’t look away. “Your lead, then.”
Relieved, she said, “Thank you. I promise it’ll be worth your time.” With that, she spun on her flats and marched toward a security guard near the far right wall. The young guard had no one in his line, with a sign before his desk that read: VIP ONLY.
They reached the desk right as Larmina said, “They’re with me.”
The guard’s eyes widened, his bushy eyebrows rising to his hairline as he leaned forward over the desk. “Is that…”
“Yes.”
The man seemed to have a hard time tearing his gaze away from Arthur. “Are you sure about this, Lar? If they find out, it’s both our arses on the line.”
“Duncan,” Larmina said. “We talked about this. They won’t. Let us in. We don’t have much time.”
“I know, I know.” He waved them through. “You may pass. Stay with Larmina. She’ll show you where you need to be.”
Larmina led them farther into Bandycross, up a set of stairs, through an open doorway into a long hall with burnt-orange carpet and doors lining the walls. Nameplates sat next to each of the doors, bearing names Arthur recognized from the papers, politicians who made lofty promises without follow-through.
She stopped in front of a pair of golden elevator doors with guards on either side. She nodded at them as she pressed the button. Glancing down at the small gold watch on her wrist, she said, “Shouldn’t be long now.” She looked to Arthur, then, making sure he was watching, turned her gaze toward the guards, then back to Arthur. He touched the side of his nose in response.
A moment later, the doors opened with a flat chime. Larmina stepped inside, motioning for Arthur and Linus to follow. Once inside the elevator, Larmina pulled a chain from her blouse. Attached to the end was a small silver key, two inches in length, its teeth serrated. She put the key into a lock on the panel, twisting it before pressing a button without a number on it.
The elevator began to rise. The second floor, the third, the fourth, and Arthur was about to demand Larmina explain herself when she reached out again, this time slapping her hand against the large red button to the left of the panel. The elevator shuddered around them before groaning to a stop between the fourth and fifth floors.
Larmina said, “This is one of the few places in the entire building where we can speak without the risk of being overheard. Everything—including most elevators—is under surveillance. Cameras everywhere.”
“But not here?” Arthur asked, looking up at the ceiling. No cameras as far as he could tell.
“No,” she said. “This one is different. It goes to the Floor of Enigmatic Situations. No cameras, no listening devices. Hush-hush meetings occur there, out of sight, away from prying eyes. Privileged information, need to know only.”
“And yet here we are, stuck in an elevator,” Linus said.
“Because they would know,” Larmina said. “At least this way, we can pretend the elevator malfunctioned, and no one will be the wiser.”
Linus folded his arms. “I appreciate your … sensitivity to certain matters, but the fact remains, we don’t know you. You could be working for—”
“My wife is magic,” Larmina blurted, cheeks splotchy. “She can … It doesn’t matter what she can do.” A fierce pride filled her voice. “There’s no one like her. I would do anything for her.”
“Even work in a place like this,” Linus murmured.
“Especially work in a place like this,” Larmina retorted. She blanched. “Apologies. I’m—”
“No apologies necessary,” Linus said. “It wasn’t a slight against you, merely an observation.” He chuckled dryly. “One I know quite a bit about.”
“What is your wife’s name?” Arthur asked.
“Minnie,” Larmina said.
