“What on earth is going on here?” Linus asked, causing all the children to jump. David whirled around, claws receding as he adopted the demeanor of one who had absolutely not been caught doing something they probably shouldn’t.
Calliope immediately dropped the act, meowing at Linus. She hopped off the step, gave David a wide berth, and then wound her way between Linus’s legs, the picture of innocence.
“Yes, yes,” Linus said, reaching down to scratch behind her right ear. “I’m happy to see you too.” He stood upright. “David?”
David scowled at him. “You didn’t tell me you had a cat.”
“Is that an issue?” Arthur asked. “Are you allergic, or do you—”
“I’m not allergic! Cats are food.”
“Cats are most certainly not food,” Linus said sternly. “Especially this cat.”
“Linus gets upset when we try and eat Calliope,” Talia explained as the others nodded around her.
Arthur cleared his throat.
“Also, eating cats is wrong,” Talia added. More nodding.
“Much better,” Arthur said. “And they’re right, David. Calliope is as much a part of this family as anyone else, and we do not eat family members.”
“Except when they’re pine cones,” Chauncey said with a wisdom beyond his years.
“Exactly,” Linus said. “Except when they’re— Wait, what?”
“I wasn’t going to eat her,” David said. “I was just trying to … make her go … near my … mouth.”
“I knew he’d be a perfect fit,” Helen whispered to Zoe.
“New house rule,” Arthur announced. “No one can eat anyone without their permission, both spoken aloud and written down in a binding contract. Since Calliope is unable to write—given her lack of opposable thumbs—unfortunately, she is not on offer.”
“David?” Linus asked. “Can you abide by this rule?”
David glared at Calliope, who had apparently decided his existence did not matter to her in the least as she turned away from him, sat down, and began to clean herself with her paw. “Yeah, yeah, no eating cats.”
“Splendid,” Arthur said, clapping his hands. “Perhaps now would be the right time to show David his surprise.”
“What surprise?” David asked, momentarily forgetting that he had almost lost a war against a most capable feline.
“We’ll show you,” Sal said, Theodore watching from his shoulder, head cocked. “But you have to close your eyes first.”
David looked at each of them in turn, quick glances that swept the entryway. For a moment, Arthur thought it was too much too soon, but then David took a deep breath and closed his eyes. “Like this?”
Trust, Arthur knew, was a treasure effortlessly stolen, often without rhyme or reason. And this particular treasure was a fragile thing, a piece of thin glass easily broken. But here was David, surrounded by strangers in an unfamiliar place, attempting to pick up his pieces and put them back into a recognizable shape. Whatever else he was, David’s bravery in the face of seemingly insurmountable odds proved yet again what Arthur had always believed: magic existed in many forms, some extraordinary, some simple acts of goodwill and trust, small though they might be.
“Perfect,” Phee said. “We’ll help you walk to where you need to go, and I promise we won’t make you bump into anything.”
“Okay,” David whispered, flinching when Talia took his hand, leading him farther into the house. The other children followed along closely—Sal and Theodore bringing up the rear—pointing out obstacles in the way, Lucy running ahead of them to move a chair so Talia and David would have a clear path.
“We’ll go see about supper,” Zoe said.
Such a funny little thing, showing a boy his new room, and yet Arthur was as excited as the children were. Perhaps it was because he remembered how he’d felt the first time coming to the island, scared out of his mind, unsure about everything. If he’d been extended a welcoming hand instead of a raised fist, how might things have turned out differently? Would he even be where he was now?
They found the children in the hallway off the sitting room, gathered in front of a door that had not existed last year. It stood sturdy in its frame, painted a soft blue, with an iron doorknob. Affixed to the middle of the door, a wooden sign with a single word carved into it: DAVID.
“Okay,” Talia said, still holding David’s hand. “We’re going to count backwards from three, and then you can open your eyes. Ready? Three.” As the others joined in on the countdown—Linus and Arthur included—Calliope decided she was bored with them and trotted down the hall, tail twitching as she disappeared around the corner.
“Two. One!”
David opened his eyes, blinking rapidly. He stared up at the sight before him and said, “You named a door after me?”
“That’s exactly right,” Sal said with a solemn nod. “Surprise. You’re welcome.”
“Oh. Thank … you? I’ve never had anyone name a door after me before.” He smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes which were once again wary.
“Why don’t you open the door?” Arthur suggested. “I have a feeling there’s a little more behind it that might help allay any confusion.”
David bit the inside of his cheek before nodding. He reached toward the doorknob—slowly, carefully, as if he thought it’d explode. When it did not, in fact, explode, he relaxed slightly and twisted the knob. The door opened silently—a wave of ice-cold air washing over them—revealing a set of stairs that descended into darkness.
Except it wasn’t completely dark, was it? No. Because the ceiling shone with an ethereal light, wavy swirls of green and blue and gold and violet. It’d taken time and much effort to get it exactly right. Glow-in-the-dark paint, studying photographs, trying to match it as best they could.
Before Arthur could wonder if David recognized it for what it was, the yeti said, “Is that … is that the aurora borealis?”
“Yeah,” Sal said, leaning over so he and Theodore could see the fruits of their labor. “Arthur got us a book with pictures of it after we asked what else we could do. We used it as a template to make it look as realistic as possible. All of this is new. The door. The paint. The stairs. We’ve spent the last couple of months working on it.”
“Where do the stairs go?” David asked.
“You should find out,” Linus said. “There should be a switch just inside the— Here, hold on.” The children moved as he reached through the door. A moment later, warm light shone down on the stairs, the aurora borealis dimming.
