“He did not,” Linus said, sounding just as shocked as Arthur felt.
“He did,” Helen said gleefully. “Didn’t know the old coot had it in him. Should have seen the looks on the reporters’ faces. You’d have thought they’d never been told no before.”
“We’re not alone,” Arthur said, voice strong, sure. “Let them send their inspector. They will find this is not a dark and dangerous place, but a home. And those reporters may yet prove useful, should we require their services. Many things to consider, but for now, I’m feeling a bit peckish. Shall we?”
NINE
The following Monday afternoon—with only two days remaining until the arrival of the inspector—Arthur Parnassus sat in his bedroom in a high-backed chair, one leg folded over the other, his hands in his lap. Through the open window, he could hear Talia muttering to her plants in the garden. Every now and then, the guttural tones of Gnomish changed to singing, a low hum that rose and fell. In the background, the crash of waves and the calls of the birds over the cliffs.
Across from Arthur, in his own chair, Lucy lay upside down, his legs up the back, head hanging off the edge. He hadn’t yet spoken, arms folded across his chest, glaring at Arthur with red eyes.
“By my count, this is our sixty-sixth meeting,” Arthur said, breaking the heavy silence. “Strange how quickly time passes when you aren’t paying attention to it.”
Lucy rolled his eyes and said nothing.
“Are we going to sit on the chair as it’s meant to be sat upon, or not today?”
Lucy yawned. Not today, it seemed.
“How are the spiders in your brain?”
Lucy shrugged.
“Ah, lost your voice, have you? I do hope you find it. I happen to like it when you talk.”
Lucy made a rude sound with his tongue between his teeth.
Arthur tilted his head. “Something on your mind?”
Lucy rolled over, climbing to his knees. He pointed a finger at Arthur and growled, “You lied to me.”
“That’s a very serious accusation,” Arthur said.
“You told me I didn’t have to be a monster like everyone thought. That I could do anything I wanted.” He sat back down on his heels, his fierce glower trained on Arthur.
“I did say that, yes. And it’s just as true today.”
Lucy scoffed. “Then why did you tell David he could be a monster if he wanted? Why should one person get to be one way, and another can’t? How is that fair?”
“You’re right, it’s not,” Arthur said. “And I apologize for that, Lucy. It presented the notion of a double standard, and that wasn’t my intent.” He mulled over his own words for a moment. “But none of your ire should be toward David. He’s innocent in all of this, and I won’t have you—”
“If he’s so innocent, then why does he want to scare people? I do, too, but everyone says I’m not innocent. Why’d you tell him one thing but told me something else?”
“Fair,” Arthur said carefully. “And something I’d like to discuss with you, if you’re up for it.”
“So you can trick me?” Lucy said with a scowl. “Make me think everything is fine when it’s not?”
“Have I ever done that?”
Lucy didn’t respond for a long while. Eventually, he slumped farther in his chair and muttered, “First time for everything.”
“I’m sorry that I caused you to feel that way,” Arthur said. “It was certainly not my intention, but it happened regardless.” He folded his hands in front of him on the desk. “I think that out of all of us, David will look to you the most.”
Lucy looked over at him. “Really? Why?”
“Because you’re kin, in a way. Not by blood, nor am I speaking about brotherhood, though that’s part of it. I see you as two sides of the same coin. I think you’ll find that David looks to you to see what’s right and what is wrong.”
“Oh,” Lucy said, face scrunching up. “That’s … weird. Still doesn’t mean I forgive you.”
“I didn’t think it would,” Arthur assured him. “I’ve done something you think is unreasonable, and you have a point. Which brings me back to the coin. As I said, two sides of the same coin, and yet, you have your differences. David is a yeti. You are not.”
“I’m the Antichrist,” Lucy said.
“You are,” Arthur said. And though it worried him immensely, he didn’t stop himself from saying what was necessary. “If you’d like to reclaim that title, you can. We’ve talked about not using that word, given the connotations behind it, but I would be remiss if I didn’t say that regardless of what others think, the title is yours to do with as you wish.”
“What’s stopping me from changing how others think?”
Gooseflesh sprouted across the back of Arthur’s neck, cold and prickly. “Expound.”
Lucy sat up once more, his tiny arms waving wildly. “People are scared of us. How we look. What we can do. They hate us because of it. If I wanted to, I could change all their minds just like that.” He snapped once. “Make them believe like they should, that we’re not scary and that we can do whatever we want.”
“You could do that?” Arthur asked slowly.
“Think so,” Lucy said, tapping his chin. “I think if I really tried, I could do anything I wanted to. Heck, I’m even trying to figure out how to teleport things, like rocks or a full-grown manatee.”
“Let’s continue with that thought,” Arthur said. “Say you do exactly as you described. You force your will upon an unsuspecting populace. You tell yourself it’s for the greater good, and it may very well be. Does that make it right?”
Lucy stared at Arthur with ancient eyes. “It’d make things easier.”
