“And you shouldn’t tell a girl she should shave her beard,” Lucy said. “Especially when it’s none of your business.” He glanced at Linus. “Also, I’m sorry we made fun of your mustache when you grew it. You’re not like Miss Marblemaw.”
Linus chuckled. “It’s not quite the same, but thank you, Lucy. That was very kind of you. Now, who wants dessert? I heard a rumor there’s cobbler. Peach, in fact.”
“What’s a guy gotta do to get a courtesy point around here?” Chauncey harrumphed. “Grow two armpit hairs? That’s impossible.”
On Thursday afternoon—the sky a sheet of clouds that promised a good soaking later on, the sea flat, calm, reflecting the stone gray from above—Sal got his turn. Shortly after lunch, Calliope began meowing loudly, rubbing against his legs in an insistent manner. It did not take one versed in feline to know what she wanted. Calliope, for how evil she could be, loved fiercely, and while Linus was her person, it could be easily argued that extended to Sal as well. The first time he shifted in front of her into his Pomeranian form, she’d frozen, ears flat against her skull as she hissed, tail taut. But then her nose had started twitching, and she’d craned her neck toward him. She’d blinked once, twice, and then pounced on him, cleaning his ears. When she’d finished, she’d climbed off him and nudged him toward the front door. For the next three hours, she’d tried to teach Sal how to hunt, crouched low in the grass as a bird flitted in the low-hanging branches. They didn’t get the bird, but that didn’t seem to bother Calliope. The entire way back to the house, she’d chattered away, undoubtedly telling Sal he’d do better next time.
After that, barely a week would go by without Calliope wanting Sal to shift. Though she seemed to prefer his human form (after all, a Pomeranian did not have a lap on which she could sit comfortably), Calliope seemed to think Sal was her child, and woe betide anyone who tried to interfere with what she considered hers.
Unfortunately for Miss Marblemaw, she learned this firsthand.
Sal’s shifted form was a thing of beauty: small, the size of a decorative throw pillow, with a thick coat of off-white around his head, changing into a rusty orange that extended down his back and legs. His whiskers were black, his eyes dark and intelligent. Discarding his clothes in a pile on the kitchen counter, he began to chase after Calliope. They ran through the house, Arthur grinning at the sound of toenails clicking along the floor as they went up and down the stairs, Sal barking happily.
Their game of tag lasted a good twenty minutes before it ended quite dramatically.
Arthur was putting away the last of the lunch dishes when he heard Miss Marblemaw shout, “Are you chasing that poor cat? You there! Leave her alone!”
He hurried from the kitchen, only to find Sal and Calliope sitting on the stairs, six steps up. Miss Marblemaw stood in front of them, glowering. Calliope’s head was cocked, eyes narrowed. Sal was panting, little pink tongue hanging out. As Miss Marblemaw reached for Calliope, he began to growl, quivering lips pulled back over sharp teeth. She jerked her hand away. Sal went back to panting, and Arthur thought he might be smiling.
Miss Marblemaw extended her hand again slowly.
Sal growled.
She pulled it back.
He panted and smiled.
Then she made a fatal mistake. Instead of going for Calliope, she went for Sal, saying, “You should be outside when you’re like this. Dogs in the house! Filthy creatures, their noses always buried in trash or their own behinds. And traumatizing this poor, innocent cat? No, no, no.”
Arthur said, “I really wouldn’t do that if I were—”
Too late. The moment her hands got within six inches of Sal, Calliope proved herself to be the protector Arthur had always thought she was: she launched herself at Miss Marblemaw, claws on all four paws extended. She landed on Miss Marblemaw’s front, climbing her way up to the inspector’s head. Once Calliope was face-to-face with Miss Marblemaw, she brought a paw back and slapped her, leaving three small scratches on her cheek. Miss Marblemaw’s eyes widened as Calliope leaned close, a low and dangerous mroooowr crawling from her mouth, teeth on full display.
“Miss Marblemaw,” Arthur said in a hushed voice. “Whatever you do, do not look like you’re challenging her.”
Miss Marblemaw nodded tightly. Then she smiled and said, “I’m not challenging you. I just happen to know best when it comes to—”
Wrong thing to say. Calliope’s paws were a blur as she attacked, Miss Marblemaw shrieking and spinning around as she tried to pull the cat off her. Despite her best efforts, the inspector proved to be no match against a cat who had taken umbrage at her views on dogs and their place in a home.
For his part, Sal proved to be an exceptional teammate, going to the front door and pulling on a piece of fabric Arthur had tied to the handle for the times when his son wanted to go outside and was in his shifted form. The door swung open, and Calliope battered Miss Marblemaw until she stumbled onto the porch. Mission accomplished, Calliope jumped off her, landing perfectly on the ground. She stepped back inside the house and sat shoulder to shoulder with Sal.
Arthur stood above them in the doorway, looking out to Miss Marblemaw. “Leaving already? I do hope it’s nothing we said.”
Face scratched up, her mustache missing more than a few hairs, Miss Marblemaw said, “That thing isn’t a cat! It’s a demon spawn on four legs and I won’t—”
“Did someone say demon spawn?”
Miss Marblemaw whirled around to find Lucy standing behind her. She put her hand to her throat. “Where did you come from?”
“Hell,” Lucy said. “What happened to your face?” He leaned over, peering around her. “Oh. I see. You messed with Sal. Yeah, you shouldn’t do that. Calliope doesn’t like it when people do that.”
“Rabid!” Miss Marblemaw said. “For all I know, that cat is rabid, and I—”
“Should probably seek medical attention immediately, just to be safe,” Arthur said. “Luckily for you, the village has a wonderful health center that treats everyone, regardless of whether they are magical. I’ve heard the course of injections after a suspected rabies attack is not a pleasant one, so if you must cut your visit short, we’d understand.”
“You won’t be rid of me quite so easily,” she said. “And if I did so, they would come for the cat.” She grinned as a trickle of blood slid down her cheek. “Do you know how they test for rabies? They take the head.”
“Wow,” Lucy said, impressed. “What are you going to do without a head? Walk into stuff? Yeah, I bet you’ll walk into stuff. If it helps, I can take your head right now so you won’t have to sit in a waiting room. Here, just let me—”
Miss Marblemaw hurried toward the guesthouse, glancing balefully over her shoulder. “You haven’t heard the last of this!”
Calliope purred as loudly as Arthur had ever heard her.
It had begun with Lucy; he could see that now. It had never been about Arthur himself, or the other children, not really. Lucy was the ultimate prize: a weapon without equal, a tool and nothing more.
It had begun with Lucy; therefore, it seemed fitting that it ended with him too.
On Friday afternoon—classes over for the week, the weekend brimming with the whispers of adventure—Lucy had his wildest dreams come true.
He got to make sentient mud men.
Arthur sat in his office next to Zoe. Across from them, Miss Marblemaw, finally accorded the meeting she’d seemed so interested in upon introduction to the island’s sprite. It was not, in Arthur’s approximation, going well for Miss Marblemaw, seeing as how her opening salvo had been to once again stress the importance of registering with DICOMA.
Granted, Arthur wasn’t quite paying attention to Miss Marblemaw, though through no fault of his own. Zoe had arrived before the inspector and proceeded to drop a bombshell on Arthur. To say he was stunned would have been inadequate. Zoe’s secret—the plan she’d hinted at more than once—did not defy logic; quite the opposite. It made so much sense that Arthur couldn’t believe he’d never considered it before. But here, now, sitting next to Zoe, he had to keep himself from laughing hysterically.
“No,” she said. “And it’ll be no when you ask tomorrow, and the day after that, ad infinitum. You have no jurisdiction here.”
“I am an inspector for DICOMY,” Miss Marblemaw said. “I think you’ll find that my jurisdiction extends further than you imagine. But let’s not get hung up on pesky little details. I have questions. First, I understand that you don’t reside in the main house. From what I’ve been able to gather, you have a separate home that the children visit whenever they wish. Is that correct?”
