Leaving their car doors open, the men didn’t approach. Instead, they formed a semicircle around Arthur, Linus, and the children, their arms behind their backs as they stood at parade rest. None of them spoke.
“What are they doing?” Chauncey asked, sounding worried. “Are they going to take us?”
“Let them try,” Phee said in a low voice.
“What is the meaning of this?” Linus demanded, stepping in front of the children. “Who are you?”
Silence, only broken by the sound of approaching engines, a persistent buzzing like a hive of furious wasps. In the shops around them, people peered out through the windows. Beyond the men, more people stepped off the sidewalk and stared in their direction, including the gaggle of reporters. They tried to get closer, only to have two of the men break off from the semicircle to stand in front of them, arms folded. The reporters shouted questions, but the men did not answer, nor did they move.
“You there!” Linus snapped, stepping toward the closest man. Arthur could see Linus’s reflection in the man’s sunglasses, his face stretched as if on the surface of a bubble. “Explain yourselves!”
Rather than answering, the man lifted a finger to his ear, waited a beat, then said, “Yes, ma’am. We have them.” He paused. Then, “Understood.” He dropped his hand and stared straight ahead.
“Now, see here,” Linus said sternly. “I don’t know who you think you are, but it’s quite rude to appear out of nowhere and harass citizens going about their day. I suggest you remove yourselves immediately.”
The man said nothing.
“Bloody gits,” Linus muttered, turning around and stomping back to the sidewalk. “Of all the— How dare they— We were going to the record shop! That’s it. We’ve done nothing wrong, and I refuse to allow anyone to suggest otherwise.” When he reached Arthur (still holding on to Lucy), he didn’t face the men surrounding them. Instead, he stood shoulder to shoulder with Arthur, facing the opposite direction. In a low voice he said, “It’s almost time.”
“I know,” Arthur murmured, the sounds of the engines getting louder and louder. “Still, I’m frightened.”
“I am too,” Linus said. “But we are not letting them win. We must have hope because—”
“Hope is the thing with feathers,” Arthur whispered.
Linus surprised him, then, and Arthur loved him more than he could put into words. “‘That perches in the soul and sings the tune without the words, and never stops—at all.’ Emily Dickinson. Yes, Arthur. It never stops.” He puffed out his chest. “You hear that?” he called to the men around them. “It. Never. Stops.”
The children gathered closer as the other vehicles approached, and Arthur could barely keep himself from snatching them all up and taking to the sky in a tornado of fire. David hid behind Sal and Theodore, both of them glaring at the men before them. Talia and Phee stood on either side of Chauncey, each holding one of his tentacles. Lucy lifted his head from Arthur’s shoulder, frowning. “Do you feel that?” he asked Arthur.
“What?” Arthur asked.
Lucy shook his head. “I don’t know. It’s … empty?”
Before Arthur could ask for clarification, the oncoming vehicles reached the intersection and stopped. At least a dozen in all, the sedans were uniform: black with silver door handles and little flags attached to the front on either side of the hood. Only one car was different: fifth in line, it was white with heavily tinted windows. A man wearing the same suit as the others climbed out of the driver’s seat and, without looking at them, went to the rear passenger door. He opened it, and a short, pale leg poked out, the foot wrapped in a sensible heel.
When Jeanine Rowder stood upright, blinking against the bright sunlight, Arthur felt the phoenix lift its head in his chest, eyes narrowed. While still not as strong as it’d been before the explosion above the island, it was champing at the bit to get at her, to blacken her skin until it cracked and broke off. Arthur won out, but barely. Rowder wasn’t dressed as if she were on vacation in a tropical paradise: instead, she wore a mauve pantsuit, her coat unbuttoned, revealing a white blouse underneath. Tilting her head toward the driver, she listened intently as he spoke quietly. When he finished, she didn’t reply, merely nodding her head.
The other passenger door opened, and Harriet Marblemaw climbed out. It appeared she had somehow freed her upper lip from the mustache Lucy had gifted her. In Arthur’s approximation, she’d done herself no favors.
“Booooo!” the children bellowed at the sight of her.
Marblemaw glared at them, her lip twitching into a sneer.
Rowder’s heels clicked and clacked against the pavement as she walked down the street past the vehicles. Her steps were careful; she moved as if she had all the time in the world, and the outcome had already been decided.
When she stepped out into the intersection and saw the reporters behind held back by two of her men, Rowder shook her head and sighed. “The press, Mr. Parnassus? Really? I would have thought you’d want nothing to do with them, especially after the coverage you received from the hearing.”
“Last I checked,” Arthur said evenly, “they’re allowed to gather same as anyone else. Unless, of course, the government has decided to interfere with journalistic freedom.”
More people came into the streets, pouring from the shops and the restaurants, all of them eyeing the government officials warily. Parents held their children close. Friends whispered behind their hands. Vacationers, residents, human and not, all gathering into a rumbling crowd. He recognized some, but not all: Merle, rubbing his dirty hands with an even dirtier rag. Martin Smythe—Helen’s nephew—who had once attempted to exorcise Lucy in a locked room, now glaring at the backs of the officials. Mr. Swanson, Chauncey’s boss and idol (a bellhop of great renown), followed by the hotel’s cleaning staff: the cooks, the concierge, the managers, the desk attendants, the maintenance workers. J-Bone, wearing a tie-dyed shirt with lettering on the front that proclaimed DON’T PANIC! IT’S ORGANIC. Employees of the businesses: the ice cream parlor, the restaurants, the bookstore, the library. The antique shop owner, the mechanics who’d once worked on the van after Talia accidentally grew flowers through the engine (“It’s performance art!”). Magical people: a family of banshees, their hair white as snow; two broonies, short, elf-like creatures with crinkly smiles and wizened eyes; a trio of naiads, water nymphs, towels wrapped around their torsos; a dryad, a slender, tall fellow made of aspen with a crown of yellow leaves that grew from branches not dissimilar to antlers. He carried a metal detector, along with a tote bag that read: BEACH BETTER HAVE MY MONEY.
Rowder eyed them all with barely disguised disdain. “Disperse!” she said loudly. “This is official government business. It does not concern you. Go about your day!”
“We are,” J-Bone called out. “This is the time of day when we all come outside and bask in the glory that is the village of Marsyas.”
“That’s right,” Mr. Swanson said, crossing his arms. An older, tall man with sharp eyes and white hair slicked back immaculately, the master bellhop cut an imposing figure. “Coming outside to enjoy everything our home has to offer. Isn’t that right, lads?”
His coworkers nodded behind him.
Merle spat on the ground. “And it’s our right to peacefully assemble where we see fit. It’s the law.”
Rowder’s eyes narrowed briefly before she smiled a politician’s smile: condescending, knowing, and more than a little smarmy. “If that’s how it’s going to be, fine.” Raising her voice so it carried over the crowd, she said, “My name is Jeanine Rowder. I am the interim head of the Departments in Charge of Magical Youth and Adults. I am here to complete the inspection of the Marsyas Island Orphanage. Please do keep in mind that if anyone decides to hinder me, they’ll be arrested immediately and charged with whatever I can think of, up to and including interfering with a government official, which carries a hefty fine and potential imprisonment.”
Silence, only interrupted by the calls of seabirds.
“Now then,” Rowder said, turning back toward Arthur, Linus, and the children. “Mr. Parnassus. Mr. Baker.” She tilted her head in an approximation of a bow. “I’ll make this as simple as I can.” She held out her hand, snapping her fingers. Marblemaw hurried toward her, pulling out a folder from her coat, handing it over. Rowder snatched it from her without acknowledgment. “In my hand, I hold an order. This order, based upon the report from Inspector Harriet Marblemaw and signed by me, mandates that you, upon receipt of said order, remand the children known as Lucifer, Talia, Chauncey, Phee, Theodore, and Sal into the custody of DICOMY.”
“No, thank you,” Chauncey said.
“If you would like to challenge the validity of the order to the courts,” Rowder continued, “you have thirty days to do so in writing. In the meantime, the children will be moved into foster care until permanent accommodations can be made.”
Arthur said, “No.”
Nonplussed, Rowder replied, “No? Unfortunately, you do not get to say no, Mr. Parnassus. From all I’ve heard from the inspector, the children are not safe in your hands. Not only is the island apparently run without structure or purpose, you continue to ignore the requirements of someone who is employed by DICOMY.”
“I am no longer employed by DICOMY,” Arthur said. “Surely you received my letter of resignation sent after Miss Marblemaw left the island?”
“I didn’t leave,” Miss Marblemaw snapped. “I was threatened and then forcibly removed!”
