Somewhere Beyond the Sea (Cerulean Chronicles, #2)

by T.J. Klune

Rebirth. Perseverance. Color. Life. Everything important in the smallest packages.

“I thought about destroying it. After … after you all left. I thought about coming here and opening the earth to swallow the house whole.” She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand.

“All I can do is tell you that things will be different this time around. I will give the children what I never had: a place to be whoever they want to be, no matter what they can do or where they come from.”

“I adore you,” Arthur said, and meant every word. “Oh,” Linus said, face flushing. “Yes, well. I happen to feel the same. Is that why you woke me up? That’s lovely, but—why is the sun so bright? What time is it?”

“We’re going to be in so much trouble,” Talia said, out of sight. “How did you get batter on the ceiling?” “By aiming,” Lucy said. “Duh.”

Phee blurted (quite loudly), “Your organs!” Linus groaned. “This again? How many times do I need to tell Talia that no matter what she says, I won’t sign a ‘do not resuscitate’ while also granting permission for her to harvest my liver, kidney, and lungs. I don’t know where she got the idea my organs would help her roses, but they won’t.”

Now, are we going to see the kitchen, or are you—” But before he could finish, Lucy yelled in unfettered joy, “You can breathe fire? Holy crap, Theodore! Let’s burn everything!” “And that’s our cue,” Arthur said.

“Of course it’s another boy. So many penises in this house.”

“It’s as if I’ve left my heart behind.”

“We do that, don’t we? Make promises.”

“Stupid plantains, always looking like bananas.”

“I like burying things, like seeds and people who cross me.”

“Linus gets upset when we try and eat Calliope,” Talia explained as the others nodded around her.

“You silly man,” he said. “You look brilliant. A vision. Yes, that’s what you are. Like the sun. The nice, round sun that—” “Not helping,” Linus muttered. “To the yacht!” Chauncey cried, arms flailing. “We don’t have a yacht,” Lucy said. “I would know if we did. I would have crashed it by now.”

“Talia,” Linus said sternly. She turned toward him, her eyes unnaturally large. “I’m sorry, Linus. I promise I’ll never do anything like that again. You’ve taught me the error of my ways.” Linus blinked. “Oh, well. Thank you. I’m pleased to hear that—” “And that’s how you get away with it,” she told David. “It’s quite easy if you can make your eyes big enough.”

“Chauncey,” Linus said pleasantly. “It appears that we need to work on your vocabulary lessons. Yachts are defined as sailing or power craft used for cruising, racing, and/or pleasure.”

“Since it’s my day to pick the adventure, I get to be in charge. Lucy and Talia, you’ll fan me with the palm frond and feed me grapes out of the cooler while paying me compliments.”

This, of course, led to each of the children (sans David) extolling their own qualifications for being the captain of the yacht. It devolved into a shouting match where Talia threatened to send Lucy a bouquet of poisonous flowers, and Lucy responded by yelling that he would love that so much and that he double-dog dared her to.

“We’re snack size,” Lucy said. “Like a little bag of chips.” He brightened. “Cronch, cronch, cronch.”

“I am going to feed him so many grapes they come out his butt,” Talia muttered as she wobbled her way over to the box.

“Now that I know fish are aware of the concept of Hell, I’m questioning everything.”

New house rule. No eating anything that has been given a name.” Phee blinked prettily up at them. “I forgot to tell you. I can speak to cauliflower, and I’ve named them all Peggy. Oh no, I guess that means I can’t eat cauliflower anymore.” “Nice try,” Linus said. “And don’t think we don’t see it when you ask Lucy to send your cauliflower to some alternate dimension. Last time, he conjured a black hole.”

“Kids-only meeting. No adults allowed.” “And where are we supposed to go?” Linus asked. “We’re in the middle of the ocean.” “Cover your ears and say la la la really loud,” Talia suggested. “It’s what I do when you tell me to do anything.”

“Ah, lost your voice, have you? I do hope you find it. I happen to like it when you talk.”

Lucy groaned, sounding so much like Linus that Arthur grinned behind his hand.

“Because every single day, I see the good in you. I see your kindness, your mischievousness. Your wonder at the world around you. Though we may not always agree, nothing you could do would ever make me stop loving you.”

“Is that poison?” Linus asked, aghast. “It is,” Talia said. “Of my own concoction, and I grew all the ingredients myself. Hemlock, deadly nightshade, white snakeroot, with a pinch of cinnamon for taste. According to my calculations, it should take only thirty seconds before anal leakage starts, quickly followed by leakage from everywhere else.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen a grown man hurl a pillow at a child with as much force as you did.”

“I just wanted to let you know that I love sitting at a desk in the middle of summer so that I can learn rather than play outside.”

“Because of the scarecrow standing next to Arthur,” Phee whispered back. Miss Marblemaw grunted and scribbled on her clipboard.

It was about this time that Calliope decided to introduce herself to Miss Marblemaw. Given that she’d been busy the day before—Linus had found a dead mouse in his favorite pair of loafers that night—she hadn’t yet made her acquaintance with their new guest.

For once, Arthur didn’t have a ready answer, but only because Miss Marblemaw appeared to have gotten into a ferocious battle with a peacock and somehow emerged victorious. That was the only explanation for the colorful feathers of varying lengths that formed a collar around her neck, the ones at the back of her head rising dramatically above her. The feathers were attached to a long black coat cinched tightly at the waist.

You know, anytime I want to wipe out the entire universe, I remember that humans made music and then I think that maybe, just maybe, you weirdos have something to offer after all.”

“You astonish me,” Arthur said. “In all the best ways possible.”

“Do you think that when Miss Marblemaw finishes her inspection she’ll let me have her skull if I ask nicely? It’s not like she’s using it very much.” “That’s certainly one way of putting it,” Arthur said. “But why don’t we keep that between us?”

“You do it because maybe someone will see and do the same for another, and then that person will help someone else.” She lit up, slyly glancing at Arthur. “Like your ripples in a pond.”

The fire came, then, the phoenix rising with a piercing cry. Flames overtook Arthur, but they did not burn Phee. They could never. He was hers, and she was his. He would rather die than harm her, or any of them.

Arthur spread his wings, tilting his head back. The scream that tore from his throat was one of pride—in his daughter, in all his children—and Phee yelled along with him, a battle cry of youth.

“You never got the chance to just … be.” “What?” “Always helping,” Linus said. “Always thinking about others. Ever since you were a child, you put the needs of everyone else above yourself. Attempting to mail a letter for someone to come save you and your friends. After, you did your very best to help those in need find a home where they were safe. But you didn’t stop there, did you? No. You bought the same bloody house that by rights you should’ve razed to the ground. You didn’t, though. Instead, you did what you always do, and even with these children, these remarkable children, and even with Zoe and Helen and me and the entire world with their damnable, judgmental eyes upon you, you still persist. You still push on. You help because that’s who you are as a person.”

You want to have a go at Arthur Parnassus? Well, you’re going to have to deal with me first. And though I may not look it, I can be quite scrappy when I need to be.”

“I will marry you, and I won’t hear another word to the contrary.” “Oh, good,” Linus said. “I doubt I’d be able to stumble upon the loves of my life for a second time, so that’s probably for the best.”

Talia sighed. “It’s so hard being this popular all the time. Like, we get it. You’re obsessed with us. Calm down.”

“Oops,” Lucy said. “So, here’s the thing. I’m only seven years old, and still learning. I’m just a little guy!” “And?” she said, shoulders stiff. “And,” Lucy said, drawing out the word for a good five seconds, “that means I sometimes do things I don’t mean to. Like giving you permanent facial hair that no matter how much you shave will regrow within six hours, six minutes, and six seconds. My bad!” He blinked innocently at her with wide, angelic eyes. “But good news! You sort of make it work if you squint and tilt your head and look in the opposite direction.”

“A hole?” Miss Marblemaw asked. “Why would you dig a hole that large? You already have one over there.” “That’s for Papa,” Talia said. “In case he goes back on his promise to help me finish weeding the garden.” “An effective threat,” Arthur said. “Quite,” Linus replied. “She even put a breathing tube in mine in case I somehow come back to life.”

“What’s the other hole for?” Miss Marblemaw asked. “I’m so glad you asked!” Talia said with a chuckle. Then her voice dropped dangerously. “It’s a grave where I’m going to bury you if you ever try to tell me to shave off my beard again.”

“There I was!” Chauncey said, oozing around the table, tentacles trailing along the backs of chairs. “Minding my own business, standing in front of the mirror in my room inspecting every inch of my body.” “Ew,” Phee said. “Some things should be kept private.” “That’s why I was doing it in my room,” Chauncey explained,

“That’s right!” Chauncey crowed. “I have armpit hair, which means I’m a man! As such, you might see me carrying a briefcase or getting on important conference calls to talk about business and other adult things. But fear not! I’m still young at heart.”

Zoe whispered, “I’d forgotten how much of a bitch you can be when you put your mind to it.” Arthur kissed her hair. “What a lovely thing to say.”

“Hope is the thing with feathers,”

Arthur remembered the woman in the forest when he was a child, the island sprite who had hidden herself away. The woman who had come for him when he’d returned, unsure, her guilt weighing heavily upon her shoulders. The woman who had picked up a piece of sandpaper and gotten to work building a home out of the remains. The woman who had been with him every step of the way, seeing his plan come to life before his very eyes. His friend—no, his best friend, his sister, this extraordinary queen who had welcomed the children to her island with open arms. She’d laughed with them. She’d cried with them. She’d lifted them up, carried them when they could no longer walk, helped them feel alive for the first time since they could remember.