Cerulean Sea

He believed she was right. Marcus had seemed more interested in having Linus sign his tail cast rather than getting Daisy into any trouble. Linus had balked, telling him it wasn’t his place. Marcus was disappointed, but bounced back almost immediately. Linus marveled—as he sometimes did—how resilient they all were in the face of everything. “Quite.” “I don’t suppose you’ll tell me what you’re going to write in your report—” Linus bristled. “Absolutely not. You will be provided with a copy once I’ve filed it, as you know. The contents will be made clear to you then, and not a moment before.” “Of course,” the master said hastily. “I didn’t mean to suggest that you—” “I’m glad you see it my way,” Linus said. “And I know DICOMY will certainly be appreciative as well.” He busied himself with his briefcase, rearranging the contents until he was satisfied. He closed it and snapped the locks in place. “Now, unless there is anything else, I’ll take my leave and bid you—” “The children like you.” “I like them,” he said. “I wouldn’t do what I do if I didn’t.” “That’s not always how it is with others like you.” She cleared her throat. “Or, rather, the other caseworkers.” He looked at the door longingly. He’d been so close to making his escape. Clutching his briefcase in front of him like a shield, he turned back around. The master rose from her chair and walked around the desk. He took a step back, mostly out of habit. She didn’t come any closer, instead leaning back against her desk. “We’ve had … others,” she said. “Have you? That’s to be expected, of course, but—” “They don’t see the children,” she said. “Not for who they are, only for what they’re capable of.” “They should be given a chance, as all children should. What hope would they have to be adopted if they’re treated as something to be feared?” The master snorted. “Adopted.” He narrowed his eyes. “Something I said?” She shook her head. “No, forgive me. You’re refreshing, in your own way. Your optimism is contagious.” “I am positively a ray of sunshine,” Linus said flatly. “Now, if there’s nothing else, I can show myself—” “How is it you can do what you do?” she asked. She blanched as if she couldn’t believe what she’d said. “I don’t know what you mean.” “Work for DICOMY.” Sweat trickled down the back of his neck into the collar of his shirt. It was awfully warm in the office. For the first time in a long time, he wished he were outside in the rain. “And what’s wrong with DICOMY?” She hesitated. “I mean no offense.” “I should hope not.” “It’s just that…” She stood from her desk, arms still folded. “Don’t you wonder?” “Never,” Linus said promptly. Then, “About what?” “What happens to a place like this after you file your final report. What becomes of the children.” “Unless I’m called to return, I expect they continue to live as bright and happy children until they become bright and happy adults.” “Who are still regulated by the government because of who they are.” Linus felt backed into a corner. He wasn’t prepared for this. “I don’t work for the Department in Charge of Magical Adults. If you have any concerns in that regard, I suggest you bring it up with DICOMA. I’m focused solely on the well-being of children, nothing more.” The master smiled sadly. “They never stay as children, Mr. Baker. They always grow up eventually.” “And they do so using the tools that one such as yourself provides for them should they find themselves aging out of the orphanage without having been adopted.” He took another backward step toward the door. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to catch the bus. It’s a rather long trip home, and I don’t want to miss it. Thank you for your hospitality. And again, once the report is filed, you will be sent a copy for your own records. Do let us know if you have any questions.” “Actually, I do have another—” “Submit it in writing,” Linus called, already through the door. “I look forward to it.” He shut it behind him, the latch clicking in place. He took a deep breath before exhaling slowly. “Now you’ve gone and done it, old boy. She’ll send you hundreds of questions.” “I can still hear you,” the master said through the door. Linus startled before hurrying down the hall. He was about to leave through the front door when he paused at a bright burst of laughter coming from the kitchen. Against his better judgment, he tiptoed toward the sound. He passed by posters nailed to the walls, the same messages that hung in all the DICOMY-sanctioned orphanages he’d been to. They showed smiling children below such legends as WE’RE HAPPIEST WHEN WE LISTEN TO THOSE IN CHARGE and A QUIET CHILD IS A HEALTHY CHILD and WHO NEEDS MAGIC WHEN YOU HAVE YOUR IMAGINATION? He stuck his head in the kitchen doorway. There, sitting at a large wooden table, was a group of children. There was a boy with blue feathers growing from his arms. There was a girl who cackled like a witch; it was fitting seeing as how that’s what her file said she was. There was an older girl who could sing so seductively, it brought ships crashing onto the shore. Linus had balked when he’d read that in her report. There was a selkie, a young boy with a fur pelt resting on his shoulders. And Daisy and Marcus, of course. Sitting side by side, Daisy exclaiming over his tail cast through a mouthful of biscuit. Marcus grinned at her, his face a field of rusty freckles, tail resting on the table. Linus watched as he asked her if she would draw him another picture on his cast with one of her colored pencils. She agreed immediately. “A flower,” she said. “Or a bug with sharp teeth and stinger.” “Ooh,” Marcus breathed. “The bug. You have to do the bug.” Linus left them be, satisfied with what he’d seen. He made his way to the door once more. He sighed when he realized he’d forgotten