To celebrate the publication of the long-awaited sequel to The House in the Cerulean Sea, SOMEWHERE BEYOND THE SEA by T J Klune, we have an excerpt to share with you! Before we dive into that first chapter, let’s check out the official blurb:

A magical house. A secret past. A summons that could change everything.

This is the hugely-anticipated sequel to TJ Klune’s The House in the Cerulean Sea, a cosy-fantasy triumph and a New York Times bestseller.

Arthur Parnassus has built a good life on the ashes of a bad one. He’s headmaster at an orphanage for magical children, on a peculiar island, assisted by love-of-his-life Linus Baker. And together, they’ll do anything to protect their extraordinary and powerful charges.

However, when Arthur is forced to make a public statement about his dark past, he finds himself fighting for those under his care. It’s also a fight for the better future that all magical people deserve. Then when a new magical child joins their island home, Arthur knows they’ve reached breaking point. The child finds power in calling himself a monster, a name Arthur has tried so hard to banish to protect his children. Challenged from within and without, their volatile family might grow stronger. Or everything Arthur loves could fall apart.

Somewhere Beyond the Sea is a story of resistance, lovingly told, about the daunting experience of fighting for the life you want to live and doing the work to keep it.

Somewhere Beyond the Sea is out today – you can order your copy on Bookshop.org

ONE

Years later, on a warm morning in June, Arthur Parnassus opened his eyes and frowned. The sun filtering in through the window was too bright. His sleep-addled mind put forth drowsy, terrifying thoughts that a certain son of the Devil might have something to do with it. Last week, he’d threatened to crash the sun into Earth after he’d gotten in trouble for attempting to give life to a mud man he’d made after a fierce storm. Arthur had discovered him covered head to toe in filth, the mud man half-formed. When Arthur re- minded him that it would not do to give sentience to mud, the boy had promised vengeance in the form of planetary annihilation, as per his usual.

So, when Arthur shot up in his bed, he was sure he couldn’t be blamed. It wasn’t as if he thought Lucy would really merge the sun and Earth, but then he’d really seemed fixated on the mud man, who was now nothing more than a mud puddle.

When he glanced at the alarm clock sitting next to the bed, Arthur realized it wasn’t the sun bringing the end times: no, it was something far, far worse.

It was eight thirty-two in the morning on a Saturday, and the house was silent.

When one had six children of varying shapes, sizes, and magical abilities, one knew that having a lie-in was nothing more than a fanciful dream. Children—especially these children—didn’t seem to understand the concept of time. Why, just the day before, an amorphous green blob had entered their bedroom at half past five in the morning, his squishy voice loud with glee, shouting that he’d accidentally squirted ink from his nose, something that he didn’t know he could do. “I didn’t shove a pen up there or anything. Why am I inking all over the place? Oh my goodness, do you think I’m becoming a man? Also, how do you get ink off the ceiling?”

This, of course, had led to a discussion in which the ink was decided to be a mark of puberty, something the blobby boy had grimaced over before pivoting to how he’d look with a mustache or a mat of chest hair. By the time he’d settled back down, three more children had wandered in, and it’d been barely six in the morning.

Arthur had noticed—now that he was in his midforties—that six in the morning came far sooner than it used to. Joints grumbled and cracked as he stretched, his light-colored hair (with shots of gray that seemed to spread daily) sticking up every which way. His back popped deliciously as he flexed his bare toes. Muddled thoughts became clearer as the last vestiges of sleep fell away.

Where were the children?

He turned toward the lump in the bed next to him, comforter pulled up high, leaving only a mop of thinning brown hair visible along with the sound of small snores. He shook the lump, glancing toward the door to the small room attached to theirs. It was open. The occupant—the destroyer of suns—was gone, leaving only a half-made bed, discarded socks on the floor (mismatched), and cracked records hanging from the walls.

“Whazzit?” the lump muttered. “No, Grandmother, I don’t want to help you find the yams.”

“Linus,” Arthur said, giving the lump another shake. “Wake up. Something’s wrong.”

He almost fell out of bed when Linus Baker shot up, pajamas a wrinkled mess, hair and eyes wild as he looked around. “Who is it?” he demanded. “Who stole the yams from Grandmother’s cellar?” He blinked. “I don’t know why I just said that.” He patted the thick slope of his stomach. “Must have been a dream. That’s what I get for having cake before going to bed.” His hand dropped as he frowned. “Arthur? Why are you staring at me like that?”

“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?”

“Half past eight.”

Linus’s eyes bulged. “In the morning? That’s impossible! We’ve never been allowed to sleep this late. The closest we got was six forty-two, but that was only because the children were staying with Zoe. And even then, they still came back and woke us up.” He hurried toward the door, snatching their matching blue robes that hung from a hook. “What on earth are you still doing in bed? We have to find them!”

Arthur rose and moved swiftly. But instead of taking the robe from Linus, Arthur cupped his face and kissed him soundly, morning breath be damned. Linus blinked slowly, dazed, and Arthur hoped it would always be this way.

“What was that for?” Linus asked. “Because I could.”

“I see. You could do it again if you wanted.” “Could I?” Arthur leaned forward to do just that.

Only to be met with a hand in his face, pushing him back gently. “You could,” Linus said. “Or we could go and see why we were allowed to sleep so late. I swear, if they’ve brought home another animal they call a friend, we’re going to have words.”

“The last one wasn’t so bad,” Arthur said, taking the robe and sliding it on.

Linus made a face. “It was a lizard the size of Calliope that tried to eat my loafers.”

“And you handled it with your usual grace and aplomb by shrieking and calling it a boa constrictor.”

“I know you got it in your head at some point that you’re funny. And you are, but now is not the time for humor. Now is the time for panicking.”

“Perhaps nothing’s wrong and we’re overreacting,” Arthur said, trying to be semi-reasonable.

Linus rolled his eyes. “You know as well as I do that with them, it would not be overreacting. Remember when Talia— Where’s Calliope?”

Calliope, the so-called thing of evil. A cat, but unlike any other cat Arthur had seen before. It wasn’t just her size—her gorgeous, fluffy hair made her appear far larger than she actually was—or her coloring, mostly black with a small patch of fluffy white on her chest. No, it was her bright green eyes that made her different. Watching, always watching, undoubtedly plotting the demise of anyone she deemed unfit to exist in her presence. Though Arthur knew humans had a tendency to anthropomorphize their pets and extoll their intelligence (“He’s so smart! He can do what I trained him to do over a period of six months!”) Calliope was something else entirely. If Arthur hadn’t known any better, he’d have thought she understood them. But, true to her species, she held her own counsel and tended to ignore everything else.

Most nights, she lay curled at the foot of their bed, purring in

warning should they even move their legs an inch. But her space was empty, leaving only behind black hairs on a blanket that Sal had knitted for her. When he’d presented it to her, Calliope had meowed her pleasure so loudly, it could be heard throughout the rest of the house.

“She must be with them,” Arthur said. “And if she is, I know they’re all right. She wouldn’t let anything happen to them.”

“Too right,” Linus said. “I pity anyone who tries to cross them with her around. I expect it’s painful to lose your eyes to a cat.”

The long hallway was quiet. All the bedroom doors belonging to the children were open and the rooms empty. Sal’s room had his desk in front of the window, typewriter tucked away in a monogrammed oak case Arthur and Linus had gifted him for Christmas. Chauncey’s room smelled faintly of salt, warm seawater covering the floor, pumped in from the ocean through heated pipes. In Phee’s, amidst dozens of plants hanging from the ceiling, a mural covered the walls showing a forest in varying degrees of talent as all the children had helped: Lucy’s trees looked like skeletons, while Talia’s appeared to be green candy floss on top of brown sticks. Speaking of the garden gnome, Talia’s own room was oddly plant free; instead of flowering vines, there were cork boards attached to each wall displaying a magnificent collection of garden tools. And last—but certainly not least—through a hatch in the ceiling up to the attic, where a particular wyvern had built one of several nests. Climbing up the ladder that descended from the hatch, Arthur peered into the semi-dark of the attic. Theodore’s nest: blankets, towels, and a brick he’d had a three-week love affair with. But no wyvern.

Arthur didn’t want to panic, but not knowing where the children were caused an icy grip to squeeze around his heart. Zoe would have warned them if someone had attempted to come to the island uninvited, but that did little to ease Arthur’s worry.

“Anything?” Linus called up from below him. “No,” Arthur said, climbing back down.

“Where could they be? They wouldn’t leave without asking, so it’s not as if—”

A thump from the first floor, followed by a loud crash. “Kitchen,” Arthur and Linus said at the same time.

They calmed as they neared the stairs that led down to the first floor. Peeking over the railing, Arthur and Linus saw Phee sitting on the bottom step, her fiery red hair pulled back into a loose ponytail, her wings fluttering behind her. The forest sprite wore shorts and a green tank top, her pale shoulders dotted with freckles. Shortly after her twelfth birthday, she’d gone through a bit of a growth spurt, sprouting up like one of her trees.

In front of her stood Chauncey, the amorphous green boy with tentacles for arms, suckers lining both lengths. On top of his head rose thin, foot-long stalks, his eyes at the top, bouncing up and down excitedly. He was wearing a trench coat cinched around what could either be his waist or his chest, and it didn’t take long for Arthur and Linus to learn why.

“You think they heard that?” Chauncey asked, voice like a thick, wet sponge being squeezed into a metal bucket.

“Shh,” Phee said. “Not so loud.”

His stalks shrank until his eyes rested on top of his body, wide and unblinking. “You think they heard that?” he whispered.

“Probably not,” Phee said, tugging at the bottom of his coat. “They both snore, so I don’t think they heard anything.”

Linus huffed next to him, and Arthur did little to hide his smile.

“Oh,” Chauncey said. “Do I snore?”

“You’re a boy, so probably. What’s with the trench coat?”

He puffed up proudly. “We’re on a secret mission. Everyone knows when you’re on a secret mission, you have to dress like it.” He flipped up the collar of his coat. “Secret Agent Chauncey, at your service.”

“I thought you wanted to be a bellhop.”

“I can do both,” he said. “Save the day and carry your luggage. It’s called going undercover. I read about it in a book.” His eyes turned 360 degrees. “Can I tell you something I’ve never told any- one before?”

“Sure,” Phee said. “What is it? You all right?”

He flapped a tentacle at her. “Yeah, I’m good. No, not just good. I’m prodigious.”

Linus elbowed Arthur gently. “You hear that?” he whispered excitedly. “My vocabulary lessons are working.”

“—which means to cause amazement and wonder,” Chauncey was saying when they looked back down the stairs.

Phee laughed. “What did you want to tell me?”

“Right,” Chauncey said. “Have you ever been walking through the woods, and you see a pine cone on the ground, and no one is there to tell you that you can’t eat the pine cone?”

“Well, sure. But—”

“Oh my goodness,” Chauncey breathed. “Me too! I thought I was the only one. I feel better now.”

“Did . . . did you eat the pine cone?”

“I did,” Chauncey said proudly. “Guess what it tasted like.” “I have absolutely no idea.”

Chauncey’s eyes leaned forward, stopping only a couple of inches from Phee’s face. “Do you remember when Talia tried to make pecan pie but we were out of pecans so she used candy corn instead and there was so much sugar in it, Linus said it’d rot our teeth, but we ate it anyway and didn’t sleep for three days because we could all smell colors?”

“That’s what the pine cone tasted like?” Phee asked with a frown. “No, I just like that story. The pine cone tasted bad, and it took forever to chew.”

Phee coughed, sounding like she was trying hard not to laugh. “You . . . you ate the whole thing?”

Chauncey blinked, first the left eye, then the right. “Ye-yes?

Why?”

“Female pine cones have edible seeds called pignoli,” she explained. “They’re a little sweet, a little nutty. In Italy, they make pignoli biscuits.”

Chauncey’s skin darkened to the color of pine needles. “Are you saying I ate a girl? Oh no.” He threw his tentacles up in the air, tilting his head back. “I didn’t mean to do it! I fell on her and she just . . . went into my mouth?”

“Oh dear,” Linus said. Then, “Not a word, Parnassus. Not a single word.”

“Not like that,” Phee said. “Plants can be male or female, but not in the same way you and I are. They’re alive, but it’s different. Many plants are hermaphroditic, which means they’re both male and female. Like roses and lilies. When I say female, I just mean they’re the ones you get seeds from.”

Chauncey blinked. “Ohhh. I get it. So it’s not like eating people when I eat pine cones.”

“Uh. No?”

“Oh, thank God.” He looked away as his skin changed to a pea green. “They’re already scared enough of me as it is.”

“Absolutely not,” Linus muttered, starting to move toward the stop of the stairs.

Arthur took his wrist gently, pulling him back, shaking his head.

Linus’s mouth twisted angrily. “I’m not going to let Chauncey think he’s—”

“I know,” Arthur said quietly. “But let’s give Phee a chance.” Phee reached out and tugged on the trench coat, pulling

Chauncey toward her. He wrapped his tentacles around her, laying his eyes on the top of her head. “Did something happen?”

Chauncey sighed. “Maybe.” “Do you want to talk about it?” “Maybe.”

“You don’t have to do it right now, especially if you’re not ready.” She stroked his back.

“It’s stupid,” he mumbled. “A woman came in. She had, like, seven suitcases. And,” he continued dreamily, “Mr. Swanson”—the hotel’s lead bellhop, his true hero—“was busy with another customer, so I went to help her.”

“Sounds like you,” Phee said.

“But when I offered to take her bags for her, she screamed that a sea slug was trying to steal her belongings.”

“A sea slug?” Phee said. “Please. She should be so lucky.” “Right?” Chauncey said, pulling out of the hug. “Mr. Swanson

heard her and came over. I thought he was going to take her bags instead, but you know what he did?”

“What?”

“He told me that people like her aren’t welcome in our fine establishment, and then he kicked her out of the hotel!”

“Whoa,” Phee said, sounding as impressed as Arthur felt. “I bet that pissed her off.”

“I thought she was going to explode,” Chauncey said. “Then Mr. Swanson said it was lunchtime, and we ate sandwiches and he told me about all the other bellhops he’d met.”

“But,” Phee said.

“But,” Chauncey said, “I just don’t get it. All I want to do is help. I can’t control how I look. It’s not my fault I’m—”

“Handsome as crap?” Phee said. Chauncey gaped at her. “What.”

“You’re handsome,” she said. “And even better, unique. I’ve never seen anyone look like you. Your eyes? Pfft, get out of here. Those are so cool. You think any of us could pull off a trench coat like you do? Remember how funny I looked when I tried on your bellhop cap? But when you put it on, all I want to do is pack a bag just so you can take it from me even though I’m not going anywhere.”

“I am pretty good at taking luggage.”

“You are,” she said. “I can’t tell you something like that won’t happen again. But all you need to do is remind yourself it’s on them, not you.”

“I’m not a monster,” Chauncey said.

“Nope,” Phee said. “You’re Chauncey. The best Chauncey I’ve ever known.”

“And I’m handsome as crap.” “Hell yes.”

“And I can eat all the pine cones I want because they’re not human.”

“Except it probably won’t feel good when you have to poop.” “All my poops feel good, so no worries there!”

Another crash from the kitchen, followed by a small devil cursing in colorful language that he absolutely did not learn in this house. “Gangrenous donkey testicles!”

“Follow my lead,” Arthur whispered, pulling Linus partway down the hall. They stopped in front of Sal’s room. Winking at Linus, Arthur raised his arms above his head in a stretch, yawning quite ferociously. Raising his voice—so that the sound carried down the hall and stairs—he said, “Oh my, that was such a restful sleep. Wouldn’t you agree, dear Linus?”

“Quite!” Linus practically shouted. “I’m not even remotely concerned about the state of the kitchen and instead am focused on how rested I feel!”

They both had to stifle laughter when Chauncey began to yell, “Battle stations! Battle stations! The chickens are coming home to roost!”

Another din from the kitchen, this time followed by Lucy shouting, “But we’re not ready yet! Choke the chickens!”

When Arthur and Linus reached the top of the stairs, Phee and Chauncey smiled up at them as innocent as the day was young.

“Good morning,” Arthur said cheerfully as he and Linus descended the stairs. “Phee, Chauncey, did you sleep well?”

“So well,” Chauncey warbled. “And even better, we’re not doing anything illegal!”

“Yet,” Linus said.

Arthur and Linus took turns hugging Phee and Chauncey, both of the children holding on tightly. Once done, Linus glanced at Arthur and said, “Time seems to have slipped away from us this morning. You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”

“Who, us?” Phee asked, batting her eyelashes.

“We have no idea what you’re talking about,” Chauncey said. “Hmm,” Arthur said. “Well, I suppose we should start preparing breakfast. Linus, why don’t you see where the other children are and I’ll just go into the kitchen and—”

Phee and Chauncey hurried toward the kitchen doors, blocking the entrance. “You can’t,” Phee said. “It’s . . . occupied.”

Above them, through the porthole windows in the double doors, Arthur saw a flash of reptilian scales fly by, with what looked to be a whisk grasped in his claws. A moment later, a lovely face appeared in one of the portholes, eyes widening. Sal disappeared a second later, followed by Lucy shouting, “What do you mean they’re right outside?”

“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.”

“Oh no!” Chauncey said loudly. “I just remembered that I needed to talk to Arthur and Linus about stuff! And things!”

“Name two,” Linus said, folding his arms. “Potatoes and Portugal,” Chauncey said promptly. “What about them?” Arthur asked.

“I have absolutely no idea,” Chauncey said. He deflated. “Sorry, Phee. I did my best.”

“You sure did . . . something,” Phee said. “Well, our cover’s blown, so we might as well get this over with.” She glared up at Linus and Arthur. “It was all of our idea, so if we’re going to get grounded, you have to ground all of us.”

“Sounds serious,” Arthur said gravely.

“And more than a little worrying,” Linus said.

“Hold, please,” Phee said. She grabbed Chauncey by the tentacle, backing them both through the double doors slowly. Though she did her best to keep Arthur and Linus from seeing the kitchen, the doors cracked open enough for herself and Chauncey to slip through, but also to give Arthur and Linus a glimpse of the kitchen itself.

When the doors swung closed, Linus said, “What was that on the walls?”

“It looked like ketchup,” Arthur said. “Isn’t it wonderful?” “You and I have very different definitions of the word.” “Perhaps you need to attend a vocabulary lesson then,” he teased.

Inside, hushed voices. But since these voices belonged to a group of six children being who they were, “hushed” was, perhaps, a bit of a misnomer.

“They know!” Chauncey whisper-shouted. “They’re standing right there, and they know everything. We’re doomed.”

“Lucy,” Phee said. “What the hell did you do to the counters?” “I had trouble cracking eggs,” Lucy said. “And then Calliope walked in it, and now we have neat sticky paw prints on the floor.”

“How’d they get on the ceiling?” Chauncey asked.

“I accidentally reversed gravity when I was trying to measure butter.”

“Oh,” Chauncey said. “That makes sense. I bet that happens to a lot of people because cooking is hard.”

Theodore chirped loudly, and Sal said, “Theodore’s right. We should take responsibility for the mess we’ve made.”

“You didn’t make any mess,” Talia said. “Lucy did. And so did I because it’s not fair that he gets to smash all the eggs.”

“I didn’t. I tried to let you do one, and you threw it against the wall!”

“No,” Sal said. “We’re in this together.”

“Yeah,” Chauncey said. “Let’s all get grounded. Who’s with me? Why is no one raising their tentacles?”

Theodore clicked in his throat twice, followed by a low growl, and the children burst into laughter. “Yeah, Linus would do that, wouldn’t he?” Phee said. “I bet his face would turn red too.”

Linus huffed quietly. “Well, I never.”

“Your face is a little flushed,” Arthur whispered. “Are you ill, dear Linus?”

“They think they’re funny because of you.”

“Phee,” Sal said, “you distract them until we’re ready. Everyone else, let’s clean up as best we can. The quicker we work, the sooner we’ll be done.”

Phee slipped through the double doors, smiling widely. “Hello!” she said as if they hadn’t heard every single word. “Thank you for your patience. It’s appreciated.”

“Wonderful,” Arthur said. “Shall we go into the kitchen right this very second?”

“Uh,” Phee said, glancing back over her shoulder. “Not . . . yet? Oh! I just remembered. Linus, I wanted to ask you something very, very important. It’s all I’ve been thinking about for the last minute or so.”

“We await with bated breath,” Arthur said.

“Right,” Phee said. “So. Um.” She winced when something fell to the floor in the kitchen. Before Arthur could comment on it, 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.”

“That’s what I told her,” Phee said. “And then I reminded her that it was only a matter of time, so. Win-win!”

Arthur lowered his voice. “We heard you talking to Chauncey.” Phee fidgeted uncomfortably. Out of all the children, Phee was the biggest enigma. She loved her brothers and sisters and supported them completely. Arthur knew her to be compassionate, kind, and more than a little prickly. That being said, she still struggled with being complimented, or having attention placed upon her. It was a tricky line to walk with her: lay it on too thick, and she’d shut down, waving it off and changing the subject. He’d made it his mission to tell her at least once a day how proud he was of her. “It’s not a big deal. Chauncey needed someone to talk to, and I was right there. Anyone would have done the same.” She shrugged, averting her gaze.

“Perhaps,” Arthur said. “But Chauncey didn’t come to me with it. He did not come to Linus, nor any of the others. He came to you, Phee. He trusts you with his happiness, but also with his troubles.”

“He shouldn’t have troubles,” Phee retorted. “I thought things were supposed to be better. You said they would be.” She deflated before they could reply. “Sorry,” she muttered. “That isn’t fair.”

“It’s absolutely fair,” Linus said, “we did tell you that. And I wish I had a better answer for you other than that these things take time. I’m sorry.” He took her hand in his.

Phee looked back up at Linus, and Arthur was struck by the softness in her eyes, a chink in her formidable armor. Every now and then, she’d grace them with a peek of the girl underneath, and he treasured these moments as much as Theodore did his buttons. “Thanks, Linus. You’re all right.”

He squeezed her hand. “Anything for you. 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.

“This is what happens when you sleep late,” Linus muttered. “Just when you think you’re getting extra rest, someone breathes fire.”

Somewhere Beyond the Sea is out today – you can order your copy on Bookshop.org