Under_The_Whispering_Door_by_TJ_Klune

The boy nodded at Wallace before looking around the room. He cocked
his head at Alan, brow furrowing. “Angry, isn’t he? It’s odd, really. The
universe is bigger than one can possibly imagine, a truth beyond
comprehension, and yet all he knows is anger and hurt. Pain and suffering.”
He sighed, shaking his head. “I’ll never understand, no matter how hard I try.
It’s illogical.”
“What do you want?” Wallace asked. His back was pressed against the
counter. He thought about running, but he didn’t think he’d get very far. And
he wasn’t about to leave Hugo and Mei and Nelson and Apollo. Not while
they couldn’t defend themselves.
“I’m not going to hurt them,” the boy said, and for a terrible moment,
Wallace wondered if the child could read his mind. “I’ve never hurt anyone
before.”
“I don’t believe you,” Wallace said again.
“You don’t?” The boy scrunched up his face. “Why?”
“Because of what you are.”
“What am I, Wallace?”
And with the last of his strength, Wallace whispered, “You’re the
Manager.”
The boy seemed pleased with his answer. “I am. Silly title, but it fits, I
suppose. My real name is much more complicated, and I doubt your human
tongue would be able to pronounce it. It’d turn your mouth to mush if you
tried.” He reached up and plucked a flower from his head, popping it into his
mouth. His eyes fluttered shut as he sucked on the petals. “Ah. That’s better.
It’s hard for me to take this form and keep it for long. The flowers help.” He
looked up at one of the potted plants hanging from the ceiling. “You’ve been
watering these.”
“It’s my job,” Wallace said faintly.
“Is it?” He poked a finger against the planter. Leaves grew. Vines
lengthened. Soil trickled down onto the floor, little motes of dust and dirt
catching the light from the dying fire in the fireplace. “Do you know what my
job is?”
Wallace shook his head, tongue thick in his mouth.
“Everything,” the boy said. “My job is everything.”
“Are you God?” Wallace choked out.