Hidden Things (24 page)

Vikous cleared his throat. It was only then that Calliope realized that the song was probably not what anyone could consider decent payment. She looked up at the light and black where the dragon loomed. “I'm . . . that was . . . I can sing something else for you if—”

“WHAT IS YOUR NAME, CHILD?”

Calliope blinked and, after a nudge from Vikous, gave her name. Silence answered her, then: “CALLIOPE,” the voice thrummed through the pavement.
“MUSE, MOTHER OF ORPHEUS, ASTEROID, MUSICAL INSTRUMENT.”

Calliope cleared her throat. “It's also a kind of hummingbird.”

The lamplike eyes turned toward her, brightening for a moment. Calliope squinted but did not turn away.
“IT IS AN UNCOMMONLY COMPLEX NAME,”
the dragon said,
“FOR A HUMAN.”

Calliope couldn't think of a reply, so she nodded.

A vast undulation shifted the glints of light along the dragon's body as it moved toward her, sinuous and cumbersome at once.
“WHERE WOULD YOU TRAVEL, CALLIOPE?”

“My . . .” Calliope glanced at Vikous, who had been uncharacteristically silent throughout the exchange. She didn't recognize the expression on his face and, frowning, turned back to the dragon. “My guide tells me we have to go to the effigy.” Vikous nodded, but stopped in midmotion when Calliope continued. “But before that, I need to stop somewhere else.”

The dragon's bright eyes stared down at her, unblinking. After several seconds, they moved slightly.
“AS YOU SAY, CALLIOPE.”
The massive body shifted.
“WE WILL TRAVEL WITH YOU FOR A TIME AND, AS YOU ARE SORRY, EARTHBOUND CREATURES, WE WILL SHOW OUR BENEVOLENCE BY CONVEYING YOU IN A MANNER BEFITTING OUR NATURE.”
It paused, then turned to Vikous.
“WE PERCEIVE THAT YOU ARE DECEPTIVELY COMPETENT, HARLEQUIN, WHICH SHOULD NOT SURPRISE US, GIVEN YOUR NATURE, YET STILL DOES SO. IN ALL THOSE THINGS, YOU ARE A TRIBUTE TO YOUR KIND.”
Vikous bowed his head as the creature drew back to look at both of them.
“WE WERE CALLED
MAHKAH
IN THE TONGUE OF A PEOPLE WHO ONCE DWELT IN THESE LANDS. USE THIS NAME AS WE TRAVEL.”

Vikous froze for a second, then bowed very, very low. Calliope did her very best to do likewise.

“COME,”
Mahkah said.
“WE WILL SHOW YOU HOW DRAGONS MOVE OVER THIS WORLD, AND YOU WILL TELL US YOUR STORY.”

Vikous helped Calliope pull her sweater and coat back on, though they hardly seemed necessary, this close to the dragon.

“A thousand-jelly-packets performance,” he barely whispered in her ear as he worked the right sleeve over her arm. “There,” he said in a normal voice as he stepped back. Calliope could only smile and give his arm a squeeze. He winked. “Where are we going?” he asked, but Calliope thought he already knew.

17

CALLIOPE WATCHED THE
sere grass of the highway's ditch blur by as she sat perched on the neck of a dragon. It didn't seem normal, not by any stretch of the imagination, but it wasn't impossible. Not anymore. The most telling thing was that, despite herself, she was starting to get drowsy.

They had been flying—gliding, almost—for several hours, jarred only occasionally when Mahkah reached down to the road with one trailing claw to adjust the path of their flight, laying another mark along the pavement. Calliope and Vikous had recounted their story to Mahkah as they traveled, watching oncoming cars sweep by without so much as a second glance from the drivers or passengers.

“It's partly magic,” Vikous had explained after the fifth or sixth pickup truck had gone by. “Enhancing shadows, implying a little more to the shape than what's actually there, obscuring the wing shadow as cloud cover or an overpass.” He gestured at the highway. “Most of it's just that people see what they want to see.” His hand swept back over his shoulder, indicating the massive bulk of the dragon. “And some of it's the natural coloration and the sparks of light. Luminescence, whatever.”

Calliope nodded, but didn't bother to look the way he'd gestured. She'd found that even now, sitting atop the creature, she still couldn't really
see
it; her eyes slid away, or her mind wandered the way it did on long drives. “That's natural? They've always looked like that?”

Vikous shook his head, but it was Mahkah who answered.
“ALL BEINGS ADAPT TO SUIT THEIR ENVIRONMENT. WHAT WONDER THAT THE GREATEST AMONG THEM DO LIKEWISE?”

To this observation, Vikous added nothing. Calliope decided to follow suit, and let her eyes slowly close.

“You don't want me to meet your folks?”

Calliope sighs, eyes closed. She pushes her fingers halfway through her hair, then grips it tight, focusing on the pain. “No;
I
don't want to meet my folks.”

Josh blows air through his teeth. “You know, it's funny to joke, but this is a little more serious than just not calling them on the weekends.”

“I know it's serious.” She glares at him. “I don't think you get how much.” Again, she tugs on her hair, turning to stare at the ground. “I don't—”

“We drove,” he interrupts, “for two solid days. We are”—he turns, pointing down the road that runs past them and their parked car—“ten minutes from your house.”

“My
parents'
house.”

“What d—”

“It's not my house,” Calliope continues, raising her voice to shut down his protest. “That was made
very
clear when I left.”

Josh drops his chin down to his chest the way he always does when he's swallowing words he doesn't want to say. “Fine. Okay. Your parents' house. But it's still your
family.
They're not going to leave you standing on the front step.”

Calliope's eyes go wide, her expression incredulous. “Ha!” She tips her face up to shout the sharp, barking laugh at the sky. “You . . . that . . .” She gives Josh a look of pure, astonished disbelief.

He turns away from Calliope, pacing between her and the car, hands on his hips, looking at the sky. When he gets back to where she's standing, arms wrapped around her midsection, he tries again. “Why?”

She shrugs. “They wanted me gone.”

“That was seven years ago,” he says, his voice quiet and intense. “We walk up and knock on the door—”

“They never forget,” she manages, barely above a whisper. “They'll ruin everything.” She winces at Josh's explosive exhalation. “Please—”

“You've got a
family.
” He bites off each word. “I don't think you'll ever understand how much that's worth.”

“I understand
them.
” Calliope turns away. “Honestly? You're the lucky one.”

As soon as she says the words, she knows she's gone too far.

She is right. The next sound from Josh is the driver's-side door of the car opening and closing.

Calliope turns. Josh sits behind the wheel, eyes forward, not looking at her or anything else. Through the glass of the side window he looks pale and bloodless, like a ghost.

She walks to the car, gravel crunching under her shoes, and stands next to the door. She doesn't say anything; knows that anything she could say now won't matter. Eventually, he rolls the window down, but doesn't turn to look at her.

“Baby,” she begins.

“Let's go home.” She can barely hear him.

She starts to protest; stops. Shakes her head. Tries again and fails.

He rolls up the window and, with nothing to say, Calli can only walk around and get in. Tears stand in her eyes, and she doesn't know why.

There are too many reasons.

It was nearing dawn when Mahkah's voice thrummed Calliope awake.
“WE HAVE ARRIVED AT YOUR FIRST DESTINATION, CALLIOPE.”

Calliope blinked her eyes into focus, staring at the half-harvested cornfield they sat in. With help from Vikous and some assistance from Mahkah, she slid to the ground without too much pain and looked around. There were buildings in the distance that were familiar, if not comforting.

“This will take me most of the day, Mahkah.” She turned back to the dragon. “I hope you—” She stopped, staring at an empty field.

“HAVE NO WORRIES ON OUR BEHALF.”
The voice shook out of the earth, everywhere and nowhere. Behind Calliope, dried cornstalks rustled in what might have been the wind.
“WE WILL FIND YOU HERE AT DUSK.”

“Look out for the hidden things,” she murmured to herself and turned to Vikous, who stood with his hands in his pockets, poking one great oversized shoe at a severed stalk of corn. “I think it might be—”

“—better if you do this alone, yeah.” Vikous smirked. “Sounds good. I'll wait out here.”

“You sure you won't be cold?” Calliope asked, but Vikous's smirk only broadened.

“Don't worry about me; this last bit's been like a vacation.” He looked up from the dirt. “It's your journey; I'm just the guide. If you know where you're going, then I can pretty well take it easy.” His eyes flicked to the buildings in the distance.

Calliope said nothing and Vikous nodded. “Get walking. We'll be here.”

 

Calliope turned down the long driveway that led to the cluster of buildings she'd seen from a distance. Surrounded on three sides by thick ranks of trees planted back in the late '30s, the farm was clearly visible only after she walked into the yard.

Nothing had changed. She didn't recognize the car in front of the garage, and the barn and machine shed both needed paint, but that was it. Calliope had walked down the drive a thousand times—more—dropped off by the school bus in the late afternoon. It had always looked the same.

No one noticed her approach. No one came out to meet her. That was pretty much the same as well.

She almost turned around at the mailbox by the road, again by the driveway gate no one ever shut, again when she walked into the main yard, and finally when she got to the base of the steps.

“They're not going to leave you standing on the front step.”

“Oh, but they might,” Calliope murmured, her breath swirling around her in pale wisps. “They might.”

She stood at the steps for a long time, then climbed them and lifted her left hand toward the door. It shook visibly.

“We walk up and knock on the door . . .”

Calliope let out a short, nervous laugh. “God, I wish you were here.”

She knocked and jammed her hand back in her pocket.

A few seconds later—the time it takes to wipe off your hands and walk from the kitchen—the main door opened. Calliope watched the face of the woman on the other side of the screen change from polite curiosity to confusion to worry and finally, as expected, drop back into its familiar stoicism.

“This is a surprise,” the woman said.

“Hi,” Calliope said, hoping the wind muffled the shake in her voice. “Mind if I come in?”

 

It was probably only a second before her mother answered, but it seemed to Calliope that the question hung in the air between them for hours; dangerous, giving off a kind of poisonous heat.

“Good grief, like you need to ask.” Phyllis Jenkins pushed open the screen door, still holding the rag she'd been using to wipe off her hands. Calliope stepped past her into the house—their unfamiliar proximity awkward for only a second—and Phyllis glanced at the snow-packed drive. “How'd you get here?”

Calliope turned, unzipping her coat halfway as her eyes scanned the pictures on the walls. “I had a friend drop me off. They'll be back this afternoon, if that's all right.” She motioned to the walls, where each portrait had been updated over the years, except for Calliope's sophomore head shot. “Everyone's aged except for me, I guess.”

Her mother glanced up at the walls. “Sort of Dorian Gray in reverse.”

“God, do I look that bad?” Calliope forced a smile.

Her mother made a dismissive grimace. “Oh, I didn't mean it like that.”

Calliope chose not to reply and nodded toward one picture. “Dad's lost some weight.”

“That's because of the cancer, actually,” said a voice from the archway leading into the hall beyond. “Hello, Cal.”

Calliope turned, startled, to the speaker. Her sister, wearing a faded apron that Calliope recognized, leaned against the door frame, unsmiling. “Cancer?” She shook her head. “Sorry. Hello.” She turned back to her mother. “Cancer?”

Phyllis shook her head. “Just some melanoma—your dad never covered himself up on the tractor like he should have.” She motioned toward the kitchen. “Let's go sit down.”

Calliope glanced at the couch and several armchairs in the room they were already standing in, but said nothing and followed her sister out of the room.

“Your hair looks like you've been standing in front of a leaf blower.” Her mother set a cup of tea in front of Calliope at the kitchen table.

“The . . .” Calliope took a drink, not using her right arm, but trying not to favor it. “The ride I got was windy.”

Phyllis raised her eyebrows. “In this weather? Didn't you freeze to death?”

Calliope tipped her head. “I guess not, Mom, since I'm sitting here.”

“Probably a motorcycle, that sounds crazy enough,” said her sister, sitting across from Calliope and looking at her over her own cup. There was no playfulness in her expression.

Calliope matched the look. “Sure, Sandy, it was a motorcycle.” She tilted her head. “Aren't you working anymore? I thought you'd be in town in the middle of the day.”