“You’re not here?” she asked.
“I’m here,” Joshua said, “at least for a little while longer. The body’s not. That’s been lying on a slab in Harper’s Ferry for about a week now.” His eyes, such as they were, became distant. “They did an autopsy last Monday. Lauren flies in to identify it tomorrow.” He looked at the ground. “I think that’ll be hard on her.”
Calliope watched him, aching with the need to reach out and touch his arm. “You . . . can I . . .” She made a helpless gesture. “Can I help? Is there—”
He shook his head, then: “Can you watch her?” He got a peculiar expression on his face, one that Calliope always associated with lost causes and hopeless battles. “Can you keep an eye on her? I can’t.”
“Oh, but you can, Mister White,” Faegos interjected before Calliope could reply. “At least if our intrepid Miss Jenkins has anything to say about it.” He was sitting on a rusted bucket near an old rain gutter, his legs carefully folded over each other at the knee. “She likes to have a say in everything that goes on, you know.”
“That, I know.” Joshua smiled, though his expression when he looked toward Faegos was anything but amused. “Always have to be the hero, don’t you, Cal?”
Calliope blinked back tears, or memories, her head bowed. “I should have taken you to meet my folks.”
He smiled, looking puzzled. “Where’d that come from?”
She shook her head, sniffing. “I don’t know. It’s just something I realized. You would have . . . well, my mom would have liked you.”
He tilted his head. “You went to see your family?”
“You told me to.”
Joshua raised an eyebrow. “Since when has my saying so made any kind of a difference?”
“Since you started leaving me voice mail from beyond the grave.” Behind her, Vikous cleared his throat. Calliope ignored him.
“I’ve picked up a few tricks,” Joshua said.
“I guess so.”
He took a few steps closer to Calliope and lowered his voice. “How’d it go?” Calliope raised her hand, level to the ground, and wobbled it back and forth. Joshua raised a pale eyebrow in response.
Calliope sighed. “It was okay. Mom and I talked. Dad too. Sandy . . .” She quirked the corner of her mouth downward in a sour expression. “We get along about as well as we ever did, I guess.”
Joshua frowned. “You should get that straightened out, with you and your sister.” He raised his hand. “And don’t tell me it’s complicated.”
Calliope’s eyes narrowed, the old bitterness flaring up so quickly she couldn’t stop herself. “More family advice from the guy with no parents and a brother he hasn’t seen in fifteen years.” Joshua’s expression changed—she saw the barriers she’d forced him to build go up, and shame washed over her. “Oh god, I’m sorry.”
He shook his head, dismissing the slight but avoiding her eyes. “It’s okay.”
“It’s not, you’re . . . god, I can’t believe I said that.”
“Hey,” Josh said, his voice clear and not at all ghostlike. Calliope looked up at his too-clear face. “It’s okay.” He smiled, his face full of affection, if not amusement. “It’s all okay.”
Calliope shook her head. “It’s not. You’re dead and I’m dredging up ancient history.”
“Not that ancient,” he said, glancing back at the house. “Anyway, isn’t that what you’re supposed to do when someone dies?”
“I don’t know.” She sniffed, her eyes stinging. “I’ve never had anyone die on me until now.”
“Well, trust me, this is normal.”
“Said the ghost of my best friend.” Her forced laugh caught halfway, choked out by a short sob she smothered with her hand, squeezing her eyes shut, then opening them wide to force the tears away, shaking her head side to side as if she could banish her own grief.
Joshua started to reach out to her, then looked at his hand and lowered it. “Okay, it’s not normal, but the ancient-history-dredging part is. Calli, it’s all right.”
“It is not, and quit saying that.” She glared at him, her eyes damp. “Someone killed you, probably because of me.”
He frowned. “How do you figure that, master detective?”
“I’ve got some sort of quest I’m on and it all started when you . . . when you called.” She looked down. “Feels like you died just to get me moving.”
“That’s a little egocentric, isn’t it?”
Calliope looked up. “What?”
“You got my message, right?” He tipped his head. “The one I left with that fat—”
“Gluen,” Calliope interjected. “Yeah.”
“I told you what happened.”
“Did you?” Calliope’s voice sounded shrill in her own ears. “Because it didn’t make much sense to me.” Her voice dropped, mimicking his: “I had to do this, Calli . . .”
“Try to fix it.” Josh’s face was etched with grief of his own. “I made a promise.”
“What happened?” Calliope demanded, asking the only question she’d really ever wanted answered.
He looked away. “It was a private thing.”
“But you called me.” Her left hand pressed against the ache in her chest.
“I’m really sorry about that.” He looked up into the starry night. “I was making my best play at the end, hoping it would pay off.”
Calliope blinked her damp eyes. “Did it?”
Joshua said nothing.
The corners of Calliope’s mouth turned down. She searched Joshua’s face, desperate for some kind of affirmation. “Did it?”
“We still have to see about that, don’t we, my dear?” said the dusty voice to her right.
Calliope turned toward Faegos, rubbing at her eyes. “Yeah. Sure. We can fix this. Do your deal.”
Joshua turned his attention to the two of them. “What deal?”
“I will be happy to, once you provide your payment.” Faegos ignored Joshua’s question. “I would like . . .” He wet his lips. “Your companion’s name.”
Calliope frowned. “Don’t jerk me around. You knew that already, the last time we met.”
“Oh, goodness me.” Faegos sighed, frowning in mock disapproval and leaning to the side to look over Calliope’s shoulder. “You really have been shamefully lax in your duties,” he said to Vikous, then turned back to Calliope. “I’m not talking about your guide, my poor girl.” The thin point of his tongue edged out of his toothless mouth, sliding over his narrow lips. “I’m speaking of your companion. The dragon.” His bulging eyes were bright.
“Dragon?” Joshua said.
Calliope blinked. “Mahkah?” Her eyes narrowed in confusion. “What does Mahkah have to do with it?”
Faegos’s perfect posture slumped somewhat, his eyes flicking reproachfully toward Vikous. “Your companion has everything to do with ‘it’, as far as I am concerned. I want you to give me its name.”
Calliope frowned. “I just did.”
“Earth and sea,” Faegos shouted, looking to the sky. He closed his protuberant eyes and lowered his chin to his chest. He stayed in that position for several seconds, then looked up. “I apologize for my outburst. I forget that nearly every sig-nificant element of this world has carefully avoided your attention.”
The trials and wonders of her trip—of which the desiccated garden gnome in front of her knew next to nothing—played through her mind. Calliope’s face tightened. “I’ve done everything I was supposed to do,” she growled, her voice a fair match for Vikous’s. “If you can’t claim your prize after all that, it’s not me failing.”
Faegos hesitated, his bulbous eyes narrow. “Indeed.” He clasped his hands over his folded knees and leaned slightly forward. “I want the dragon’s true name, Calliope, the only one of any significance.”
Calliope frowned. “I don’t . . .” She glanced at Joshua, whose own eyes were wide and shifting back and forth between her and Faegos. “I don’t know it.”
; Faegos’s eyes narrowed as much as was possible, his face pressing forward a scant few inches as he studied Calliope. His head tilted. “Indeed, you do not.” He sighed and stood with a nimbleness that belied his frail form. “That is a shame. I believed there was real potential in you.”
“But”—Calliope looked from Faegos to Joshua, scrambling desperately for some way to salvage the situation before it spiraled out of her grasp—“you—”
“I think we’re both well aware of the limits of our agreement, my dear,” Faegos said. “You do not have what I want.”
“I—”
“PERHAPS WE CAN BE OF SOME ASSISTANCE IN THAT REGARD,” said a voice that thrummed out of the ground.
Calliope jerked toward the sound and the flickering darkness that loomed in that direction. “Mahkah?”
“YOU WILL FORGIVE US OUR INTRUSION. WE HEARD THE SOUNDS OF WEAPONS AND CHOSE TO SEE HOW THE STORY UNFOLDED OURSELVES.”
“Excellent.” Faegos’s toothless mouth stretched in a pleased smile. “All is not lost.”
“YOU MAY HAVE OUR NAME IF YOU DESIRE IT, CALLIOPE.”
“Calli,” Joshua said. “What are you doing?”
“Shut up,” Calliope said without turning. Her eyes narrowed as she looked into the half-seen movements of the shadows. “Why?”
Silence greeted her question. Then: “WE REVILE THE CREATURES THAT CRAWL, LIKE YOU, ACROSS THE SURFACE OF OUR WORLD, BUT THE IRONY OF OUR NATURE IS SUCH THAT WE PROGRESS—WE CHANGE—ONLY BY SHARING OUR EXISTENCE WITH YOU.” Something in the darkness shifted. “BY KNOWING YOU, WHO SHARES HER SOUL WITH THE WORLD WHEN SHE SINGS, WE HAVE GROWN BEYOND WHAT WE HAD LONG THOUGHT OUR PINNACLE. WE DO NOT FORGET SUCH GIFTS.”
Calliope drew a shaking breath at the dragon’s words. The weight of them—the sheer, terrifying responsibility—bowed her head until her chin rested on her chest. “Thank you, Mahkah,” she murmured, and turned to Vikous; tattered, bloody, and most of all, silent Vikous. He watched her, his black eyes filled with reflected stars. “I know what the true name does, don’t I?” she asked.
Vikous nodded. “I suppose you do.”
“It is power, my dear girl.” Faegos exhaled into the night air, his eyes half lidded. “The power to know a thing; to bind it, if desired.” He straightened his posture and adjusted his jacket, catching Calliope’s expression. “To call it into service, as I imagine you and your guide did.”
Calliope shook her head, frowning. “No . . . it wasn’t like that.” She looked into the darkness. “We got its attention, but we didn’t bind it.” She hesitated. “We didn’t bind you, did we, Mahkah?”
“WE ASSUME THE QUESTION IS RHETORICAL.”
Calliope’s mouth quirked, glancing at Vikous. “Absolutely.” She turned to Faegos. “Why do you want the name?”
Faegos smiled, his lips pressed together. “It is in my nature to suss out the mysteries of the universe. The dragon is one such mystery that lies unknown to me. I would not have it so. I must understand it. I must know it.”
One of Calliope’s eyebrows lowered. “And that’s it.”
“That, as you say, is ‘it’.” Faegos folded his hands together.
“You don’t have to do this, Calli.”
Calliope started. Hearing Joshua’s voice was still a shock. She turned to him, her eyes bright. “Oh”—she drew in a long, shaking breath and let it out—“I know.” She kept her eyes locked on to Joshua’s as she spoke. “Mahkah?”
“WE ARE HERE, CALLIOPE. WE ARE ALWAYS HERE.”
“I know,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “I’m sorry.”
“IT IS ALL RIGHT, CALLIOPE. YOUR KIND HAVE ALWAYS HAD THE POWER TO MAKE OR UNMAKE OURS. AT OTHERS’ HANDS, IT WOULD SHAME US, BUT WE WILL GIVE OVER WILLINGLY TO YOU.”
“Thank you.” She searched the darkness for the shadowy, sinuous bulk behind the dragon’s lantern eyes, trying to see some further detail—something she could remember—but her eyes shifted away; her mind wandered.
The first rush of cold air and speed and distance and motion.
Wings stretched out on either side in the thin starlight.
The dragon singing, sad and brave.
“They might be any of those things,” she murmured, “or all of them.” She raised her voice. “Thank you, Mahkah.” She swallowed past a lump in her throat. “But no.”
“YOU ARE SURE?”
“What?” Faegos’s rasping voice rose in surprise and anger.
“I’m afraid I’m going to have to reject your bargain, Mister Faegos,” she said, her voice driven high and shaky by the emotion caught behind it. “The cost is too much for me.”
Joshua smiled. That helped.
Faegos snarled. “The cost is irrelevant to you, girl.” He leveled a shaking finger in Mahkah’s direction. “I want that thing.”
“It’s not a thing.” Calliope was looking at Joshua, but heard Vikous’s words in her head. “It’s a dragon. There are some things that you don’t get to understand—that you can’t know without sucking the life out of them.” She looked down at Faegos, then away. “Magic things.” Her eyes flicked to Vikous. “Hidden things.”
Faegos moved—too fast—to stand directly in front of her, his face tilted up at hers. “That’s very poetic and noble, but you forget who I am, you ridiculous trollop,” he hissed. “Do you think this is a game?”
She glared down at him, her grief and anger overriding whatever fear she might have felt. “I’m letting my best friend . . .” She shook her head once, sharply. “It’s not a game.”
Faegos’s eyes bulged. “We had an arrangement, and I will have your end of the bargain or you will pay a far different price.”
Calliope took a step back, remembering Vikous’s body lying crumpled in the diner.
The sound of a throat clearing, like a hundred trees falling, broke through Calliope’s reply. “KOPROPHAGOS.”
The tiny man’s face jerked toward the sound.
“WE KNOW THAT YOURS HAS BEEN A LONG AND STORIED EXISTENCE. PERHAPS EVEN UNIQUE IN THE HISTORY OF YOUR KIND.” Mahkah’s voice was a rich, deep burr in the grassy earth, rattling the windows of the old house. “IT WOULD BE A TRUE SADNESS TO CUT SUCH A THING SHORT, BUT SUCH SADNESS WOULD PASS. HAVE A CARE.”
Faegos trembled, clearly torn, looking from the shadows to Calliope. “I should have—” he began, but clamped his mouth shut. His eyes blazed, glowing with an internal light in the darkness.
With that, he was gone.
“Creepy little guy,” Joshua said.
Calliope turned back to her friend. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s all right.”
“I just—”
“It’s all right.”
“I can’t . . . it’s not . . .” Calliope gestured into the darkness behind her, tears streaming down her face as she looked at Joshua. “You’re really dead, right?”
Joshua nodded. Calliope returned the nod automatically, blinking and looking around her. “It’s not fair.” Her arms hung at her side, unable even to embrace her lost friend. Silent tears ran down her face.
“If it helps, I think you’re doing the right thing,” Joshua said.
“But you’re dead,” Calliope forced out.
Joshua gave just the hint of a smile. “It happens. There were even good reasons, I think.”
“What reasons?”
He shook his head, his expression troubled. His eyes shifted over Calliope’s shoulder. “Hello, Vikous. Good to finally meet you.”
“White. You too.” Vikous stepped closer to Calliope, his presence a surprising comfort.
“You did a good job. They said you would.”
“Did they?” The corners of Vikous’s mouth drew down as his eyebrows rose, the very picture—or caricature—of bemused surprise. “Huh.”
Joshua smirked, as if the two shared some private joke. His expression, posture—everything about him was just as he always had been, so sharp and immediate the pain in Calliope’s chest made her gasp.
&n
bsp; But it wasn’t him anymore, and never would be. It was a memory.
“So . . .” Joshua turned back to Calliope. “I’ve got to go.”
Calliope blinked. “Oh god, I’m sorry.”
“Stop that.” Joshua frowned for the first time. “My play paid off.” He smiled again, as though hearing his own words for the first time. “I’m proud of you.”
“You . . .” Despite herself, Calliope felt the faintest of smiles touch her lips. “What? How—”
Joshua White was gone.
Calliope felt Vikous’s hand on her shoulder. “You ready for the end?”
Breath escaped her lungs in something like a laugh of disbelief. “I think I might be all ended out for the night.” It had been two days, she realized, since she had had a real night’s sleep.
“It’s just this. Then we’re done.” He gestured to the old house, just beyond where Joshua had been.
She sniffed, wiping at her face. “What’s in there?”
“Answers.” Vikous watched the front door. “Monsters.”
20
INSIDE, IT WAS dark, but Calliope could see light in one of the rooms just off the front hall and continued forward. Her face was reddened and blotchy, but composed; the highs and lows of the night had left her calm, if not wholly at peace. The short hall opened into a living room with a dusty and broken couch in the center, facing a small fireplace.
Dark mold stains streaked the walls, but Calliope could still make out the wallpaper, exactly how Josh had described it to her years ago.
“Your mom put it up on a Sunday afternoon,” she murmured, “while you and your brother were in town with your dad.” She smiled, sad and distant. “She was so proud of herself that she never took it down or painted over it, even when she realized a few months later that she hated the pattern.”
She turned back toward the rest of the house, walking from room to room like someone visiting a museum; hearing her friend’s voice, seeing his wild gestures as he told her stories about his childhood.
Finally, she climbed the stairs to the second floor and turned to the room where two brothers had lived until the day their parents had died.
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