Hidden Things (11 page)

Calliope was expected.

Two guards, their features eerily similar to the staff at the bowling alley, motioned her out of the elevator when the doors opened. When they realized she was alone, they exchanged a look, but said nothing. One indicated she should follow him with a move of his head; the other fell in behind her as they walked to the office.

“My dear,” Gluen murmured, “it's a pleasure to see you again.”

“I kind of doubt that,” she replied, her voice clipped.

Gluen settled his arms on his desk; the flesh around his elbows splayed out as though he'd set down two plastic bags full of pudding. He steepled his fingers before him. “Manners cost nothing. Where is our enigmatic Vikous this evening?”

“Walking,” Calliope muttered.

“Excuse me?” Gluen's hairless eyebrow quirked.

“He had better things to do,” she said, raising her voice to normal levels.

Gluen stared at her. As Calliope watched, the corner of his mouth quirked, pulling at his sagging jowls. Then, the other side moved a bit more and his lips parted. His sharp, shining eyes disappeared as his mouth opened farther, squeezing them shut—a thick, wheezing breath hissed into him, then out, then in again, deeper, as though he were about to explode.

In a way, he did.

Gluen laughed.

Anyone, if he is laughing hard enough, could be said to shake. With Gluen, laughter was something far worse. Watching as the fit of amusement overtook him, Calliope did not see shaking; she saw the sagging seam of a cheap garbage bag threatening to split and spill rotten food; she saw the swaying of an overfull colostomy bag being carried at a full sprint, she
saw
a visual representation of what vomiting
felt
like—her own gorge rising in response, the bile burning her throat and clawing at the root of her tongue. It was a nightmare worse than almost anything Calliope could imagine.

The fat man laughed harder.

She turned away and squeezed her eyes shut, thinking herself safe until she realized she could still hear him—not the laughter, but the actual swaying, sliding, sloshing movement the laughter caused. She clapped her hands over her ears, groaning through clenched teeth, wanting nothing in life at that moment but for the laughter to stop. She sank into a crouch, locked her fingers behind her head, and clamped her forearms over her ears, squeezing her head so tightly white spots flashed behind her eyelids as she rocked back and forth on her heels, her groan becoming a high, keening thing.

When Gluen's laughter did eventually subside, Calliope didn't know it. One of the lithe guards tapped her on the shoulder with two long fingers, then again when she didn't respond. She opened her eyes just enough to see his impassive, aquiline features, and, at his gesture, she stood and lowered her arms, moving like a gun-shy deer.

In the aftermath, the silence in the room was almost as much of a shock as the sound; Calliope could hear only Gluen's exhausted panting. Weirdly, with her back to him, he sounded like a much smaller person; each breath was a precise, frail thing that seemed entirely insufficient to the task.

She didn't want to turn around and see the expression on his face after being all but driven to her knees in front of him, but the only alternative was walking out the way she'd come, which meant going on without what she'd come for, and she'd already gone through too much for that.

She turned, braced for whatever mocking he might muster.

She had no reason to worry. Gluen sprawled in his chair, leaning back so far that he was nearly prone. His tiny gasps rushed into a mouth that gaped disproportionately wide, as though he were a fish trying desperately to suck life from the wrong medium. His face—in fact, every visible inch of him—was slick with sweat. His jowls slid over the folds of skin at his neck like mating eels; the printed silk of his shirt looked more like a full-body tattoo, it was so stuck to him.

Worse, his proportions were wrong. Before, he had been grotesquely obese; uncommon, but hardly unique—strange enough Calliope could never quite ignore it. Now, it was as if he had come undone. His abdomen on the left side sagged out and hung over the arm of his chair, apparently held in place by nothing except the clinging silk of his shirt. On the same side, his ear had grown twice the size of its counterpart, while his right eye sagged in its socket, lower than the other by at least a half an inch and looking for all the world as though it might fall out and roll down his cheek.

A low, impressed whistle wound through the room from the doorway. Calliope turned to see Vikous, his hands in his pockets, shaking his head slowly and clicking his tongue. “My goodness, Gluen,” he drawled, his voice rough. He took a few easy steps, stopping just short of the desk. “You're really letting yourself go these days.”

Still panting, Gluen could manage only a gesture in reply; his arm rose a bare inch from the chair, one quavering, nearly triangular finger indicating Calliope. Incredibly, his breath hitched and the corner of his gaping mouth quirked upward, as though his laughter might return. Despite her earlier resolve, Calliope tensed, ready to flee to the elevator.

Vikous looked over his shoulder at her, his eyebrows raised. “
You
did this?”

Calliope shook her head, at a loss. “No. He—” She swallowed against the burning in her throat and tried again. “He started laughing.”

Vikous's eyes widened, more in astonishment than any kind of worry. “What did you
say
?” Before she could answer, he waved the question away. “Never mind. Go . . .” He gestured at the doorway to the office. “Go grab some water. I'll fix this.”

Calliope's eyes slid back to Gluen; she didn't bother trying to hide her disbelief. “How?”

Vikous shook his head. “You couldn't handle the bowling alley,” he murmured. “Trust me when I say you don't want to know about this.” Calliope felt the urge to voice some kind of protest, but she let it go.

At the doorway, she turned, her mouth open to call something back, but Vikous was right there, his hand on the door. “Sorry,” he said, his voice gruff, but not unkind.

“Me too,” she murmured, hoping he understood.

He nodded and pulled the door shut.

The last thing Calliope saw was Gluen's eyes, filled with suspicion, watching her companion as Vikous turned away from her.

“Come on back in.” Vikous stood in the doorway, silhouetted in profile.

Calliope stood. She'd been waiting outside the office for the better part of a half hour. In that time, she'd realized she'd lost more than that during Gluen's laughing fit. She didn't like to think about how far away she'd gone in her own mind to survive it, and she had no desire to go back into the office again.

“How bad is it?” she asked. “What happened?”

Vikous paused. “You want to know?” His voice was low, darkened by a shadow of irritation. He hadn't turned toward her. His head was lowered and cocked slightly to the side; he seemed to be watching her sidelong. “Because it doesn't seem like you really want to know about any of this.”

Calliope worked her jaw. “I said I was sorry.”

“Okay.” He straightened, sniffed, and cleared his throat. “Everyone has to keep control over themselves, or bad things happen. That's just life.” He jerked his head toward the office. “Sometimes those bad things are more obvious than others, and the way they lose control is a little weirder. That's what happened: you said something funny, and he lost it.”

“I didn't say anything funny,” Calliope replied. “He asked where you were and I said you had something better to do.”

“Ahh,” Vikous said.

Calliope waited, but he said nothing else. “What? That's not funny.”

“It is if you're us.” He motioned with one hand. “Come on.” He turned away and returned to the office.

Reluctantly, she followed, keeping her eyes averted until she was close enough to Gluen's desk that there was simply nowhere else to look but at their host. When she did, her eyes widened. “Damn,” she breathed.

Gluen glanced up from a stack of papers he was skimming. “And with that, both our lovely Miss Jenkins and her profanity reenter the scene.” The corners of his mouth turned up in a perfunctory socialite's smile that never reached his lips, let alone his eyes. “Lovely.”

Calliope stared back, lips slightly parted, brow furrowed. Gluen returned her look with one of calm reserve. His clothing was the same, but immaculate and fresh. He not only showed no signs of the previous trauma, but was actually improved from when Calliope had first arrived. She looked at Vikous, at a loss for words.

“I am not, I assure you, unfamiliar with the wonder and astonishment my presence engenders in the fairer sex.” Gluen picked up the stack and handed it, without looking, to one of his guards, leaving one sheet of paper on the blotter. “But I'm on something of a tight schedule for the rest of my evening, so you will excuse me if I move things along.”

“How—” Calliope turned back to Gluen. “When we were talking before, and you asked me where Vikous was—”

“That's not a conversation I wish to revisit, Miss Jenkins.” Gluen scratched lightly at the corner of his mouth with a fingertip. “I'm sure you understand.”

“Not even a little bit.”

“Yes, well.” Gluen folded his hands on his desk. “That's not a problem with which I can help.” His eyes flicked to Vikous. “I'm not convinced anyone can.” He sniffed. “But a spark of curiosity, however dim, shows some promise. Perhaps you will find your Professor Higgins.” Gluen leaned back, causing a now-familiar ripple beneath his clothes. “The goal of your quest lies, of course, within the Hidden Lands.” His fingers played over the single paper on his desk. “Your lost young man—”

“He's not my man.” Calliope muttered, defensively. “And what the hell are the Hidden Lands?”

Gluen shrugged. “Mr. White is something to you or you are something to him; in any case, you are tied to one another in such a way as makes your involvement requisite.” He peered at her. “You . . . have a talent? You dance? Draw? Perhaps sing?”

Calliope frowned. “No.” She glanced at Vikous. “Not anymore.”

“You did.”

She paused. “Yeah.”

Gluen smiled. “The adoration of the crowd is truly a wondrous thing. One may almost become . . . hungry for it.”

“The
point,
” Vikous said. “Stay on it.”

Gluen shot Vikous a look composed of equal parts frustration and annoyance. Vikous returned the look with nothing more than a raised eyebrow, and the fat man relented and returned his attention to Calliope. “As to your question, I will not waste my time or yours explaining something as elementary as the Hidden Lands.” He indicated Vikous. “
That
is your guide, in case the two of you require introductions; it is your guide's responsibility to explain such rudimentary things.”

Vikous grunted, but it didn't sound like dissent. Gluen continued, “White's death locale is significant. You will find his killer there. He is waiting.”

Calliope shook her head. “Josh can't be dead. I got a call from him two hours
after
he was supposed to have been killed.”

“Certainly. How else would you expect—” Gluen blinked once and turned to Vikous. Calliope felt her annoyance flare. “This hasn't been explained?” he asked.

Vikous didn't answer.

Gluen stared at him, then: “You are her guide.” It seemed to be an admonishment. Vikous's eyes narrowed.

“Y'know what? This is crap.” Calliope's voice sounded shrill even to her. “This information is nothing but made-up names and bullshit, so just give me his other message.”

Gluen smiled, though there was no humor in it. “Very well,” he said, his voice a quiet rasp. “Vikous, wait outside.”

 

“I want to apologize, my dear,” Gluen said.

“Sure.” Calliope spat the word out as though it tasted bitter.

Gluen inclined his head a fraction, barely enough to add another roll of flesh to his neck. “We are not on the best of terms, you and I, but I want you to understand—truly—that I wish my role in this had been explained to you more fully before we reached this point.”

“Whatever.” Calliope closed her eyes, trying to keep her anger in check long enough to get what she came for. “Won't be the first time I don't understand what the hell's going on. Just give me the message.”

Gluen watched her, his sagging face solemn. “I won't annoy you further by asking if you're sure, but once more, before we begin, I want to say that I am sorry for this.”

“It's—” Calliope bit down on her reply, which she could feel growing into a shout. “It's fine,” she continued in a more normal tone. “Could we just get this done? It's late.”

“Of course.” Gluen motioned with one sagging arm, and his assistant left the room, closing the door behind him. “If you'll give me a moment to recall things exactly,” he said, then closed his eyes and lowered his chin in concentration.