“I’ve heard a lot of great things about the carnival, but I haven’t been out to see it yet,” Julian went on, and I wondered if the good things he’d heard had come from Gabe. Had he spoken of me? “The restaurant keeps me busy.”
“I would imagine,” Gideon replied with an uneasy smile.
“But listen, if you guys or any of the carnival workers want to stop out here, you can have a drink on the house.” Julian pointed to the bar in the back. “It’s always great to have entertainers like you in Caudry. It breathes a bit of life into the old town.”
Gideon thanked him again, and I hurried outside before Julian said anything more. He’d seemed nice enough, but I was terrified that Julian may be Gabe’s father and that he could make a connection I didn’t want him to make. If Gabe had mentioned me by name, “Mara” was uncommon enough that Julian would figure out that I was part of the carnival.
There was so much going on, I knew that I shouldn’t even be worrying about what Gabe thought of me, or if I really would see him again. But I couldn’t help it. I hadn’t meant to make a connection with someone just when everything at home seemed to be falling apart.
“You okay?” Luka asked, noticing me dash out of the restaurant.
“Yeah, I’m fine.” I smiled to reassure him. “Let’s just go see Leonid.”
Gideon led the way up the rickety stairs, and it was obvious that any repairs being done hadn’t extended beyond the front of the house for the bar and grill. Before we’d even reached his door, I could smell something off—like acetone mixed with sulfur.
“Gross.” Luka wrinkled his nose. “It’s like someone spilled nail polish remover on a pile of rotten eggs.”
“That means this is Leonid’s place,” Gideon said under his breath, and knocked on the door. He glanced back at Luka and me. “You guys hang until I see how Leonid is doing, all right?”
Leonid Murphy had traveled with the sideshow for many years, and I didn’t know the full extent of the reason he’d left three years ago, but there had been very strong rumblings of drugs. I knew that Gideon didn’t seem to care when Blossom or Doug smoked pot, so I figured it had to be something harsher and more complicated than that.
At any rate, Leonid had left on amicable terms—Gideon had given him a handshake, a few hundred dollars, and wished him all the best. That’s why, despite Leonid’s sketchy history, Gideon had trusted his old friend’s postcard. Well, that and desperation.
“Just a second!” Leonid’s nasally, slightly high-pitched voice wafted through his door.
Moments later, the front door flew open, and Leonid was exactly as I remembered him. He towered half a foot over Gideon, who was quite tall in his own right, and Leonid had answered the door shirtless, so I could see every rib and bone protruding through his pale skin.
His skeletal frame had nothing to do with any alleged drug use—it was the reason he’d joined the carnival. No matter how much he ate, he’d never gained a pound. He’d worked as a contortionist, and I’d seen him dislocate all his joints and bend himself up into a shockingly small pretzel.
“Gideon!” Leonid exclaimed, and without warning, he threw his arms around Gideon in one of the most awkward embraces I’d ever seen.
Then his eyes drifted over to Luka and me, and I noticed his normally green eyes had gone muddy. The left one, in particular, looked glossed over, like glaucoma had set in, even though Leonid couldn’t have been more than twenty-seven or twenty-eight.
“Mara, Luka!” Leonid shouted, letting go of Gideon. “Oh gosh, the gang’s all here. It’s so great to see you all. I’m so glad you came.”
“Well, you did invite us,” Gideon told him, and he’d stepped back, leaning against the stair rail so he’d be a bit farther out from Leonid’s reach.
“I did. Of course, I did.” He moved back into the doorway, and motioned for us to come in. “Come on in. Welcome to my home.”
Since he was so tall, he had to hunch over to invite us in and he kept his long arms folded up so we could pass. He looked very much like a praying mantis, and suddenly, I heard Blossom’s voice in my head—as crisp and clear as if she were standing beside me—reading aloud from a book of poetry, “‘Will you walk into my parlor?’ said the Spider to the Fly.”
16. the hermit
Inside the stench was stronger, and I wanted to plug my nose, but I didn’t want to appear rude. Luka had to wipe his eyes, since they’d begun to water. The kitchen below must have had its own more appetizing scents strong enough to block out whatever Leonid had cooking up here.
Leonid’s apartment was small and cluttered, but not particularly dirty. Stacks of magazines, newspapers, VHS tapes, and records filled most of the space. A ratty old couch sat across from a massive floor television. The coffee table beside it was mostly cleared off, with only a few books and a small stack of papers on it.
The windows at the back of the apartment were open, but the air felt stale and musty. In the distance, a lone bird sang a mournful song.