Indelible

by Dawn Metcalf

“Or ally, if you’d like,” Graus Claude allowed. “Although many find the cost of her favors far outweigh the benefits.” Again, he sought Joy’s attention. “As I may have mentioned, I have chosen to place myself at the crux between our worlds. Aniseed has positioned herself at its polar opposite—it is her belief that humans are a danger as a whole.” His blue eyes sparkled. “One might sympathize knowing she bore witness to the slaughter of thousands of her people by human hands. Yet she has dedicated her craft to safeguard those who remain. She was the one to develop the practice of signaturae and created the need for Scribes.”

  Inq shrugged. “Then it shouldn’t be unusual for hers to be among the marks.”

  Graus Claude pursed his lips. “Actually, it is most unusual,” he admitted. “Aniseed prefers not to involve herself directly with humans, an understandable position given her personal experience. Even those legitimately under her auspice often go unvouched-for and are claimed by those with lesser ties. Aniseed is the voice of non-involvement and a proponent of separatism.” Graus Claude smiled as one hand moved the mouse aside. “I’ll admit that we are often at odds.” He picked up the piece of paper with the flower of eyes. “While many have been aware of her personal leanings, she has never advocated open hostility, nor has there ever been cause for alarm. She is a stalwart supporter of preserving the Twixt and has a knack for finding and addressing its weaknesses, the adoption of signaturae instead of True Names being a prime example. Politically, she has always remained neutral. As you might expect, she makes a handsome ally, wooed by many in powerful debates.”

  Ink raised his chin in sharp profile. “I have no interest in politics.”

  “Well, they seem to have an interest in you, Master Ink,” Graus Claude said with slight reprimand. “Although I cannot, at the moment, fathom why.”

  The long stretch of quiet prodded Joy to speak.

  “And what about...?” She was about to say me, but a look from Ink changed her mind. “...Kurt?”

  Did Graus Claude look surprised? Pleased? Or merely curious? Something in his expression hinted approval.

  “I wished to spare him his anger. Few things can provoke him as this mark does, and he has worked hard to overcome it,” he said. “Kurt’s anger unleashed is a remarkable thing, but not one I’d care for you to witness, Joy Malone.”

  Inq smirked from her seat. “Some might call it passion.”

  “Some might,” Graus Claude admitted. “But he would not.”

  The smirk vanished.

  “That is all the information I can supply at this time. I will investigate the...unusual particulars of today’s discovery,” Graus Claude said with an ominous thrum.

  “Could it simply be a dual claim?” Inq asked.

  “Certainly possible,” the grand toad allowed. “Many humans who are claimed by one often find favor by other Folk, as well. But I would have received the request and the fee.” His great head shook. “The odds are more than odd, and I certainly would have noticed her signatura on the roster, I assure you. There have been too many strange happenings of late. ‘Twice is coincidence, thrice is suspect.’ It behooves us to be cautious.”

  “Why?” Joy spoke before thinking. “I mean, why worry over one signatura?”

  His blue eyes sparked. “Because you do not know Aniseed as I do.”

  A hush filled the room with only the gurgling of the stone fountains for comfort. Graus Claude grumbled and finally added, “A mark must be given voluntarily, Miss Malone. It is part of the contract in which we ply our trade. The symbol itself can be copied, but it holds no power unless it is bequeathed by its owner. It cannot be counterfeited, forged or stolen, which is why the inexplicable appearance of Aniseed’s signatura is cause for concern....” His voice trailed off like distant thunder.

  Inq glanced at Ink. Joy raised her eyebrows.

  Ink stood. “Thank you, Bailiwick, for your attention to this matter.”

  Graus Claude inclined his head. “I will contact you when I have more answers,” he said. “Master and mistress, be well and good fortunes. Miss Malone, I wish you continued good health.”

  “Thank you,” Joy said, but she was the only one to respond. Dismissed, they walked out of the brownstone into the milder cold outdoors. On the stairs, Joy glanced back into the empty foyer.

  Kurt had not reappeared to escort them out.

  * * *

  They sheared into the world outside the Glendale Oak, splicing through its bark riddled with initials and hearts. Joy shivered at the sudden drop in temperature. Her coat was still in her locker. She tucked her fingers under her armpits.

  “Crap!” she exclaimed. “I forgot my hall pass.”

  “You don’t need a hall pass,” Inq said. “We’re outside.”

  “I meant the one I had from Mr. Soares.”

  “Where did you leave it?” Ink asked.

  Joy grimaced and hopped in place, thinking. “Probably in the hotel room,” she said. “I’m supposed to be in history class.”

  “You took her during class?” Ink accused Inq. “In a crowd?”

  “Don’t be silly,” Inq said. “She excused herself—hence, the hall pass, or lack thereof.”

  Ink shook his head. “Impossible.”

  Inq beamed. “That would be me!”

  “Excuse me,” Joy said, pushing past. “It’s freezing and I’m more than a little freaked out right now and I’m supposed to be in class.”

  Joy ran through the chunky snow. Ink called to her as she took the stairs, clutching her arms against the wind or fear or both.

  “Do not worry,” Ink said, his voice carrying. “The Bailiwick will take care of it.”

  Joy slipped through the doors, teeth chattering. “I’m not worried,” she shouted back. The Scribes watched her from the snow, but Joy could still hear their slicing voices on the wind.

  “You should be,” whispered Inq.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  JOY NO LONGER quite believed in the world. Days at school passed in a fog where even the sound of her shoes on the tiles seemed surreal. She didn’t pay attention in class, instead spending the hours waiting and wondering who might come through a wall, unseen, and was constantly surprised to be addressed by name. Monica stopped asking if she was on drugs and was calling it “love”—something Joy didn’t deny. It felt like love, all dreamy and mysterious. Joy almost didn’t mind that Monica was too busy with Gordon to ask for details.

  Almost.

  She no longer got messages—Graus Claude saw to that—but Joy found herself looking for them in her locker, on her cell, in her pocket or her bag, as an easy excuse to call Ink. She had the four-leaf clover sandwiched between her ATM card and her school ID, and her text inbox boasted a single saved message from Ink himself, I am here, along with twenty or so unread ones from Mom, including two new ones. Joy clicked them into the Saved folder with a sigh. Would Mom ever give up? That part of their life was over. Joy wasn’t that person anymore—she couldn’t go back. Not now. Not ever. Too much had changed.

  Her thumb quivered as she pressed Save. Joy had skipped breakfast and now had the weak, icy feeling of going too long without food. White dots sparkled on the edge of her vision. She hurried downstairs before the dizziness started.

  The smell of the cafeteria made her swoon. Grabbing a tray, she joined Monica in line.

  “You look white,” Monica said.

  “Caucasian, actually,” Joy said, wiping her forehead. “Boy, you have been distracted. I blame Gordon-ocious.”

  Monica smacked her arm with the plastic tray. “No joke. Are you okay?”

  Joy nodded, stomach clenching. She didn’t want to keep talking. Her evasion was part safety, part jealousy and more than a couple parts selfish hurt. But she was so hungry she felt nauseous. She swallowed past words.

 
“Nothing a few hundred calories won’t cure.”

  Her phone beeped. Joy checked the screen. There was a text from Stef: Call ASAP! “Crap.” Joy eyed the lunch line and her phone, knowing it would be confiscated if she answered it here.

  “Go call,” Monica said. “I’ll hold your spot.”

  “Thanks.” She stepped out of the queue and pulled on her coat, hitting Call Back with shaky fingers as she stepped outside. She fished out a spoon and her emergency jar of soy butter, the permission slip from the nurse taped over its label. Joy scraped a dollop on her teeth as the phone connected.

  “Hey,” she said.

  “Hey, yourself,” Stefan answered. “You busy?”

  “I should be at lunch, but you texted ASAP.”

  “Yeah,” he said. “I did.”

  A long moment of silence let her sneak in a second bite.

  “So?” she said around another spoonful.

  “So have you told Dad?” Stef asked.

  Joy licked the spoon. Fat and calories sang in her brain.

  “About what?”

  “About what?” Stef mocked. “About your boyfriend, Joy.”

  “Have you told Dad about your boyfriend?”

  “I just told Mom,” he said.

  Joy swallowed. Stef had talked to Mom? Just now? Was that one of the messages on her phone? The thought made her ill—nervous and jealous and scared.

  “What did she say?”

  “Nothing much,” Stef admitted. “Mostly that she loved me no matter what, that she wanted me to be happy and was this what I really wanted? You know...” He trailed off. “Mom.”

  Yeah, Joy knew. Still...Mom. Soy butter lodged in her throat.

  “Joy?” Stef’s voice brought her back from the edge.

  “Yeah?” she said quickly. “Well, good for you.”

  “Now it’s your turn.”

  A rush filled her ears, the familiar, hollow sound of held-back tears.

  “Thanks, but I’ll pass.”

  “C’mon, Joy!” Stef said sternly. “You can’t go sneaking around Dad.”

  She force-fed herself another spoonful and spoke around the lumpy mass on her tongue.

  “Watch me,” she muttered.

  Her older brother sighed loudly into the phone.

  “Quit being a brat.”

  “I’m not being a brat!” she insisted. “It’s just...complicated.”

  “Really? I can’t imagine what that must be like.”

  “Trust me, this is different.”

  “So says the sixteen-year-old.”

  “Almost seventeen!” Joy said.

  “Then start acting like it!” Stef shot back. “Mom’s worried about you, but if you don’t want to talk to her yet, fine. But Dad isn’t like Mom. He’s not all into the deep talking and heart-to-heart, but if you lie to his face, it’ll kill him, Joy. You know it. Right now you’re all he—”

  “Don’t!” Joy warned, her eyes gone wet. “Don’t say it. And I’m not, okay? I’m not all he’s got. Did you know Dad’s dating someone? Did you know that? Huh? Some woman named Shelley.”

  The barest pause. “No, I didn’t know that,” Stef said. “Did he tell you or did you find out on your own?”

  The answer squirmed inside her.

  “He told me,” she admitted.

  “Well, then,” he said, “don’t you think you owe him the same thing?”

  Joy rubbed her eyes, which started the one flashing angrily again. The cold stung her face. She wiped away tears. She didn’t owe anyone anything. Mom, Dad, Stef, Monica. They’d all left her!

  “I can’t—I mean it, Stef. I want to, really I do....” And the weird thing was, she really did. Joy wanted to show off Ink, her boyfriend, to Dad and Monica and everyone else. To be seen as a couple. To be normal. She wanted something in her life to be normal. “But that’s not going to happen,” she said, more to herself than her brother. “It’s just not possible.”

  The silence on the phone was harsh as the wind.

  “Listen, Joy,” Stef said. “I hate to put it this way, but if you don’t tell Dad that you’re dating some mystery guy, I will. When I tell him about me, I’ll tell him about you.”

  Joy stomped her foot. “Stef, don’t!”

  “Trust him, Joy. He trusts you.”

  She railed impotently in the courtyard, kicking bricks with her shoe. He always knew how to get to her.

  “I’ll tell him,” Joy said. “Okay? I’ll tell him.”

  “You’ll tell him,” Stef repeated. “When?”

  “I don’t know,” Joy said. “I didn’t plan for this to happen!”

  “Tell me about it.”

  “Hey, you took your time.” Even Joy knew it was a low blow.

  “I didn’t lie to him, Joy. Or to you,” Stef said quietly. “I’d been too busy lying to myself.”

  “Yeah, well, me too,” Joy said, wiping her eyes. Why was she crying? “I didn’t expect it... It just happened.”

  “Well, just make sure nothing else ‘just happens,’ okay? Remember—one conniption fit at a time, and the first two are mine.” Her brother’s voice softened. “But tell him soon, Joy. Dad doesn’t need any more surprises.”

  “Uh-huh,” Joy said with a sniff. “Okay. No more surprises.” Scrubbing her face, she sighed. There was no kidding around this time, no teasing goodbyes. This conversation was grown-up and for real.

  “Bye, Stef,” she whispered.

  “Bye, Joy. I love you.” Click.

  She thumbed the phone off and turned around.

  Inq stood there smirking.

  “Surprise!”

  * * *

  Joy marched quickly down the hall, leading Inq away from the lunchroom and other people.

  “What are you doing here?” Joy asked under her breath. Salted soy butter stuck in her throat.

  “Just visiting,” Inq said. “I thought I’d bring you this.” She held up the laminated thumbs-up sign, its key chain dangling off her palm: Mr. Soares’s missing hall pass. Joy snatched it back. Inq grinned. “You’re welcome.”

  “Thank you,” she said. Checking the halls and the doors and the wall-mounted cameras, Joy retreated from the more congested parts of the school.

  “Isn’t there somewhere you need to be?” Joy whispered.

  “Need is such a human word.” Inq pouted. “Want and need are so subjective. I don’t find them very useful.” Joy turned a corner. Inq followed. “Where are you going?”

  “My locker,” Joy improvised, hoping that no one could see her talking to herself.

  “Well, that does sound important.”

  Joy bit back her retort. Inq sounded bored, and she was in no mood for bored Inq, which promised to be both dangerous and highly annoying. Inq hadn’t been too happy when they’d last been at Graus Claude’s, and Joy was still feeling emotional after her conversation with Stef. Prolonged exposure did not bode well. Joy picked up the pace, skidding to a halt in front of her locker.

  “What do you want?” she whispered over her shoulder.

  Inq tipped her pixie face to the side as Joy dialed her combination.

  “Well, I just thought...”

  Joy pushed up the handle and darkness slammed down.

  Stunned, Joy glanced around in the heartbeat that followed, the flash in her eye a weak firefly in sudden shadow. She squeezed the locker handle. It was solid and, presumably, real. She was in her school hallway, instantly transported into night. The world was coated in a thick film of heavy, brooding gray, but it wasn’t nighttime. The few people between classes were stuck where they stood. A dropped pen hung in midair. The hall clock hands frozen at 11:47.

  A thick, curving line held a concentrated darkness, as if a
circle had been burned with gasoline on the floor. Joy was trapped inside a bubble—everything beyond it as still as a held breath.

  Except Inq.

  Inq struggled to her feet. She looked almost as shocked as Joy felt. Her dark, colorless eyes blinked rapidly as she frowned.

  “Joy?” Inq called, her voice warped as if underwater, echoing weirdly although she was barely six inches away. “Are you okay?”

  Joy waited for the sound of her words to fade before answering.

  “Yes,” she said. Her voice sounded normal to her. “I think so.” She let go of the locker door, but nothing changed. The weight of the gray silence was like a deepwater dive. “What happened?”

  “I don’t know,” Inq confessed. The sound seemed mismatched, penetrating the bubble a long second after her mouth moved. “It’s a trap.”

  “A trap?” Joy stretched out to grab Inq through the veil, but hit something not quite solid that sparked. Joy hissed, clenching the feeling of electric ant bites from her fingers. Pain lit the fear inside her. She stared at Inq. “Get me out.”

  “I don’t know...” Inq sounded upset, worried, for the first time Joy had known her. And now was a bad time to start. “I don’t think I can.”

  “Yes, you can!” Joy said. “Get me out! Try!” She held out her hand as if Inq might dare to take it, but the Goth girl shook her head and splayed her fingers as if she were waving goodbye. Joy’s heart thudded wildly. “Ink...”

  “Don’t call him,” Inq warned. “He’d appear inside with you, and we need to be sure we can get you both out first.” She glanced over the fiery line, her mouth tight and grim. “Hang on.”

  Ripples swam from Inq’s spread fingers. Concentric waves of scrollwork spun toward the bubble’s wall, glyphs exploding where they touched the dark barrier, throwing fiery sparks. Joy covered her face and cringed. Inq held up both hands until the barrage of sigils and fireworks stopped. Quiet fell. Blue lightning coursed along the shadow like an angry electric fence.

  “Joy?” Inq called.

  “I’m okay,” Joy said, checking herself slowly, then examining the unbroken line of charcoal light.

  “There must be a trigger. Something that set off the trap.” Inq pointed a smooth finger at the locker door. “Do you see anything?”