Indelible

by Dawn Metcalf

“They, as in more than one?”

  “Yeah.” Joy swallowed. “Any way we could get a lift?”

  “Where are you?”

  “Evergreen Walk in Glendale, North Carolina.”

  “Okay...” Luiz said. “Let me see what I can do. Hang tight and don’t look surprised when your ride gets there. Everything’s cool.”

  “Okay, thanks.” Joy hung up, wondering what she’d done. Her heart beat faster than it had in the shop. “I got us a ride.”

  “I’m still on hold,” Monica said. “I don’t think I’m going anywhere for a while.” She waved at the officer who was already offering her a clipboard and pen. Joy scanned the plaza. They were too exposed, too out in the open. She felt invisible eyes surrounding her, armed with rocks and hummingbird wings. Monica was still filling out forms when a silver Lexus pulled to a smooth stop.

  “Joy!”

  She sprang off the bench, jogging up to the driver’s-side window. Joy stopped, staring. She couldn’t believe it.

  “Nikolai?”

  “Don’t sound so surprised,” he said in his husky English. “Quickly now—I am between shoots.”

  Joy glanced around the car. It had Carolina plates. “Is this your car?”

  “Less talking, please,” he said. “You want a rescue or no?”

  Joy turned around quickly. “Monica,” she called. “Our ride’s here!”

  “Just finishing up,” Monica said as the police officer handed her a yellow carbon copy. “But the tow will take a while.”

  Nikolai frowned, still managing to be beautiful.

  “Do it later,” Joy suggested. “You want to make it to youth group or not?”

  “Hang on!” Monica said irritably while she removed her MP3 player and emptied the glove compartment’s contents into her Gap bag. Checking the trunk, she locked the car and hurried over. “Thank you, kind stranger!”

  Nikolai nodded. “No problem.” Joy got into the passenger’s seat and Monica jumped in the back. He pulled gracefully past a half dozen cops as Joy kept her eyes forward, trying to act natural, as if she was used to hot Russian underwear models picking her up in expensive cars every day.

  At the stop sign, Nikolai handed Monica a smartphone open to GPS. He smelled of rich, spicy cologne. “Tell it where you want to go,” he said with a smile. “I can get lost in a paper bag.”

  “Just drop me off at First Anglican, thanks,” Monica said, tapping the intersection and stuffing her Victoria’s Secret purchase into the larger Gap bag and covering it up with a new red sweater. “So, how do you know Joy?”

  Nikolai adjusted the rearview mirror and Joy twisted her hands in her pockets.

  “We have friends in common,” he said diplomatically.

  “Really?” Monica said. “Who knows who?”

  “Joy is dating my girlfriend’s brother.”

  “Aha!” Monica cried and pointed a finger at Joy. “Gotcha!”

  Joy blushed. Nikolai laughed and turned left.

  * * *

  They dropped Monica off at the First Angelican Church. She said a quick thank-you and mouthed Wow! to Joy before she ran in. Nikolai chuckled and mumbled something in Russian as he pulled into traffic.

  “So how does this work?” Joy asked, curious. “This rescue, I mean.”

  Nikolai shrugged in his tailored coat. “Luiz called. You were in luck—I was available. Inq brought me to your location and made some man conveniently forget to take his keys out of his car.” He executed a slow, smooth turn onto Wilkes Road. “I wait for him to go into the shop, get in the car and pull around to pick you up. Now I drop you off, return the car and Inq takes me back to work in Pattaya.”

  “Sounds risky,” Joy said.

  “It is. But Luiz said you were in trouble.”

  “I think I am.” Joy swiveled around in her seat. “Where’s Inq?”

  “Shopping, I think.”

  Joy rolled her eyes. “Of course.”

  He turned the wheel smoothly. “Do you know what happened to your friend’s car?”

  “No,” Joy said. “I couldn’t see more than a blur.”

  He pulled up to the condo on silent brakes, his window sliding down as she got out. “It will not always be this easy, but we do what we can.” Nikolai kissed two gloved fingers and waved. “Goodbye, Joy. Be well.”

  Joy waved back as he went to return the stolen car. She ran upstairs, threw her things on the table and hung up her coat. The condo was empty, but she was inside the wards: safe. Dad was another matter. He was out there with Shelley. So was Monica. So was Stef. A stifling panic gripped her. If anything happened to them...

  Her response was automatic: shutting her eyes, she called out desperately, “Ink.”

  He materialized behind her, a soft touch at her back and the clean smell of rain. Joy hugged him tightly. His arms came around her, awkward and new.

  “What happened?” he asked.

  “I don’t know. I’m not sure. But it happened outside, with Monica, and it was right out in the open. Tons of people were there.” Joy spoke past his shoulder, hoping that he could understand her babbling. The words tumbled out the tighter she squeezed. “I knew they were coming and there was nothing I could do and all I could think about was someone getting hurt....”

  “But not at all worried that that someone might be you?” Ink admonished gently.

  “No,” she said. “I wasn’t thinking about me.” And Joy realized she hadn’t. She’d been thinking about Monica and feeling guilty about her car and getting her into trouble. The flying newspapers, the rattling glass, the heated rocks, the smashed-in windows—they were all show. Nothing was done to really hurt her, more like scare her. Whoever they were could have hurt her at any time. But they hadn’t.

  Joy wished that he’d stroke her hair or cuddle her or say something soothing, but he didn’t. He didn’t know how. Joy felt a flash of jealousy for Nikolai and Inq. Ink wasn’t human. He’d never done this before.

  She let go and looked at him fiercely. “What do they want?” she asked.

  “I could guess,” Ink said. “But I would rather know.”

  * * *

  Joy sat in the Bailiwick’s office with a cup of sweet chamomile tea, reciting all that had happened at Evergreen Walk. Ink sat in the opposite chair and Inq stood by the bookshelves as Graus Claude listened behind his polished mahogany desk. She had a momentary flash of déjà vu of her dad and Officer Castrodad listening to her at the kitchen table. She wished she was wearing a comfy sweater.

  “You were supposed to alert me of anything untoward, Miss Malone,” Graus Claude chided. “You could have been seriously hurt.”

  “It just happened,” she said.

  “You do own a cell phone, I trust?” he said. Joy flushed. She didn’t want to admit that she hadn’t programmed his number into her phone. “No matter. The important thing is that you are safe and that the perpetrators did not cause undo harm.”

  Joy swallowed more tea. “Well, they broke a store window and damaged a lot of cars.”

  “Aether sprites could have easily leveled the building, Joy,” Inq said.

  “Aether sprites?” Joy asked, her veins chilling. “Like Hasp?” She almost touched her branding scar. Almost.

  Graus Claude swiveled, his four hands clasping each other in twos. “Finding stones hot to the touch is fairly suspect. When aether sprites travel, anything they carry heats quickly—the friction of being pulled through the air at great speeds.”

  Joy fiddled with her memory. “But I wasn’t...”

  “Of course not,” Inq said, leafing through a book in her hands. “If Hasp had taken you that way, you would have been delivered as cooked meat.”

  “Hasp is no longer capable of loqcution.” Graus Claude’s voice raised slightly
, like a teacher getting annoyed at the class.

  Ink leaned over and said, “Hasp was stripped of his loqcus, his ability to travel the winds, along with his True Name. The Bailiwick suspects that this is what made him league with Briarhook—that Briarhook somehow promised Hasp that he could rescind the Council’s decree.”

  “A foolish promise or a bold claim,” the Bailiwick acknowledged. “And something he should not have said aloud.” The way Graus Claude’s eyes widened made Joy wonder whether the Bailiwick was talking about Briarhook or Ink. She was starting to feel unwelcome and aware of Graus Claude’s many teeth.

  “Hasp was found guilty of criminal acts, an exile,” Ink said. “Although his family and clan might still fly to their own. But why would they come after Joy?”

  Graus Claude spoke soothingly, as if the air itself was ruffled. “If Hasp had simply wanted revenge, your lehman would have suffered it,” he said. “This was a warning—an attempt at fright.”

  “It worked,” Joy muttered, shivering without cold.

  “But you did not run. Nor were you injured,” Ink replied with some pride.

  “No. But why throw rocks?” she asked. “If this was a warning, I don’t know what for. And if I don’t know what not to do, then it could happen again and next time it might be worse.” She thought of Monica, Dad and Stef. “Someone else might get hurt.”

  “That is enough speculation,” Graus Claude declared. “I would consider it an isolated incident.”

  “It wasn’t isolated,” Inq said, crossing the room. “There was a trap before this.”

  The Bailiwick blinked. “A trap?”

  “At her school. I was there,” Inq said. “It tripped so fast, it stopped time. And it was designed specifically for Joy.”

  “WHAT?!” Graus Claude roared.

  The chairs rocked against the carpet and Kurt burst through the door, hand in his jacket. Joy cringed. Neither Ink nor Inq flinched.

  “That’s enough!” Graus Claude bellowed, rising. “More than enough. You tell me nothing and then far too much! Kurt—” He motioned to his butler. “Escort Miss Malone into the foyer. Into the street might be safer, but we will try to maintain a semblance of decorum.” His bright eyes burned and two separate hands pointed accusingly at Ink and Inq. “This trespass of discretion has gone far enough. You two will sit and explain yourselves, now!”

  Kurt appeared at Joy’s elbow. Joy stared at him and then Graus Claude.

  “What?” she said. “You can’t be serious.” She couldn’t believe it. He was kicking her out? Joy tried to appeal to the people in the room. “You can’t sit here discussing things involving me behind my back! This is my life we’re talking about—my friends, my family. I think I ought to know what’s going on!” Joy shifted tactics. “Ink?”

  “I believe she should stay,” Ink said to Graus Claude. “She is my lehman.”

  “Yes, and as your lehman, she is a living compass needle that points directly to you.” Graus Claude rested his four sets of knuckles on the hardwood and pushed himself to stand, looming over the three of them in order to emphasize his point. “She is a wandering target, as are all such things, and the aim is not to destroy her, but to destroy you.” He swung his head to face Joy’s. “This is nothing personal, Miss Malone. In fact, there is nothing more impersonal than being a lehman to one of the Twixt. While the benefits may reap fine rewards, the costs are high and the risks are great. You are just now learning this, and for that, I apologize, but when I request that you be dismissed, it is less a request than it is a command.” Kurt knew a cue when he heard one, and Joy felt his hand close over her arm, pinching a nerve that instantly arced her spine. She whimpered in surprise. Graus Claude ignored it. “Now, Miss Malone.”

  Kurt hauled her up easily and she stumbled to keep stride.

  “Unnecessary,” Inq said in her slicing, wry voice as Kurt marched Joy down the hall.

  “Stop it,” Joy panted around the pain. “Stop it, Kurt. Stopstopstop.”

  They stepped into the foyer, his hand clamped like a vise above her biceps until he casually closed the doors behind them. He let her go without flourish or apology. Joy rubbed her arm and glared daggers.

  “Ow,” she muttered, close to tears.

  Kurt said nothing, his face a mask.

  “Seriously,” Joy said. “You don’t have to do everything he tells you to. Don’t you have a mind of your own? Some choice? Some honor?” Kurt’s head swiveled on the thick axis of his neck, and he gave Joy such a withering glare that she faltered and fell into the wingback chair.

  “Fine,” she said, sitting up. “Fine.” Joy snatched a lukewarm grape from its bowl. “I’ll just wait here for everyone else to live my life then. Why change now?” She popped it in her mouth and many things happened at once.

  Her mouth flooded with a salty, thick wrongness. She gagged. Her salivary glands shriveled. The oily texture quickly congealed like brine jelly on her tongue. She couldn’t spit it out. Couldn’t breathe. It was as if her mouth had filled with seawater and quick-drying cement.

  Joy stumbled, knocking something backward, vaguely aware of Kurt reaching toward her. The doors burst open. Joy stumbled back. Black salt and bile eroded her teeth. Fumes lit her sinuses. She wanted to cry out, but couldn’t open her chapped lips. Her cheeks flooded with saliva and tears.

  And suddenly, Inq was there—hands tight on her face—kissing her.

  Joy froze. Inq’s lips pushed hard against hers, and Joy felt the girl’s tongue probe past her teeth, forcing them open. Inq’s mouth worked insistently even as Joy tried to pull away, jaws and lips moving hungrily. The salty weight lifted, funneling into Inq. Joy stopped fighting and tried to inhale.

  It was thin, slow agony. The stuff separated like crude oil from pure water, siphoning through the filter of Inq’s lips. Joy swallowed small gulps of air that echoed in Inq’s mouth. She broke the kiss and fell backward.

  Joy sucked air in deep, spasmed gasps. The taste of Inq, like dusty roses, lingered in her mouth. Joy stared up at the Scribe. Long black rivulets spooled from Inq’s swollen lips, sliding over her jawline and disappearing down her throat. The tendrils had barbed, serrated edges that faded into tongues of misty-gray, then dirty-peach, and finally, the slightly lighter than flesh color of Inq as she took whatever it was into herself. Inq blinked at Joy and swallowed, licking her pink tongue over plump lips.

  “I can see why he likes you,” Inq said thickly.

  Ink stepped forward. Hesitated.

  “Joy?”

  Joy stared at both of them. Then Graus Claude. Then Kurt.

  There was a rush as she fainted. Just like in the movies.

  * * *

  “...a tad less dramatic, by my preference.”

  “She couldn’t’ve known. Or she would never have...”

  “...might have ended tragically...”

  “She is from the Glen. And has the Sight.”

  “Point taken.” Graus Claude’s voice rumbled as he swam into focus through a fog of ammonia and talcum. Joy blinked. “Ah, Miss Malone. So good of you to join us once again.”

  “He’s sorry,” Inq interrupted.

  “Indeed, I am,” he said. “Mistress Inq, if you would be so kind as to help her up now?”

  Joy was hauled forward, her vision swirling. She blinked hard. Flash! Flash! Ink was there without her even having to speak his name.

  “Joy,” he breathed. She reached out and touched him, holding his near-to-human hand.

  “What happened?” she said, her voice scratchy in her ears. She felt as if she’d been gargling iron filings.

  “You swallowed...” Ink started.

  Inq began, “You tried eating...”

  “Roe,” Graus Claude said primly. “Eggs.”

  “Eggs?” Joy gagged reflexive
ly.

  “They are not meant for human consumption,” the Bailiwick said. “Point of fact, they are not intended for anyone’s consumption. They are a precious commodity and dear to me. You were fortunate that Miss Invisible was able to so quickly discern the cause of distress.” He considered the tumbler of half-melted ice and amber in one hand. “It was a mistake, perhaps, to have allowed you near them. I had forgotten that you were hypoglycemic and that eating is an unconscious mortal habit born of impatience and idle thoughts.”

  Joy frowned, massaging her throat. “What are they doing in a candy dish?!”

  “Where better to hide a treasure than in the open? You have read ‘The Purloined Letter,’ I trust?” Joy stared at Graus Claude. He sighed, disappointed. “No one honors the classics,” he grumbled.

  “They’re poison?” Joy said. Inq winked and licked her bottom lip. Joy spat into her hand. “What kind of prized eggs are poisonous?”

  Inq shook her head. “You don’t want to know,” she warned.

  Graus Claude grinned evilly.

  “Mine.”

  Joy puked.

  Afterward, embarrassed, Joy clung to Ink and avoided Graus Claude’s eye despite his assurance that none of the eggs were fertilized and were kept in a dormant state. She didn’t want to hear it. She didn’t even want to think about it. Gulping cups of sweet tea, she sat in the bathroom, scrubbing her teeth with her finger near the sink. She rested her forehead against the cool porcelain and focused on Ink’s words.

  “We are going to enlist a tracker and follow the aether sprites’ trail. Discover its source,” he said. “We should find answers there.”

  “Get Kestrel,” Inq suggested, handing a damp towel to Ink. “She’s the best.”

  Ink knelt level to Joy. “Are you all right now?”

  “In a minute,” she said. The cycle of thinking about not thinking the thing that she shouldn’t be thinking about brought her perilously close to heaving again. Inq tapped her brother and folded the wet washcloth into thirds. Taking his hand, she placed it in his palm and pressed both against the back of Joy’s neck.

  “Now brush back her hair,” Inq whispered encouragingly. “It will help her feel better.”