Indelible

by Dawn Metcalf

  Joy felt the tug of his fingers lifting damp strands from her skin and softly combing her scalp. She was slightly annoyed that Inq was right: it did help her feel better. But it didn’t help her feel less out of her depth, a human weakness to be exploited, a tool used to hurt Ink. She was done letting other people mess up her life. She was a wildflower with bite. She was stronger than this.

  Joy removed the towel and squeezed his hand.

  “I’m ready,” she said quietly.

  “Good. Let’s go,” Inq said.

  Joy frowned. “All of us?”

  “The three of us,” Ink clarified. Kurt hardly moved.

  “Is there a problem?” Inq said. “I just saved your life.”

  It was true. She had. Joy didn’t want to think about the details.

  “Right,” Joy said weakly. “Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome,” Inq chirped as she helped Joy to stand. “Besides—” she winked bawdily “—if I tag along, I may get the chance to kiss you again!”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  GRAUS CLAUDE HAD ordered a car to take them back to Evergreen Walk. He considered it less obtrusive than their appearing out of nowhere, but Joy could not imagine anything more obtrusive than this. The classic Bentley looked like a candy bar, all rich chocolate-browns and caramels and white-rimmed tires. The driver even wore a matching uniform and a tidy black cap. Inq pushed off the cream-colored leather and brushed the side of his neck by his ear. Slithering calligraphy burst and sluiced down his skin, disappearing under his collar. Inq sat back and shrugged apologetically.

  “Sorry,” she said. “Habit.”

  Ink might have rolled his eyes, but it was impossible to tell. The car drove off smoothly, like milk chocolate on the road.

  Ink placed one of his new hands on Joy’s bouncing knee. “We are going to pick up our passenger and then take you to where it happened,” he said. “It should only take a moment.”

  “In a Bentley?” Joy asked.

  “Somewhat more than a moment,” Ink admitted. “Still, the Bailiwick sent word ahead that we would be meeting our contact at a drop point that would otherwise be closed to us at such short notice.”

  Joy examined Ink’s face. “You trust Graus Claude,” she said.

  “Absolutely.”

  Joy glanced at Inq. “You, too?”

  Inq placed her hand flat against the window. “There is only one person I trust absolutely,” she said to the sky.

  Ink turned away leaving Joy and the driver sharing an awkward silence. She wondered if the man could hear the others in the car, or if he was simply too professional to ask Joy why she was talking to herself. She guessed it didn’t matter, really. She was clearly crazy either way.

  Joy dozed until the car suddenly turned into a national wildlife preserve, waking as the driver paid the five-dollar entry fee. Cruising into dappled sunlight, Joy squinted up into the bare-branch canopy and rooted around her memories to see if she recognized the place. Her folks were never really into the camping-nature-hike thing, but something about the woods hinted at a childhood feeling of freedom and exploration that she couldn’t pinpoint but felt nostalgic just the same.

  Ink lowered the window. It slid soundlessly down. The wind was a blast of cold, crisp air sprinkled with the wet of passing winter and the pollen promise of spring. There were even a few flashes of green rolling past the car in whispers.

  Ink closed his eyes and lifted his chin like a dog, reveling in the wind in his face and hair. A smile lit his lips, simple and serene. He looked beautiful. Joy had never thought she’d be envious of air.

  His eyes opened slowly; they did not squint in the breeze.

  “There she is,” Ink said and lifted his hand in greeting. Joy leaned forward to catch a glimpse.

  At first, she didn’t see anything and tried looking out Inq’s side of the car, but Inq was looking in Ink’s direction, so Joy switched back. The figure, when she saw it—“her”—was easy to miss, wearing a patchy cloak of grays and browns that blended easily into the background, her head completely cloaked in the hood, face unseen. As they drove closer, Joy was horrified to see that it was not the hood of the cape that hid the tracker’s face, but an actual hood like a hunting bird’s—cracked leather, worn and weathered, stitched together with brace cords pulled tight at the neck. A thick rope ran from beneath the cloak to a knot tied loosely around a trail marker.

  The antique car rolled to a stop and Ink unlocked his door. Inq shifted to the opposite side of the seat. Neither Joy nor the driver moved.

  Joy listened to the eerie exchange between Ink and the hooded figure, a sound like dragging a stick over fence posts, or the wooden, fish-shaped instrument she’d played in elementary school. It didn’t sound like they were using words or voices. They spoke in choppy clicks and pops like dolphins.

  “Agreed,” Ink said in English. “After you.”

  The cracked leather headgear entered the car first. Joy pushed away, giving Kestrel plenty of room. The hood moved sharply, birdlike, pointing at the driver, then Inq, then Joy—Joy had no trouble believing that whatever it was could see them perfectly through the leather mask, sizing them up like a hawk.

  A stork-thin leg stepped into the car, parting the cloak, and a bare foot dropped down, pockmarked with dirt and bits of dead leaf. Snow still clung to her toes. Joy stared at the foot to avoid looking at Kestrel’s hood. The tracker settled into the seat, the fine leather upholstery sighing as the cloak settled around her like wings.

  Ink shut the door with a surprisingly loud sound. He held the thick leash in his hand as the car pulled away.

  “My lehman and associate,” Ink said by way of introduction. “Joy. And you know Inq.” There was no sound of confirmation from under the hood. Ink continued. “This is Kestrel,” he said to them. “She has agreed to be our tracker.”

  Joy looked between Ink and the hood.

  “Hi,” she tried.

  The hood nodded slightly. If the ride hadn’t been so smooth, Joy would have sworn the motion had just been a bump in the road.

  “Our quarry is aether sprites,” Ink said. “Approximately four or five of them. Loqcution along an open expanse, cultivated lawn, sparse tree cover, developed land. Midday sun and minimal clouds. Decent wind. Is that correct, Joy?”

  Joy shrugged, unable to keep her eyes off the strange person sitting next to her under the cloak. “Yeah,” she said. “I guess so.”

  Ink wrapped the jesses around the back of his hand. “Having studied maps of the area, the Bailiwick designed our course as follows: we will exit the car behind where you first saw the attack. We will escort Kestrel quickly and directly across the courtyard while the car circles around. Inq will exit the car and transition us back into the vehicle. We will then leave the premises, review our report and Kestrel will receive payment once we return to her drop point.”

  The plan was clear and clipped and precise. Joy nervously picked at her cuticles. What would happen when she walked Kestrel across Evergreen Walk in the middle of a busy Saturday, returning to the scene of a crime? She couldn’t guess. The idea was too ludicrous and frighteningly surreal.

  They rode the rest of the way in silence. Inq idly traced invisible shapes on the window and Joy squeezed her fingers between her knees.

  The Bentley turned onto Evergreen Walk and Joy’s heart raced as she watched her two worlds collide. She tried to remind herself that it had already happened, that the aether sprites had been the ones to pierce the thin wall separating her carefully preserved everyday reality and her bizarre life in the Twixt, but this was different: this was the first time she would be actively walking out in public with a troop of inhuman creatures ferried in a very expensive car. There was no turning back, no possible excuse she could give if she got caught. Joy only hoped that no one would recognize her.<
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  She breathed deeply. Her hands tingled. She noticed that Monica’s car had been towed. A red sedan was parked in its place.

  “Tell the driver where to pull over,” Ink said quietly, the words piercing Joy’s thoughts like a pin.

  Joy pointed across the mall lawn, near the gazebo. “There.”

  Ink spoke to the driver. “Drop us off at two o’clock and circle. Pick up at seven. Keep the car running.”

  The driver nodded. Joy’s shoulders twitched. Kestrel, sensing action, shook her shoulders like ruffled feathers. Anticipation lit the air. Joy watched dozens of shoppers crossing the sidewalks, chatting while pushing strollers, groups of kids sitting on benches and steps, parents carrying toddlers, security guards patrolling belly-first along the curb. This was such a bad idea....

  “Here,” Ink said, opening the door as the car pulled to a stop, the engine softly purring. “Up.” He tugged the leash once. Kestrel slid out of the seat without further prompting. Joy scootched over and forced her wobbly legs to stand. She didn’t look up. She didn’t want to be here.

  “Good luck,” Inq called from the backseat. “See you soon!” She pulled the door closed and the Bentley slid from the curb.

  People watched the car, pointing and murmuring. A few glanced toward the three of them, but no one reacted. Joy hoped that she was the only one they could see. Scratch that—she hoped that she was invisible, too. She looked around for any telltale blurs of shadow, but everything was oppressively normal. She buried her hands in her pockets and kept her head down.

  Ink touched her arm and Joy met his eyes.

  “When I remove the hood, take Kestrel’s cloak and drape it over your left arm. Hook your right arm through hers, guide her by the elbow and walk a straight line across the grass to Inq and the car. Move swiftly,” he said. “I will be on her right, but you will be the one leading us. We will have one pass to do this cleanly. Any more, and the trail becomes more difficult to decipher. The tracker is powerful and at the mercy of her senses. Do not let Kestrel take the lead. Once we get back into the car, we will see what we have learned. All right?”

  Joy nodded, believing in him, at least. “All right.”

  “Very good,” Ink said, handing her the leash and wrapping it over her palm twice. He closed her fingers firmly over the fat leather strap. “Hold on tight. Do not let go.”

  Joy was only able to register how the belt in her hand was scratchy and cracked before Ink removed the braces, loosening and opening the back of the hood. He grabbed the topknot of braided straps and tugged the ancient leather free.

  It slid forward off a bald skull, long feathery antennae flowing out from beneath the hood, curling up and over Kestrel’s scalp like banners in the breeze. Joy squeezed the hard strap in her hand for reassurance as she stared at Kestrel’s face. She had long, hollow slits for a nose and her ears were cupped, like a fox’s, swiveling independently, silky inner hairs quivering. Her eyes were wide and yellow with oval pupils, and stiff, impossibly long, clear eyelashes curved far away from her eggshell face. When she blinked, they gave a delicate sound like a sharpening knife. Her lips were full and pouty and eager, making her look more like a fish than a bird.

  Kestrel bobbed her head up and down, sniffing. Her antennae trembled and her ears twitched.

  Joy remembered to take off the cloak. The tracker was stick-thin from neck to ankles, a dewy shift barely hiding her nakedness. Long blond hairs like silken threads drifted off her body, tasting the wind. Joy gave a sympathetic shiver. She must be awfully cold. The lead in Joy’s hand was attached to a ring that hung from a wide collar around Kestrel’s neck. Elaborately dyed with strange symbols and runes, it looked less like a pet collar and more like exotic jewelry.

  Ink spoke. Kestrel’s ears and hairs turned toward him.

  “Go.”

  Joy pulled Kestrel’s bony elbow to her side. Tugging the strap in her hand, she started walking.

  Kestrel lunged, nearly yanking Joy off her feet, but Joy remembered to pull back hard on the limb and leash. Vying for control, Joy hugged Kestrel closer, digging her shoes into the earth to slow their pace. She looked nervously at people as they passed, spying her own reflection in shop windows and car windshields, trying to look normal as she stumbled over the walk.

  The tracker made high-pitched sounds and woody pic-pic noises that sounded almost like questions. Joy accidentally looked at Kestrel’s face while she look a big whiff, and the deep red flesh of her open nasal cavities made Joy’s stomach lurch. She kept her eyes on her shoes.

  Kestrel trilled and trembled and tasted and tugged. Joy fumbled alongside her, Kestrel’s pointy elbow clamped hard against her ribs. Ink kept apace, steadying the both of them. It was a jerky, uneven path full of sharp starts and stops. Nerves screaming panic and fearing discovery, Joy was already exhausted before they were halfway across the courtyard.

  Kestrel blinked. The scrape of her lashes rang with a long, grazing shing. Joy could feel the harmonic ripples against her skin. She kept her eyes on the Bentley as it slid to a stop just opposite them. She focused on its doors and bowed her head, marching quickly and determinedly toward their goal. Her heart beat loud in her ears. Kestrel pulled again and Joy almost let go—it was like holding back a lion. Her hand throbbed where the leash dug deep. Joy made a small sound. Ink glanced over, nodding encouragement. She blinked back tears and held on tighter because it was the only thing to do.

  Clenching her jaw, Joy kept walking. She could make it to the car. She would get through this. She had to. Thirty feet. Twenty. Ten.

  “Excuse me.” An authoritative voice brought Joy to a halt. The outdoor mall cop smiled, not quite kindly, down at Joy. Her arm buckled as Kestrel yanked, keening queries, jerking her head around, curious.

  Joy blinked up at the security guard, her voice like a scratched CD.

  “Y-yes?”

  “Please don’t walk on the grass,” he said with the futility of having said the same words a million times a day.

  “Oh,” Joy said and tried not to look at her invisible companions. “Sorry.”

  “The signs are printed quite clearly,” he continued. He pointed at one. “Don’t Walk on the Grass.”

  Joy was desperate. She could barely think.

  “Okay,” she said and stepped onto the nearest sidewalk. Kestrel craned her long neck, confused at having left the trail. Ink struggled to hold the tracker back. Knowing his strength, Joy was afraid what might happen if she lost her grip. A long series of clicking began from deep in Kestrel’s chest. Her antennae reached for the officer.

  Joy batted them away and pretended to sneeze. Kestrel squawked in protest. Joy’s shoulder wrenched at the joint.

  “And please clean up after your pet before you leave the premises,” the cop said tiredly, turning away. Joy wondered what he could possibly think was at the end of the leash. She glanced over at Ink, who kept one eye on the retreating cop’s back. She struggled, holding Kestrel still, and nearly bumped into an elderly couple in matching knitted hats. Joy held her breath. Ink waited until the cop crossed the street.

  “Now,” he said.

  They bolted across the lawn, Joy overly mindful of her feet on the grass. She kept her eyes on Inq, who waved them on with open arms, one foot inside the car and the other mounting the curb. Quickly, quietly, they bundled Kestrel like a starlet into her loose cloak and simultaneously slipped the hood over her head as they tucked her into the seat. Ink drew taut the straps and snapped the door closed. Inq flipped the lock. Joy fastened her seat belt. The car took off with a whisper of wheels.

  “Give it here,” Inq said, helping to unwind the leather from Joy’s red-and-white hand.

  “Thanks,” Joy whispered, shaking in the aftermath.

  “You did good,” Inq said.

  “She did well,” Ink corrected. Inq stuck out h
er tongue and draped the leash in her hand. Joy massaged her bruised bones.

  “Did we get what we needed?” Joy asked. Kestrel shivered and Ink adjusted the camouflaged cloak over her shoulders in a gentlemanly way. He thumbed up the heat, which blew up from the floor. The leather seats grew warm. Ink pursed his lips and gave a soft ticking sound. The hood lifted and swung sharply; a muffled trickle answered back.

  “Kestrel is processing,” Ink said. “But she said to turn east.”

  The driver obeyed wordlessly as they cruised onto the main road.

  The tracker muttered in low hoots to herself.

  “Open the window,” Ink instructed. Inq thumbed down the glass. Kestrel responded almost immediately with another trilling sound.

  “Turn north up ahead and look for a stone building—something near water,” Ink said. Kestrel interrupted with her pic-pic sound. “Running water,” Ink corrected.

  “Dover Mill,” Joy said, recognizing the road. Memory snapped like a bone into place. “Head to Dover Mill. It’s an old fishing spot by the dam.”

  Joy gave directions and watched Kestrel’s hood lean into the curves, crooning approval as they went. Ink nodded, satisfied, and Inq held the leash in a confident grip. Joy was glad that she could contribute something besides four aching fingers to the cause.

  The car slowed in front of the aging mill. Joy squinted up at the stone edifice ringed by a suspended chain fence. The great wheel stood still, dormant and off its track, cemented into place by the town in an effort to preserve a local landmark. Joy realized that she’d never seen it turn. When a mill no longer milled, what was it? She studied its profile against the stark sky and thought, Lonely.

  Wind poured past the walls and raced along the riverbank. The original glass of the windows sagged in its panes between wooden shutters that might have once been green, as the river might have once been blue. The water coursed down in a smooth gray sheet. Joy didn’t think it was her imagination that everything was quieter here. She remembered hearing rumors that Dover Mill was haunted and dismissing them as silly superstition...but now she wasn’t so sure.