Indelible

by Dawn Metcalf

  “Well, that’s good to hear—I’d hate to think that one of the Cabana Boys had been dangled over a cliff.” Joy shouted past her phone. “So what was it? Money? Boys? A really tragic wardrobe?” Joy asked. “What did Aniseed promise you in return for your name?”

  “Shut up!” Inq shouted and slammed her own hand against the glass. Joy flinched as the glass shuddered in warning ripples. “It wasn’t like that. It wasn’t like that at all—” Inq nearly shook with rage. “I had nothing to do with any of this!”

  “Are you sure?” Joy asked. “How do you know that you had nothing to do with whatever’s going on? I saw that wall—it’s a huge web, Inq, a huge net of something. And it doesn’t take a genius to guess that it’s something bad.” Joy tried glaring hard enough to make the ebon-eyed girl understand. “What if it’s all a trap?” she asked. “You’d be caught in it, too, as well as everyone you’ve ever touched! How many people could she get through your signatura? Hundreds? Thousands? Millions? What if Aniseed got Ink’s? How many more?” Joy said. “Aniseed has a huge plan for all those marks including yours. You can’t pretend that you’re not part of it!”

  “My trade was made years ago,” Inq said stubbornly. “Lifetimes before you were born, Joy. Long before your little melodrama with Ink.” She tossed her hair and crossed her arms. “Believe it or not, lehman, not everything is about you. I welcomed you into this otherworld, and I can take you out.” Inq cocked her head to the side. “And I do know something about humans—every one of you think that you are the star in some cosmic play where the universe is either for you or against you on some grand stage. ‘Look at me!’ ‘Look at me!’” She waved her hands condescendingly. “It’s a fallacy, Joy. No one is watching or paying attention to you.” Inq shrugged. “You’re just not that important.”

  “This is not about me!” Joy snapped back. “It’s about Ink! And who knows how many millions of people? Isn’t that important?”

  “Of course he’s important—he is all important—that’s the only reason that I spared your life in the first place, you stupid little girl!” Inq said. “His mistake would have brought us into question.” She gestured wildly. “We have to be flawless. We can’t afford to make mistakes!”

  “Why not?” Joy asked.

  “Because then we’d both be replaced,” Inq seethed. “You’re human—you should be perfectly familiar with obsolescence. If it doesn’t work instantly, perfectly, every time, you throw it away and get a new one.”

  Joy staggered. “So you made a deal with Aniseed in order to save your jobs?”

  “NO!” Inq shouted and the ripples rose off her, warbling the glass and warping the metal frame. Joy stumbled against the hard black phone as the booth shook.

  “This isn’t a job,” Inq raged. “This is what we are! We are Scribes! Our life is this—we weren’t meant for anything more! We’re supposed to be glorified paintbrushes!” Her hands fisted helplessly and beat at her chest. “But I knew that there was more to living than just this. I pushed for more, I watched, I studied for aeons, and I did it—I learned how to live. Ink’s just discovering it now, but I’ve known it, I’ve earned it and I’m not going to give it up!” Her perfect mask crumpled in despair. “Don’t you understand? Ink and I—we’ve only ever had each other. I have to protect him. We are indivisible!” Inq screamed. “Because if he is expendable, then so am I!”

  They stared at each other through warped glass and a devastating silence. Joy dropped the pretense and her phone.

  “Inq...”

  Inq’s shoulders slumped. “I love life too much to die.”

  “Everything dies,” Joy said quietly.

  Inq’s eyes narrowed into black slits. “Not everything, monkey.”

  Joy twitched. “Is that a threat?”

  “No,” Inq said under her breath. “It’s a message. And I’m going to deliver it, personally.”

  The air thickened and rippled under her fingers.

  “Inq, wait...” Joy said, but the Scribe disappeared with a buzz of pressure in Joy’s ears. She opened the phone booth with a rusty wail, the only sharp sound in the quiet Sunday afternoon. Inq was gone. And Joy hadn’t had the chance to ask why Aniseed had Inq’s mark in the first place. Inq wouldn’t sell out her brother, but why would she sell out herself? It made no sense.

  Exhausted and discouraged, Joy pointed her feet toward home more out of habit than a desire to be there. She stumbled up to the gate and paused on the steps. She wasn’t sure what she would find at the top of the stairs, behind the door: Dad, Shelley, Ink, monsters...? Could be anything. She was tired. Joy stared at the gate’s keypad, inspecting the buttons for strange glyphs, eyes in the shadows or magic wards on the ground. Screw it. Let there be grisly monsters or consenting adults in compromising positions—she was not about to let all this crap keep her from going to her own room! Outside felt too big all of a sudden. Joy wanted to go home.

  Gate: fine. Door: fine. Hall: fine. Alarm: fine. As long as she was still in her reality, everything checked out okay. Joy hated that she hesitated before each step, half expecting some sort of attack. No Dad. No Shelley. No suspicious coffee cakes. Joy swallowed some of her paranoia along with a glass of Valencia orange juice and water. The wild theory that had popped out of her mouth while yelling at Inq didn’t sound half-bad, but she didn’t really know anything about the Twixt—or anything about anything, really. Things kept happening that you couldn’t expect. She was a living case in point.

  Joy walked into the bathroom and washed her hands in the sink. What she did know was that Ink wasn’t going to give Aniseed his signatura and Inq had been surprised to hear that hers had been on the wall. Joy knew she’d probably have to apologize later and Inq would milk it for all it was worth. Like the kiss. But hopefully Graus Claude would figure everything out and life could return to, well, somewhat left of normal, but after today’s wild accusation, she was willing to leave the investigation to the expert, four-armed toad.

  The doorbell rang.

  Joy felt a prickly panic, which made her angry. Why should she feel creeped out at the sound of her own doorbell? She wasn’t a prisoner! This was her house! Joy marched toward the foyer, slowing as she saw her dad in the kitchen.

  “Oh,” Joy said, surprised. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

  “Just got here,” he said. “I took a long walk.” There was something in the way he said it that made her slow down.

  “Everything okay?” Joy asked.

  “I needed to think.”

  Joy nodded. “Yeah. Me, too.” She pointed awkwardly at the door. “Did you just ring the bell?”

  “No, it rang as I closed the door. I looked, but I didn’t see anyone there. Must’ve hit the button as I came in, I guess.” Her father reached for the giant glass stein he only used for drinking imported beer. He didn’t drink it very often, and usually only for special occasions. Joy was about to ask him about it when she froze. Didn’t see anyone...? Joy turned toward the door, a rush of blood echoing in her ears.

  She heard herself say, “I’ll go check.”

  Joy moved as if in a dream, slow and tingly, somehow knowing what would happen, but needing to go through the motions anyway. She glanced through the peephole, seeing nothing, and cautiously opened the door.

  Inq’s body lay at her feet, open and gushing.

  Swallowing a scream, Joy knelt over the body. Inq had been ripped sideways. There was blood everywhere—black fluid with slick, hot-pink hues shining like great puddles of oil. Beads of negative light sprayed the wall where the body had been dumped at their door.

  Joy had to get her inside, out of the hall.

  Dad was in the kitchen.

  In full view of the door.

  Joy scooped her arms under Inq’s neck and knees.

  “Hey, Dad,” she called back into the condo. “Can
you grab me a soda?”

  “All right,” she heard him say as he started digging into the back of the fridge and she pulled Inq’s surprisingly heavy weight into her arms. She scuttled quickly into the foyer. Invisible Inq or no, Dad would be sure to notice Joy’s posture if he turned around.

  “You want ice?” her father asked as she backed up the hall.

  “Sure!” Joy grunted as she hauled Inq into her room. She dropped Inq indelicately onto the bed and squeezed her eyes shut. “Ink! Ink! Ink!” she chanted in panic. Her clothes were soaked in black gore. Would Dad see it? What would he think? What could she say to explain? She yanked on her bathrobe over her clothes.

  “Lots of ice,” Joy called, shoving her arms through the worn terrycloth sleeves. “And lemon!” She needed to keep stalling. Her father rummaged in the kitchen. She heard the ice machine whir. Cubes clanging against glass. Footsteps on the floor.

  “I’m going to call your brother,” her father announced. “Do you want to say hello first?”

  Joy was nearly weeping as she wrapped blankets over Inq. The Scribe’s face registered no expression at all.

  “Joy?” Her dad sounded annoyed. He was coming closer. “Did you hear me?”

  She pushed the door closed with her foot.

  “Hang on.” She tried to keep the quaver out of her voice. “I’ll talk to him later. You first.”

  There was a disappointed pause, and then the heavy tread of footsteps back down the hall. Joy trembled, trying to think of something, but her mind was a blank page of panic. Her fingers were spastic. Brushing her hair away from her eyes left smears of black blood on her cheek.

  “Ink, come on—!” she whispered. “Ink, please!”

  He appeared in an instant. Joy grabbed his sleeve.

  “Take her,” Joy nearly screamed with relief. “Take her to Graus Claude. She’s torn in half.”

  Ink gazed down at his sister wrapped in blankets. He spoke like the dead.

  “He cannot fix this,” he said.

  “What?” Joy said.

  “Graus Claude cannot fix Scribes,” Ink said, numb.

  Joy could have torn her hair out. She clenched fingers slick with Inq.

  “Fine,” she hissed. “Give me a knife.”

  Ink glanced up, dazed. “What?”

  “A knife! Now!”

  He sounded hopeful. “Which one?”

  “Any one!”

  Joy steadied herself with the least sane part of her mind as Ink extracted the scalpel and she yanked back the covers. Inq lay blotted like a kindergarten card, a pale body in the center of a black Rorschach bloom.

  Joy climbed onto her bed. There were no guts or bones, only a gaping hole of sludge that had ripped through Inq’s corset and skin.

  “Hold her closed,” she said and Ink bent to comply, moving his sister’s flesh in ways that humans don’t move. Ink held Inq together as if willing her shut. The molded flesh kept slipping, eluding his fingers and leaking blood. Angrily, he dipped his hand inside her, tugging the edges closed, and pinched.

  “Now.”

  Joy tried not to think about what she was doing, or attempting to do. She could fix this. Undo it. Erase it.

  Hold on.

  The blade dipped into the black and at her touch, the skin rippled and congealed. White embers of undoing burst through the dark fluid. The edge of the razor traced the tiny path of skin on skin. Ink’s hands led the way as Joy sealed the wound. The seam grew steadily, the damage disappearing under Joy’s scalpel, the seal exploding with sparks.

  Joy shook with the strain. Doubt crept into her mind. There was no way she could do something like this and stay sane. There was no way she could stop or wonder why. Joy could do something—was doing something—that couldn’t be done by anyone, not even Ink. She was doing this. For once, she was making something happen. It helped, but it didn’t make sense.

  And it worked.

  She cut Inq closed.

  Done. Joy dropped the scalpel. Ink breathed against the wound and into Inq’s mouth, as if tasting her air for a sign of life. His black eyes shared the same color as the blood. Joy wondered if maybe they were nothing more than human-shaped shells filled with hot-black fluid? She turned the thought over like a snow globe in her mind.

  “You did it,” Ink said, wrapping Inq in the coverlet. He lifted the bundle of his sister in his arms, looking grim.

  “Give me the scalpel,” he said. Joy numbly obeyed. He reverse-gripped it in his hand. “She will live. But someone will die.”

  Her father’s voice resonated down the hall.

  “Joy?”

  She stared at Ink. “Where will you take her?”

  “Graus Claude’s.”

  Joy grabbed Ink’s arm. “Take me with you.”

  “Joy!” Her father sounded as though he expected an answer.

  “I know what happened,” she said. “I have to tell you—”

  “Joy...”

  “It will only take a moment!” she whispered.

  “Joy...?” her father said, louder, closer.

  “And that’s now,” Joy said. “Right now!”

  Ink swiftly adjusted his sister and offered his hand. Joy took it.

  He pulled Joy with him as they sliced urgently through.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  INK APPEARED IN the foyer but did not cross the threshold. Joy hovered at his elbow and tried not to look at the stains.

  Kurt appeared, opening his arms to accept Ink’s burden. Joy watched the tense, silent exchange between the two men. Ink relented. Wordlessly, Kurt took Inq in his arms as if she weighed nothing, cradling her head in one hand, inspecting her face as he carried her off like a sleeping princess.

  Ink’s arms dropped like weights. Joy touched his shoulder. They, too, said nothing, but his fingers curled around hers and she threaded them together.

  “Thank you,” he whispered.

  “Will she be okay?”

  “She is whole, thanks to you,” Ink replied. “But we do not heal the way you think of it, being made, not born. We can repair flesh well enough, but the rest has to be restored.”

  A deep bellow flung down the hall.

  “Well, don’t stand there, come along!”

  Ink and Joy hastened into the office, where Graus Claude glowered in front of his computer, basking in twin lights from the monitor and an emerald desk lamp. His thin lip curled to reveal a snarl of pointy teeth. Two of his hands tapped the keyboard while a third held the mouse and a fourth lifted and discarded papers from open manila folders.

  “Bailiwick,” Ink said formally.

  “Master Ink.” Graus Claude glanced up and did a double take. “You’re a mess,” he observed dryly. “But I suspect Miss Invisible is worse.”

  Joy spoke up. “Will she live?”

  “Under Kurt’s hands? I doubt he’d let her go.” The great gentleman-toad snorted. “He hasn’t yet.”

  “Joy healed her,” Ink said.

  Graus Claude paused. “Is that a fact?” He looked as if this might pique his curiosity enough to stop his rummaging, but the moment fled and he buried himself back in his task. “Very good, then. I imagine that things will be well in hand.” One claw pointed to Ink. “You will go to her shortly?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’ll tell Kurt to prepare,” Graus Claude said, leaning toward a smooth intercom box.

  “Wait,” Joy interjected. Graus Claude stayed his hand. “I think Inq went to Aniseed and then I found her on my doorstep, slit in half!”

  “On your doorstep?” Ink asked.

  “She went to Aniseed?” Graus Claude’s brow ridge jumped high. “Why?”

  Joy struggled to put her wild theory into words. “She went to confront her.
I think she felt...guilty,” Joy said. “I told her that I saw her signatura on Aniseed’s wall and knew she must have given it to her willingly.”

  Graus Claude snatched a photo printout from one of the folders. Joy recognized it as her cell phone pic. He pointed at the image. “Where?”

  Joy tapped the tiny bull’s-eye with her fingernail. Ink didn’t bother to look. He looked impassive and cold.

  “I thought she’d cut a deal with Aniseed,” Joy admitted to Ink. “To trick you into giving your signatura.”

  “She would not do that,” he said quietly.

  “I know that now,” Joy said. “But she admitted that she had traded her True Name to Aniseed years ago, and when you both said that the whole thing was interconnected, I thought, what if the whole network was like that? Triggered like one of Aniseed’s traps? What if something happened to one and then it happened to everything else in the net?”

  A slam of Graus Claude’s three hands sent papers flying and toppled the lamp.

  “She’s done it,” Graus Claude roared. “That witch has defied the Edict for the last time!”

  He stabbed one claw directly into the heart of the remaining files. “I have been searching for a connection between the Scribes and this client list and had thus far found nothing aside from their being on the list itself. But if, as you say, the unifying factor is the list, it is borne by Inq, through her signatura.” The Bailiwick addressed the young man stained in oily blood. “A second set would be thus unified through Ink. Once Aniseed had been willingly given one signatura, it would not take much for her to consider the ramifications of having more. And with both the Scribes...she could claim hundreds of humans, thousands, millions.”

  “But why?” Ink said doubtfully.

  “Numbers,” Graus Claude murmured. “Sheer numbers are enough to tip the balance and bring about this supposed Golden Age if humankind falls.”

  “And she believes in this Golden Age of the Twixt?” Ink said.

  The Bailiwick’s eyes smoldered under his brow. “What does it matter if she can bring about humanity’s end?” he said. “I can imagine she would like nothing more.”