Invincible

by Dawn Metcalf

  But Joy really had to pee.

  “Be right back,” she whispered as she crept out of bed. She rolled delicately off the edge of the mattress, unfamiliar with having another body in her bed. She held the bedsheet against her body as she shimmied on a tank top and yanked on capris. Joy peeked over her shoulder. Ink was smiling, both dimples.

  “Again, please,” he said.

  Oh boy.

  She held a finger to her lips and tiptoed across the room, opening her door just enough to squeeze into the hallway and close it with a quick click behind her back. She tried to keep an eye on whoever was in the kitchen—Stef was taking a carton of eggs out of the fridge and Dmitri was sipping coffee, wearing one of Stef’s shirts. They looked comfortable, happy, like they’d been doing this for years.

  Dmitri’s ears twitched against his mop of tousled curls. “Good morning,” he said loudly, toasting Joy with his mug. She pulled her hair back from her face and nodded politely, all the while her brain chanted, This is weird. No, it’s not. It should be, but it’s not.

  “Morning,” she said. Stef cracked eggs into a bowl and started whisking them into a bubbly froth. He was the only one in the house who ever used a whisk.

  “Want some coffee?” Dmitri said, taking another sip. “Turkish blend. Thick as mud. Serious joe.”

  “I’m making eggs,” Stef said overcasually. “How many should I make?”

  Joy ran her fingers through her hair, scrubbing her scalp. “Is this a quiz question?”

  “What he’s asking,” the satyr said, sidling up to Stef, “is whether your boy will be joining us for breakfast?” He took another sip and gave a theatrical “ah” of pleasure and a wink. “I bet he’s worked up an appetite.”

  Joy felt herself turn various shades of pale.

  “Whoa. I mean, what? He’s not—um.” Too many words crowded to fit on her tongue. Her mind raced through possible excuses like a mouse in a maze.

  “Don’t,” Stef said, cracking more eggs. Bang! Crack! “I don’t want you making yourself sick trying to wheedle your way around the truth. Is he still here or not?”

  Joy tried evading the question. Evasion was good. “This isn’t about him being Other Than, right? Because—hello?” She pointed at Dmitri. “Pot, kettle, black?”

  Dmitri grinned and bit a piece of toast. “Oh, I doubt it’s that, little lady,” he said cheerfully. “More like rocking the cradle.”

  “Hey!” Stef snapped. “She’s my sister.”

  Dmitri’s ears flicked. “She’s barely illegal and looks killer in a dress,” he said. “And I do not use that phrase lightly in this case.” He snagged an apple and took a bite, then clapped his free hand on Stef’s shoulder. “Face it, agapétos, your little sis’s hot.”

  Her brother grumbled, but didn’t shrug off the satyr’s hand. “Remind me to kill you later,” Stef said, slopping eggs into the skillet. Dmitri placed a sly kiss between Stef’s shoulder blades. Her brother jumped like static shock.

  “I can make you forget,” the satyr leered.

  “O-kay,” Joy said, turning around. “I’m going to the bathroom.”

  When she got back to her room, Ink was still in bed, wrapped in sheets, face pillowed in her pillows, smiling up at her. His eyes were wondrous-wide and black as starless night. She felt herself falling into them, deeper and more willingly than when they’d first met.

  “Joy?” he said softly.

  She sat on the edge of the bed and smoothed back his hair. “Yes?”

  “Are you in any threat of immediate danger or death?”

  Joy balked. “Um...no.”

  He smiled suddenly, both dimples. “Good.”

  He pulled her close and kissed her deeply, hungrily, like he was trying to crawl back into her skin. Her body responded like a thunderclap, all senses roaring, pressing against him, hands holding on tight. It was fireworks all over again, but this wasn’t just a kiss—this was the opening chords of a symphony, rushing toward a crescendo of strings. She could feel his heartbeat pounding against her, demanding to be closer, to hug tighter, join together, delving deep and down and boiling over. It was primal, urging, dancing like sparklers in her blood. Electric fingernails raced along her insides, searing, raking, reaching for something hot and strong and...

  “Tea!” Joy said, pushing away, gasping. Her whole body throbbed. “I have to make the tea!”

  Ink fell against the pillows, blinking rapidly. He swallowed, stunned. “If this is revenge for my leaving that once, I’d consider us even.”

  “Ha ha,” Joy said, sitting up, gaining inches and breath. She pulled back her hair, as if that’d keep her hands from grabbing him again. “It’s important.” She let her eyes linger on the rise and fall of his chest, the lines of his body, the want in his eyes. “Really, really important.” She swallowed against the sensation of falling, that first foreign flicker she’d felt Under the Hill, the rush of heat and change that would make her into a liar because she’d promised Ink that it would not happen. Joy took a deep breath. I won’t change! I will not become an Elemental! She squeezed her fingers in her hair. She tasted his mouth on her lips. “Okay.” Joy shook her head and wiped the sweat from the back of her neck. “Get dressed. Come into the kitchen. Just to warn you, we’ve got company.”

  He snagged her elbow and pulled her closer. “Then let’s stay here.”

  Joy sighed, lingering. The first flush was over, she was safe and he was here. Ink raised his eyebrows in question. She laughed at his look. “Tempting, but we’ve been made. Time to face the music. You want breakfast?”

  “I do not know,” Ink said honestly, propping up on one elbow. “Do I?”

  “Probably not,” Joy said. “But something tells me that I’m going to need some serious joe.”

  Ink frowned. “Who?”

  * * *

  It wasn’t the most awkward breakfast in history, but it probably came close.

  “Good morning,” Ink said, taking a seat at the kitchen table. Joy smiled, grabbed four napkins and sat down.

  “So he is here,” her brother said, passing the toast.

  Dmitri swatted the back of Stef’s head playfully. “You knew.”

  “I suspected,” her brother corrected as he scooped a serving of eggs. “Now I know.”

  Joy snagged the butter knife and picked up her toast.

  “Well, I knew,” Dmitri said, stealing a pinch of scrambled egg from Stef’s plate. He popped it into his mouth and breathed around the steam. “I can smell him all over her.”

  Stef choked. Ink blinked. Joy’s face flamed. “Not. Helping.”

  Dmitri ignored her, head swiveling around to stare out the window and his ears perking up like antennae. “And now there’s another gentleman caller at the door.” He curled his chin beard over one knuckle. “Another notch in the bedpost? My, my, someone is a busy girl!”

  Joy ignored him and ran to the door. The idea that Dmitri talked with Mr. Vinh enough to know her nickname was more than a little alarming, but not as much as the idea of Dad coming home right now. Why couldn’t he eat breakfast at Shelley’s? Why not move some of his clothes over there? Why bother coming home? Before she started seriously considering the idea of moving him into his girlfriend’s apartment, she peeked through the peephole. It was Kurt standing stiffly in full butler-slash-bodyguard mode. A moment later, Ink’s twin sister appeared at his side.

  Invisible Inq glared into the tiny peephole lens.

  “Let me in,” she said. “Now!”

  Joy opened the door. She was glad to see Inq, who’d been switched off at the gala by Sol Leander’s supporters and then dragged off to a storeroom somewhere. Kurt must have found her after Graus Claude had escaped. The fact that Kurt and Inq were here now meant that things were getting back to normal.

  Inq barged
through the door. Ink stood up.

  “YOU!” she shouted and grabbed his head in both hands.

  Her clawed fingers fastened on either side of his head, squeezing, yanking his hair and forcing their foreheads together. Her face was wild, full of grimacing and grinding teeth. Ink staggered, struggling in her grip, scratching at her hands, which had sunk into his skin. He made a wordless sound as they grappled. Stef and Dmitri jumped back from the table as Joy screamed. Kurt didn’t move, watching the siblings grapple with mute disinterest.

  “Joy—?” Stef barked. Should he use magic or not?

  Joy shook her head, dumbfounded, stunned. She watched the Scribes wrestle and claw one another, bouncing off the counter and slamming into the fridge. The two of them were locked together, grunting, head-to-head.

  “Stop it!” Joy shouted, waving her arms. “Inq!”

  Inq wrenched away. A gaping hole on her forehead closed, leaving a smear of inky fluid. She gasped, stumbling sideways, then caught her balance on a chair. She shook her head like a wet dog, then popped the side of her neck, eyes calm.

  “Thank you,” she said crisply.

  Ink was gasping, bent over, hands on his knees.

  Joy touched his shoulders. “Ink!”

  He shook his head, trying to clear it. He rubbed his forehead with one hand. Joy glared at his sister. “What’s going on?”

  “Just making an adjustment,” Inq said, pushing her hand straight into her chest, fishing around, pulling and pushing unseen things into place. She pressed her other hand against the spot as she withdrew, closing the wound behind it. She smoothed her skin with strong fingers and licked runnels of black off her wrist like a kitten. “That ought to do it.”

  “I’m sorry.” Ink coughed, standing up. He wobbled on his feet. “I am sorry I did not tell you before,” he apologized sincerely. “It was my fault.”

  Inq brushed her dangling bangs out of her face. “Well, you can’t take all the blame. It seems the Tide had something to do with it, after all.” She fussed with her sleeves. “Sol Leander and his precious rules. Nothing’s worse than a literalist in a position of power.” She shook out her hair and tipped her heart-shaped face to one side, “Now, if I were on the Council, well, let’s be honest, I’d’ve never let me past the door.”

  “Excuse me?” Stef sounded indignant. “What just happened here? In my house?”

  Inq crinkled her nose at him. “Oh. Hi, puppy.”

  “‘Puppy’?” Dmitri smirked. Stef turned crimson.

  “Down, boy.” Inq said as she glanced around the room. “Is it morning already? Or is it Tuesday? I’m all out of sorts. But I guess that’s what happens when you’re knocked unconscious at a major social event by a righteous sycophant and his lapdog coup.” Her lips pursed as she noticed Joy’s dumbstruck stare. “Are you all right, Joy?”

  “What?” Joy stammered. “No. I mean—what?” Joy was having trouble processing. Ink didn’t seem angry, just contrite. She didn’t know how to react or what to feel. He hadn’t told his sister about the Council’s kill switch, and Inq had been understandably pissed, but now her rage was gone like a summer storm and Joy was left trying to switch gears. “I, uh, just didn’t think you would be up—back—so soon. I thought...” She kept seeing Inq crumpling onto the ballroom floor in her bejeweled beetle gown, but here she was back in her gunmetal-gray corset and layers of black Goth chic as if nothing had happened. Joy shook her head, clearing some of the cobwebs. “You’re safe,” she said, finally. “I’m glad you’re safe.”

  “No thanks to you,” Inq sniffed. “But now I know how to fix our little snooze problem, so no harm done. However, I would have much rather known that information before I took a nosedive into the canapés.” Her voice was light, but her gaze was steely.

  “And now you know?” Joy asked.

  “Of course,” Inq said. “We share everything.” She shot a sly look at her brother and winked at Joy, whose face burned red. “Welllllll,” she amended, “almost everything.” She waved a hand airily and took a piece of toast. “We’ve learned to filter a few things over the centuries—blood is thicker than water and it only takes a drop.” Inq licked a dab of jam off her thumb. “And it’s so much quicker than talking.”

  Ew. Joy’s stomach flipped. Ink reached out to touch her, but she flinched. He isn’t human, she kept reminding herself. And neither am I.

  Inq tore off pieces of crackling bread. “You should be glad,” she said casually. “Otherwise, I’d’ve attempted to kill you, too, as per the rules.” She smiled while chewing. “But I’m pretty sure I would have felt bad about it afterward.” Inq raised a hand to Stef’s fuming face. “Tut-tut. No worries. We’re good. You’re all safe. From me, anyway.” She pointed at the table. “Could somebody pass me the butter?”

  Stef, Joy and Dmitri exchanged looks. Kurt picked up the butter and the knife and handed it to her, hilt-first. Ink squeezed the edge of the counter.

  “How did you get out?” he asked.

  “See previous—no thanks to you.” Inq said. “Kurt came and got me after the place went completely widdershins. Raina and the boys filled me in on the rest.” Her foot bounced over her knee. “Heard I missed quite the party. Too bad I wasn’t around to enjoy it.”

  “You didn’t miss much,” Joy muttered.

  “Are you kidding?” Dmitri said. “It’s the talk of the Twixt from the Hill to the Wild!”

  Inq frowned at the satyr, slit-eyed. “And you are—?”

  “Arm candy,” Dmitri said, hooking Stef’s elbow. “Don’t mind me.”

  A hint of a smile tugged at Inq’s lips until she cocked her head at Joy. “Well, boys, this has been fun, but Joy and I need a little Girl Time.” Inq wiped the crumbs from her fingers and hopped down off the chair, grabbing Joy’s arm. “Excuse us for a minute.” Inq dragged her down the hall. Joy glanced nervously over her shoulder, wondering if any of them were going to help her, but Inq shoved her into her room and shut the door before anyone moved.

  So, obviously, the answer was no.

  Joy sat down, resigned, in her desk chair and waited for the threats to start.

  “You’ve gathered quite an assembly,” Inq noted. “Happy worshippers, all.”

  “In the twenty-first century, we call them ‘friends.’”

  “Don’t be silly,” Inq said. “Friends are a click of a button. Minions follow orders. But worshippers will do anything you want without you even having to tell them.” She patted Joy’s arm. “Trust me, I know the difference.” She sat down, bouncing on the bed. “But that’s not why we have to talk. Before I took my unscheduled nap, I’d heard a rumor at the gala that someone had a secret for sale.”

  Joy twisted in her desk chair. “So?”

  “A secret about you,” Inq said, eyes snapping. “Something big enough that they were willing to sell it to the highest bidder at an obscene starting price and there was already interest. Seems the gala was the best place to start the bidding, given the dinner and a show.” Inq stabbed a finger in her direction. “Someone has got something on you.”

  Joy’s insides burned cold. Her first thought was, Elementals? The second thought was, The Red Knight? The third thought was to wonder if she was being blackmailed by Inq—again.

  She ventured a guess. “Is that ‘someone’ you?”

  “What?” Inq said, looking honestly shocked. She gave a light laugh. “Don’t be ridiculous, Joy. I’m the one telling you this so that you know what’s going on in the Big Bad World while you’ve been holed up in your little love shack here.” She waved her manicure around the room. “Just tell me who you told, and I’ll take care of it.” Inq sighed at Joy’s look of alarm. “Really, Joy! I said that it should be a secret between us girls and I meant it.”

  She means the death of the Red Knight, the fact that I can erase Folk out of existen
ce. Joy started breathing again until it hit her—someone else knew that she’d erased the infamous unstoppable assassin and was willing to sell the information to anyone willing to pay!

  Graus Claude. Sol Leander. Ladybird. Anyone.

  “I didn’t tell anybody!” Joy said all in one breath. Not even Stef. Not even Monica. Not even Ink. The guilt burned in her stomach and the back of her tongue. She’d been very careful with her secrets. Having Inq holding this one over her head was what had gotten her into this conspiracy mess in the first place. If the Council found out that Joy could erase anyone in the Twixt, she’d be hunted down and killed faster than if they found out she was part-Elemental.

  Maybe.

  “Well, someone knows something and the Folk don’t lie,” Inq said, inspecting Joy’s odd collection of fertility dolls, all gifts from Ilhami. “Fortunately, if a secret is officially sold, the original owner cannot divulge it to anyone save the person who bought it, so it’s a self-sealing contract. Only one owner per purchased secret—that’s the rule.” Inq glanced at Joy over her shoulder. “I could have stopped this before it started, but then—” She mimed a nosedive with her hand. “It may already be too late. But if you really don’t know who it could be—?” she fished.

  Joy crossed her arms. “I don’t.”

  “Hmm. Last chance,” Inq warned. Joy squeezed her arms tighter and shrugged. “Well, then...” Inq kicked her heels and stood up. “I guess the lucky winner will let you know soon enough. The numbers being bandied about were nothing short of blood money, so I’d beware of any strangers bearing strange gifts.”

  That would have been good advice last year—before the Kodama at the kitchen window and the guilderdamen at the door and the eelet in a shell by her ear—but then again, if she’d been leery of strangers, she probably would have never met Ink.

  Joy pinched the bridge of her nose. She was getting a headache. “If it’s just a matter of money, can’t you outbid them or something?” At one time, Joy might have been able to try to buy it back herself when she’d been working for Graus Claude, but all of her savings not invested in mutual funds had been rescinded by the Bailiwick as punishment for erasing the Scribes’ work on the sly. “Maybe Ink—?”