by Dawn Metcalf
Another surge of heat, weak and spent, frayed her nerves. It might have been fear if she’d been smart, but it felt more like satisfaction. Whatever they were, she’d beaten them. “I’m guessing the Folk don’t like humans knocking on their back door.”
The Tide’s aide paused, his eyes silver as the moon. “You’re not human.”
“I am,” Joy said, and it twinged something inside that made her wince. “And I’m not,” she admitted. “I’m different. I’m both.”
Avery lifted his chin. “You can’t be both.”
“And yet, I am.”
“No, you are one of the Twixt,” he said. “I saw it just now.”
Joy swallowed back fear and some spit. What had he seen? What did she look like? Had she changed? She examined her hands, touched her face—they were dirty, but normal. She tried to act nonchalant with her nerves sparking haywire.
“I don’t know what you saw,” she said. “But believe me when I say that you can’t trust your eyes. Especially here.” This was where it all had started—the first time she’d seen Ink, the first time she’d fallen into his fathomless eyes, the first time she’d used her Sight. She looked around the wreckage. The Carousel was ruined, shattered. It broke something inside her.
“I have to go.” Her words were becoming slurred with post-adrenaline crash. She felt a shiver up her spine although it was still August-moist-hot. She kicked over a coal-black stone, a sightless eye, and felt sick. They had been the same ruby red as the fire behind the Bailiwick’s teeth. What did that mean? Was it coincidence? Twice is coincidence, thrice is suspect. Joy felt a fresh wash of paranoia. She took a few more steps, then turned—the exit door was half buried behind a wall of earth. She felt trapped. Lost. She didn’t want to be here talking to Avery—she didn’t want him asking questions. They were standing in the Carousel on the Green in her hometown in the middle of the day, and everything was falling apart. The world felt dark and dangerous.
“I have to go,” she said again. “ I have to find—” Graus Claude? Filly? The courier? The door? Joy shook her head and swallowed. Dust motes coated her tongue. “I have to get back to Ink.”
“Why?”
He said it honestly, cautious, curious. Joy frowned and stepped farther away from the feather-cloaked man.
“Because he’s my boyfriend,” she said with an unspoken duh.
“Ah, yes, your protector and paramour,” Avery said. They both turned at the distant wail of sirens. Joy’s first thought was Police! Her second thought was Dad! Avery smiled at her alarm. “Perhaps you should leave here first?” he suggested.
“Right.” Joy prayed that the security cameras in the trailer had been utterly destroyed, otherwise this would be her second difficult-to-explain battle on tape. She climbed over to the smashed ticket booth by the trailer and eased herself past the crumpled frame and broken glass. Arching her body, she was able to twist herself between the buckled walls and slip out onto the grass. She checked the slope of the hillside, not wanting anyone to witness her leaving the site of the crime. What she saw made her smile—her shoes! She hurried down the incline and scooped them up in one hand. Dashing across the edge of the Green, she cut through the line of shrubs and crossed the street, then doubled back, circling the corner and jogging behind the tiny strip mall where Dumpsters lined the alley. She sat down on an egg crate to check her feet, thankful she hadn’t stepped on any glass during the fight.
“You should keep moving.”
Joy jumped. Avery stepped out from behind a lamppost, looking smug.
“Why do you keep following me?” Joy demanded.
“I told you, it’s my assignment,” he said. “And fortunate for you. I can’t very well report on anything if you are dead or detained.”
He’d been the one to save her. The Tide’s lackey. It galled her to admit it.
“Thank you,” she said gruffly.
Avery bowed at the waist of his swallowtail coat. She marched past him, past the Dumpsters. He flipped the edge of the feathered cloak over his right shoulder and followed. Joy picked up the pace, wanting to put more distance between herself and the Carousel and Avery.
“Go away,” Joy said over her shoulder. “I don’t need an escort.” She didn’t dare go for her scalpel or her pouch to call Filly. She didn’t need Avery knowing any more of her secrets than he already did.
“I’m not here for you,” Avery said flatly. She remembered how he’d glared at her when he’d figured out who she was—the rogue human girl with the Sight. No, he certainly wasn’t doing this for her. “Besides, it’s not as if anyone else can see me.”
Joy bit her lip. “You sound like Ink.”
“Ah, yes. Your boyfriend,” he said.
“What about him?”
Avery sighed. “You really shouldn’t lie,” he said. “It’s a bad mortal habit.”
“Excuse me?” Joy snapped. Her voice cut like glass.
Avery stepped past her, ignoring her ire. “You obviously no longer need protection or a claimant,” he said. “You’ve been accepted by the Council, so you do not need to pretend that you are bound to the Scribe.” He held the edges of his cloak close to his body as they passed an overflowing trash bin. “Lies come easily to humans, but eventually the mis-said will cause you pain—and can ultimately kill you—so it’s best to avoid such unpleasantness before your change is complete.”
Joy’s stomach flipped. He knew about the change. Had he seen something happen? Was it already too late? What if it happened before she found the King and Queen? Joy felt hot and hollow and altogether exhausted. It took too much energy to worry about that now. She’d failed to break into the chambers Under the Hill. Graus Claude could be anywhere, and the Tide was spying on her every move. She had to get back to Ink. Soon. Now!
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said, which was nothing but truth.
Avery gave another small bow, too brief for Joy to be sure whether it was mocking or not. “It was a ruse—and a clever one—I’ll grant you that, but it is a ploy that is no longer necessary.” They stopped at a hinged gate. He gestured with his wrist, After you. She flicked the latch and pushed past him, keeping an eye out for black-and-whites and ruby-red eyes as he continued chatting conversationally. “Binding yourself to one who is not actually Folk and oversees no real auspice was genius, calling it ‘love’ was almost poetic, something emotionally elusive that cannot be proven before the Council—it gave the Bailiwick the weapon he’s so badly needed and gave you time and protection that would have never been granted under any other circumstances. You managed to revise the Council’s opinions about those with the Sight, neatly eliminating many who would or could oppose you.” Avery nodded, his admiration muffled under his cloak as he followed her across the street. “It was masterfully played, and that, more than anything, qualified you to join the Twixt. Your charade has earned you high marks and high praise, but I’d be wary how far you can push.”
Joy stepped gingerly around a puddle of oil by the side of the gas station, choosing her words like her footfalls, treading around what was true and what was—at least originally—a lie. She and Ink had pretended to be lovers in order to cover up his mistake, marking her eye instead of blinding her outright, but their lie had grown into truth somewhere between dropping a milk jug and Briarhook branding her arm.
“I don’t know where you get your information,” she said, cutting through a line of pine trees. “But you should know that, once I accepted my signatura, I became bound to the rules of the Twixt. I cannot lie.” She turned to match her guide, eye to eye. “I love Indelible Ink.”
She let go of the branch. It smacked Avery in the chest.
The shadows caught the curl of his lip. “Then one of us is a fool.”
Joy shrugged. “You said it, not me.”
Avery shook his h
ead, bemused or aghast. “You honestly believe that you love the Scribe?”
She stepped onto the sidewalk, praying she didn’t look too bad. Would people notice that she looked suspiciously grimy? She rubbed at her arms and retwisted her hair into its ponytail. Well, better dirty than wings or a tail!
“Why is that so hard to believe?” she asked.
“Come now,” he said. “That’s like saying you’re in love with a chair.”
Joy poked him with a finger. It caught him unawares. “Ink is not a chair.”
Avery slapped away the offending hand. “Listen to yourself!” he said. “The Scribes aren’t people. They’re barely alive. They have a shape, like dolls or mannequins, like the homunculi—nothing more. It was a good story, very well played, but don’t make the mistake of believing your own fairy tale.” He gazed at her with contempt. “Only humans would be so gullible as to think a real heart beats inside a wooden boy.”
Joy sneered. “He has a heart.”
“So does a valentine.”
Joy shoved Avery out of her way. It ruffled his feathers, but he held himself back.
“Shouldn’t you be reporting back to Sol Leander?” she snapped.
He fell into step beside her. “I will,” he said. “Shortly. And, for everyone’s sake, pray that I am permitted to heavily edit.” Avery sighed and calmed his voice. “You are now one of the Folk, shortly to be formally presented to the Twixt—you cannot afford to be foolish,” he said. “You’re going to get yourself killed.”
Joy almost laughed. Almost. Death threats were becoming commonplace. What did that say about her lifestyle choice?
“Don’t worry about me,” she said. “I live by a sacred motto—No Stupid.” Of course, if Monica could see her leaving the ruined Carousel before the police showed up with her worst enemy’s sidekick in tow, she would definitely say that this qualified as stupid. This was one of those moments that she really wanted her best friend beside her and not some annoying, self-righteous prat.
“You will not be bringing it to the gala, I presume?” Avery said as a matter of fact.
Joy frowned, having lost the topic. “Bringing what?”
“Indelible Ink.”
Joy growled. “He’s not an ‘it,’ he’s a ‘he,’” she snapped. “And yes, I’m bringing him!” Joy scraped her shoe free of some gunk. “He’s my date.”
“That would be a grave insult,” Avery warned. “The Folk will not permit it. They do not acknowledge...him...as a valid escort, which would be considered an auspicious honor that you may bestow on any that night. It is one of the best ways that you can indicate your strength in alliances.” He shook his downy hair. “Your sponsor should have explained all of this. He is charged with teaching you proper etiquette to save you from embarrassment, or worse. There are many who are more than willing to make even the slightest offense their advantage.” Avery adjusted his cloak over his left shoulder. “I wonder if the Bailiwick intends your failure? Your disgrace might suit his purposes...”
Joy didn’t want to talk about Graus Claude. That felt more dangerous than golem monsters or getting arrested.
“What do you care, anyway?” she said, picking dried mud out of her hair. “I thought Sol Leander wanted me to fail.”
“He does,” the young courtier said. “But even he knows that, as one of the Folk, you have an obligation, a place in the Twixt, which outweighs anything else. You can survive humiliation, but you would not survive disgrace, being ostracized by your own people to live on the fringes without protections. We are all that’s left. None of us can afford to be wasted—there are far too few of us as is.” He glanced sideways at her, inviting comment, but she didn’t say anything. She knew that the lack of births in the Twixt was a sensitive subject, and the fact that there were tons of Folk forgotten somewhere behind a lost door was a moot point. He nodded, misunderstanding the unsaid. “It is our mandate to preserve the magic of this world. Every one of us is precious in that respect.”
Joy hesitated. If only he knew...if only any of them could remember that there were so many more of them living somewhere just outside this world, then they could be fighting for the same thing—they could be working together, with her, rather than against her, to find the traitor and open the door. Graus Claude would be cleared. None of this had to go on.
She dared a test.
“What if I told you that there are thousands of Folk hidden behind a lost door somewhere inside the Bailiwick?” Avery walked alongside her and said nothing. She waited a tense moment. “Well?”
He looked up at her curiously. “Did you say something?”
No luck. Joy stopped on the sidewalk and tried something smaller. “Do you remember the King and Queen?”
Avery paused midstep. His face registered something, but then it was gone. He blinked once, then dropped his gaze to her feet.
“Do you intend to keep moving?”
Joy sighed and started walking. She knew some group memory, some small details, still remained beneath the spell, but the direct route wasn’t working—maybe she could get around it?
“So, according to the Folk, each of us preserves some of the magic in this world,” she said carefully. “Until the Imminent Return?”
Her words were like lightning. Avery smiled. His eyes lit up. “Yes,” he said. “You see? You do understand!” He laughed in relief. “Each of us has a duty and obligation to maintain what power still exists until the Golden Age dawns, and we can use it to once again rule this world!”
Joy’s smile fell.
“No. You’re wrong.” Her gaze was like needles, her body gooseflesh. “We share this world—Folk and human. It belongs to both of us. I may be learning what it means to be one of the Twixt, but I know what it means to be human,” she said. “And I haven’t forgotten what’s important.”
Not like you. I’m not like any of you!
He wouldn’t—couldn’t—remember, and that made him a worthless zealot.
Joy pushed forward angrily. Avery quickened his pace. The feathers of his cloak betrayed his furious breathing. She broke into a jog, then a run. She could hear him following. She stumbled onto the footpath. Wrong shoes. He was almost upon her. She put on another burst of speed.
“Wait!” he said.
She didn’t.
“Joy!”
She spun around, full of fire and fury. “What?”
He stopped, his feathered cloak flapping in the breeze. “I was once human, too,” he said strangely. “Do not make the mistakes I did.”
Joy hesitated, anger fizzling into curious confusion. She didn’t know what to say. She turned around, half surprised to find herself home. She touched the keypad by the gate with the prickly feeling of déjà vu.
“I cannot follow you here,” he said. He was right—Ink’s sigils were still in place. She punched the key code behind her back, blocking the pad with her body, keeping her eyes on his blue-green gaze, so like the sea. His face betrayed everything—she could see memories and unspoken regrets.
“That’s right,” she said, stepping backward through the gate. “You can’t.”
She shut the gate, crossed the courtyard and vaulted the stairs, not slowing until she’d slammed the front door behind her and thrown the bolt for good measure.
She slid down the wall and crossed her arms over her knees. Whatever else happened, she would wait for it behind warded walls. This was one place where she belonged—Home.
When Ink awoke, he would look for her here.
She was safe, here.
For now.
FOURTEEN
SHE WOKE UP in the backseat of the sedan; the car’s sharp incline pushed her face against her pillow. Joy had a vague memory of getting up before sunrise, stumbling into her clothes, grabbing her gear and climbing into the car while he
r father and brother chided her from the front seat. Her eyes were crusty, and her skin itched. Sleep had been a good escape, but guilt crashed down as yesterday’s events hit with awful clarity.
Graus Claude had cast the blanket spell. Aniseed, his lover, had tricked him into doing it. Aniseed was dead. The spell could not be undone. The door was still lost, the courier, unknown, and the Bailiwick had turned himself in to the Council as a traitor to that to which he was most loyal—in fact, he had been more loyal than any other member of the Twixt would or could remember, and he would be condemned for it. Ink was still out of action. Inq was unhelpfully vicious. Kurt had closed the brownstone. She’d been attacked by red-eyed mud monsters, rescued by Avery, the Tide’s spy, and had destroyed her favorite dance club, which also happened to be the Glen’s hidden entrance Under the Hill. She’d even gotten a text from Monica with the news link and sad faces. It made her sick to think about it.
It was all Joy’s fault.
Another jolt bounced her head against the glass. Joy groaned, remembering that she had gone to bed with just enough brain power left to shove the velvet box into her knapsack before falling on her face. The gala wasn’t until after the weekend, but she didn’t want to risk having her fortune of CliffsNotes and the crystal gift from the Councilex out of her sight. She’d fallen asleep, her mind a jumble of flashing thoughts. Her alarm had been set for three thirty. Stef had splashed her face with ice water at three ten.
Joy turned in her seat and blinked out the window. It was morning on Lake James.
“Good morning,” her father called from the front seat. “You slept like a rock on Xanax.”
“And missed your turn at the wheel,” Stef added. “You’re driving a double shift home.”
Joy stretched and rubbed her eyes, squashing her feet against the sleeping bags stuffed under the seats. “Sorry,” she mumbled. “Late night.”