by Dawn Metcalf
“I’m okay,” Joy whispered. She looked at Filly, who touched the ground. “Any more of them coming?”
The warrior shook her head. “There are no more tremors,” she said. “The magic’s spent. It’s over.”
“Okay,” Stef said, backing up through the rubble, glaring at the surrounding trees as if daring them to spit out any more monsters. “Let’s hurry up and go, then.”
Joy lifted her boots up by their laces and shook out the dust. Filly caught Joy’s eye and shrugged, rattling her cape of bones. She kept her voice low as Joy yanked on her socks and wound her laces through hooks.
“If you don’t know who sent the homunculi, it is possible that they were preset.”
Joy tried to imagine that as she tied her laces. “Like a ward?”
Filly shrugged. “Like a trip wire. A trap. Most likely an old one—using golems is outdated, too easily noticed in your world at this time.” She watched Stef scan the trees. “Your brother said that their eyes were red.”
“Fiery red,” Joy said. “Like coals.”
“Then they were set for humans,” Filly said. “Most likely, they were guarding something you’d discovered—they were clearly hunting you.” She ground her foot purposefully. “I wonder what you’ve uncovered lately that sent them after humans.”
Joy tried not to look as guilty as she felt. “Why do you think that?”
Filly snickered. “There is a color to the craft—blue for wizardry or witchcraft, gold for protection, green for Folk, red for human.” She kicked at the debris. “These were clay golems, guardians of Forest and Earth, set against humans. Know why?”
Joy swallowed, thinking of Maia behind her bird’s-eye door. She hadn’t thought she’d upset the Earth Council seat—Maia had even given Joy a gift. The hair comb was in her box of pearls in the car. Could it have been a trick, a way to track her here? Or had she heard enough to know that Ink had tried to kill her? Or did it have something to do with the zip of fire behind the Bailiwick’s teeth? Blue for Inq, red for her. She was human enough, she guessed, but then what did that have to do with Earth golems? Had they followed her from the Carousel, the entrance Under the Hill? But then, why here? Why now? It didn’t fit. The fiery eyes reminded her more of another Council seat—the flame-eyed figure of black rock and crystal with fissures of lava glowing like veins. She struggled to remember the faces of the other Council members, the names of all the different Houses, Courts and Clans that Graus Claude had made her memorize. Which one would want her eliminated? Of course, it could be any of them. She hadn’t endeared herself to the Council by forcing their hand. Who else?
“Could it have been one of the dryads?” Joy whispered.
“Easily,” Filly said. “Forest is technically under the Court of Earth.”
“Huh,” Joy said, swallowing another ripple of fear. But if the spell made everyone forget, why would the Forest Council seat have anything against Joy?
“What about Sol Leander?” Joy asked while double-tying her bow. “What House is he?”
“Air,” Filly said. “Sky seat. Along with the Council Head, Zhēnzhū.”
Joy shook her head. “It doesn’t make sense.”
“Have you gone anywhere lately where you oughtn’t?” Filly almost smirked, but the warrior was serious, and her tone was as grave as her eyes. Joy thought about all the places she’d been, tramping all over the world and beyond, and there were many places she probably “oughn’t” have gone, but only one stood out in her mind: the Bailiwick. Joy let out a long, slow breath.
“Joy,” Stef called like a command. “Let’s go.”
“Well fought, young ones!” Filly raised her fist to the sun. “Victory, Joy Malone!”
“Victory!” Joy said and stepped back as Filly lifted her chin, the air suddenly pregnant with ionic charge, which incandesced with a boom like thunder. Joy blinked reflexively. Filly was gone. The roar in her ears took a moment to fade.
“Nice friend you’ve got there,” Stef said sarcastically.
Joy shouldered her pack. “She’s come through for me before.”
“I prefer you hang out with Monica and Gordon What’s-his-hoffer,” he said. “They have to save your life less often. Come on.”
Joy joined him on the downward path. Their crunching footsteps sounded too loud in her ears. Her brother laid a protective hand on her back, almost at the place where her signatura burned. What was he thinking? Did he understand what she’d been about to say to him? She wondered if he had figured it out and just didn’t want to say it aloud?
Joy stumbled, feeling the fine granules in her shoes. She’d been nearly smothered to death, and all she could think about was that she’d have to change her socks. And why was she thinking about socks when someone was trying to kill her again?
But it wasn’t that simple—this wasn’t within the rules. Her enemies thought to trick her or trap her, force her to die a mortal death as a side effect rather than a frontal assault. She’d gone against Aniseed and the Red Knight and the Council and now this. But she was different now—she wasn’t just a mortal girl with the Sight; she was powerful and had powerful friends in the Twixt. She was one of them. And not. Joy had tapped into Earth and shattered her cage. She’d become something else, something more, all on her own. Something new now breathed inside her. The thought made her feel taller, stronger. She almost smiled. Almost.
They thought they could destroy her? Well, Joy was going to beat them at their own game, and she was going to win.
She flashed one of her Olympic-class smiles.
She wasn’t going to just bend the rules; she was going to break them apart.
SIXTEEN
FOR THE REST of the day, Joy tried to live in the moment. This moment. Now.
She traded the gritty rock dust for sand between her toes. It felt good to be on the shoreline, calm and clean and cool. The danger had passed, and now Joy’s job was to let it go. She had to be here—Joy Malone—now.
Spreading out towels and rolling up shirts, the Malone family stretched out with books and tablets angled against the late-afternoon sunshine, getting crappy reception and drinking sun-warmed tea. Joy texted Monica about “roughing it” on the lake and Stef plotted his route back to campus, stealing glances at Joy, neither of them fully distracted by whatever they pretended to be doing. With one eye on the forest and the other on Dad, they hadn’t any eyes left for the things in their hands.
Hello?
Joy jumped at the buzz in her palm. Sorry, she texted. 2 bars max.
Excuses, excuses, Monica typed. Maybe we should write letters? Very retro. U have a letter opener = official equipment!
HA! Back Sunday. Would beat the stamp home! she typed. Her father made a loud, fake “ahem” and coughed into his hand. Joy smirked and kept typing. Dad wants a Scrabble rematch. Miss you muchly! Xoxoxox.
Joy tucked her phone into her back pocket, grabbed her flip-flops and towel and trudged back up the beach. Stef jumped to his feet, flanking her like a sentry. She glanced at him sideways. He pointed to the woods. In the higher branches, leaves buckled and danced as a couple of squirrels raced from tree to tree...if squirrels were dark orange, wore capes and carried spears. Joy sighed and let her brother escort her back to camp. Just because they were safe, didn’t mean they were stupid. Joy and Monica swore No Stupid. Ha!
Scrabble was the family game. Joy and Stef could both remember the glorious day when they’d each managed to beat their dad—it was a Malone rite of passage. Joy had been twelve when she’d placed xenon on a triple-word score. Dad was always up for a rematch.
Sitting around the picnic table with a bag of chips and hot salsa, Joy tried to forget that anything was out of the ordinary. She watched the treetop Forest Folk leap across the branches, capes and tails flickering, and scamper on. The Folk lived here in the woods�
�they always had—she just hadn’t known it before. They went about their lives, and she went about hers. That was what it meant to have a shared world; they were sharing their forest home with her, not the other way around.
She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. The wind carried nothing more than the sound of the woods and the smell of neighboring campfires. The view stretched to the horizon, balmy and blue. Joy arranged her letters as Stef discreetly carved a protective sigil in the picnic bench. Chuckling, Dad set down his tiles. Stef’s phone was already set to Dictionary.com.
“‘Faqir—a Muslim Sufi ascetic who rejects worldly possessions,’” Stef recited. “Damn. I thought it was spelled with a k.”
“It’s an alternate spelling,” Dad said, grabbing the pen. “Tsk, tsk. What are they teaching you at that fancy school of yours?” he teased as he added up his total score. Stef ignored him and started rearranging his letters. Joy could barely sit still; she couldn’t wait to put down qadis and blow Dad away.
“I think I need to update this app,” Stef grumbled.
“You’re just sore you didn’t think of it first,” Dad said.
Stef stared at his letters with a scowl. “Can you guess what word I’m of thinking now?”
Dad laughed. “Go wash your mind with soap, young man.”
Stef changed ousted to jousted by putting down ajar. He hadn’t used any key spots, but it conveniently blocked her move. Stef tallied his meager points.
Joy hunched her shoulders. Jousted reminded her of the blood-colored Red Knight. She hadn’t known what she was capable of then and still suspected that Inq had tricked her into erasing the deadly assassin, exposing the fact that she’d somehow defeated the undefeatable Red Knight. Even if they’d managed to blame it on the scalpel and not her own intrinsic magic, Stef’s warning haunted her: Secrets don’t stay secret forever. If the antihuman factions of the Twixt hadn’t already hated and feared her before, they surely would once it was known her power could erase Folk out of existence! It was yet another reminder that she had to do something to free Graus Claude and the King and Queen soon, if not to prevent any changes happening now, then to protect her from things that she’d already done.
“Joy?”
“Hmm?”
Her dad tapped the table. “Your turn.”
Joy squared her shoulders and flipped her vowel tiles. She had to get her head in the game. She didn’t even gloat over her score; she was too distracted.
“How about kinesiology?” her dad asked.
Joy blinked at her letters. “I don’t have enough tiles.”
“No,” her father said. “I meant as a major. It’s the study of human movement.”
Joy arranged her new tiles. “You just looked that up.”
He shrugged. “Maybe I did.”
“Are we going to talk about this now? I can’t concentrate!” Stef snapped.
“Sorry,” Dad said. “Some of us can do both at once.”
Joy stuck out her tongue. Stef grumbled into his fist.
Dad studied the board. She caught a whiff of pine on the wind, electric and spiky, tickling her nose. It called to her, welcoming her. Joy discreetly slipped off her shoes, resting her bare feet on the ground. She tried to picture what had happened in the stone cage, how it had started—her feet in the grass, touching the earth. She pictured herself, feeling the grit and crackle of old leaves, dusty bark and rich soil beneath her toes. There was a sort of shimmer in her mind’s eye, darting like a fish just out of reach. It was as if she stood on the surface of a bubble and the slightest give, just a little push, and she could tap into that distant energy and let it flow over her again—but she wasn’t certain what would happen if she did.
She’d blasted herself out of the rock and still—no gills!
Joy widened the space between her toes, playing along the edge of the sleeping power, testing the shape of it, the taste of it, in the back of her mind. Digging her toes into the ground, she pushed down, imagining herself delving deeper, seeking out the strange flavor of dirt and metal, the sea, the salt and old, old ice. She could picture glaciers carving out the mountains. She could imagine layers of rock pushed up and forced down, grinding against each other, heating and cooling, the surface of the earth growing and dying and growing again. She experimented with a feather touch, the lightest tickle, and felt what sounded like an echo in her head, like a whisper from the eelet in a language she didn’t know, but could almost recognize. Almost... Almost there...
“Joy?”
Joy pulled her feet up. “Hmm?”
Dad frowned. “Your turn.”
“Sorry,” she said. “Spaced out for a minute.” She checked the board. Stef had used the r she needed. Crap.
“Thinking of Mark?” Dad said, picking fresh tiles. It took her a second to mentally switch Mark with Ink. Hearing his name was an unexpected jolt. She wondered where he was. How he was doing? Was he awake yet? She tucked her hair behind her ear, and her fingers lingered there. She cupped her hands, remembering his. She tried to form words, suddenly conscious of her lips—she missed him in every part of her.
“Well I am now,” she said, flustered. And now all she could think of was Ink’s boneless arm behind Graus Claude’s desk. His face pillowed in the giant four-poster bed. The nightmare memory of cutting his torn throat closed... And here she was playing Scrabble? Her two worlds couldn’t get any farther apart.
“Why don’t you give him a call when we’re done?” her father said, tapping the table. “In the meantime, eyes on the board. No throwing the game.”
“C’mon, Dad, you know me,” Joy said, snapping all seven letters on the board, spelling acoustic, and snagging a triple-letter score. Both Dad and Stef groaned. Joy smiled.
“I play to win.”
* * *
Joy wandered out of the bathhouse with her toiletry bag, bath towel and a stomach full of butterflies, hot dogs and baked apples. The fact that there had been no further incidents at Lake James hadn’t made her feel much better; in fact, the waiting made it worse, like a storm approaching, anticipating another giant foot about to fall. Between the golems and the gala and the talk of college majors and not knowing what was happening with Ink, Joy was twitchy and unsettled, caught somewhere between feeling hopeless and mad.
She opened the door and nearly ran into Stef.
“Hey.” Stef tried to keep his voice casual, but it sounded impatient and strained. “Ready to go?” He didn’t need to say where and didn’t need to say please—every move, every look, said it for him. His eyes were bright behind his glasses.
Joy gave an easy smile. “Isn’t it a bit early?”
“No,” he said. “Trust me, this is long overdue.”
Stef grabbed her hand and tugged. Joy laughed and started walking. Her brother’s excitement was infectious. “Aren’t you worried that it’s not safe?”
His smile faltered. “Should I be?”
“No.” Joy was willing to believe Filly that there’d be no more golems, that she’d tripped something by accident, even though Joy believed that there were no such things as accidents. A part of her felt wild, a part of her felt wary. She could imagine Monica whispering a warning: No Stupid.
Stef’s eyes widened cartoonishly. “So...?”
Joy gave in with a laugh. “Okay, fine. What’ll we tell Dad?”
Her brother tapped her toiletry bag. “Female problems,” he said. “We have to go into town for supplies.”
Joy rolled her eyes. “You can’t blame everything on women’s hygiene.”
“What? Why not?” he said. “You do all the time.”
Joy pushed his shoulder. “Do not!”
“Do, too,” he said. “And don’t deny it—I used to count the number of excuses per month. You fibbed at least thirty percent of the time. Science d
oesn’t lie.”
“Stef,” Joy said seriously. “I can’t lie anymore.”
Stefan slowed, his smile fading, replaced by something dangerous behind his eyes. Did he understand what she’d said—what it meant? She wanted to tell him, but until the words actually left her lips, it would still qualify as being unsaid. As a fallback plan, Joy was pretty good with unsaid. She was no longer quite as ready as she was before. Selfishly, she needed something in her life to stay the same.
He forced a smile. “Leave it to me,” he said, jogging ahead. Joy watched him go, wondering how long they could play at being normal, how long she could go on keeping a secret that wasn’t her secret any longer.
Stef ran back before she even made it around the bend. He grabbed her shoulders and spun her around, pushing her toward the parking lot. “Dad says he doesn’t want to know,” Stef said triumphantly. “We’ll go to the car, drive around the loop, park somewhere and snap the beacon. You have it on you, don’t you?”
She did, in fact. Now she didn’t go anywhere without the beacon, the pouch and the scalpel in reach, but she was tempted not to tell him that. She wasn’t quite ready for a road trip. She was wearing pajamas and flip-flops. “Yeah, but—”
“Excellent,” Stef said, unlocking the car door with his key fob. “Get in.”
Joy sighed and dropped into the passenger’s seat. “Pushy much?”
“You’re so hormonal,” Stef teased. “And we have an appointment to keep.”
“Appointment?” Joy said. “Crap!” She dropped her bag on the floor and opened the glove compartment, hurriedly flipping open the long velvet box.
“Holy—” He stared at the fortune of pearls. “Please, tell me those aren’t stolen.”
“They’re not stolen,” Joy said dutifully. “Only bears turn to a life of crime.” She moved the comb aside and pulled a white business card out from under the black elastic bands. It was an embossed linen card with a starburst logo and two blank lines for Appointment Date and Time. No number. No email. No web address. Joy turned it over, trying to use her Sight. Graus Claude hadn’t said how to use it. Great. She was mortally sure she didn’t want to miss her tailoring appointment and piss off someone else in the Twixt. She took a pen from the glove compartment and wrote August 17th, 5 a.m. EST. Both Stef and Joy watched as the words disappeared, replaced almost immediately with the words Appointment received. This card serves as your confirmation. Tear to transport. Joy sighed in relief, slipped it back into the box and snapped it shut.