by Dawn Metcalf
Joy stared at Invisible Inq, struck by how much Inq herself would have wanted this—to lord over those who had threatened her, dismissed her, knowing that she knew something important that all the Folk were too blind to see, fighting to keep safe those who so casually risked her life for theirs. Inq wanted this. She was jealous for something that Joy had never asked for, never craved, never dreamed. That seemed to be their pattern—two planets caught in opposing orbits.
“Nevertheless,” Ink said, “it would be good to contact those who already find favor with Joy.” He glanced at Kurt. “It is tactically sound.”
Kurt rolled the maps into a tight tube. “I will be busy conducting the preliminaries.”
“I’ll do it,” Filly volunteered. Joy knew the young warrior wished to keep her own name from showing up on Joy’s client list since she’d asked to have a mark erased without payment, but the blonde warrior would also no doubt welcome the chance to get her hands on exclusive information. Joy hoped the Valkyrie would be discreet. Kurt nodded. Filly whooped. Joy winced. Fat chance.
“I will accompany Briarhook,” Kurt said. “If the worst happens, best that they think that we are a revolution of one.” Joy wondered if he was quoting Aniseed on purpose. “Inq will meet us at the crux and direct us out. She will then enter the Bailiwick and, with luck, locate the door. If she succeeds, then the results should be obvious—the blanket spell will be negated once we have achieved the Imminent Return.” Avery could not help but look up in surprise, even if the knowledge was erased a moment later. “If not, then I will be the most likely suspect and will invite pursuit, which should allow you your freedoms and a future attempt.” He addressed Filly. “Keep an eye on Ink and Joy during the gala. You are their second line of defense.” Kurt considered Avery. “Given our positions, I would not ask you to act against your master, but perhaps you might direct his attentions elsewhere, should it become necessary,” he said. “For his safety, of course.”
Avery said nothing, his face furtive. Then he took a deep breath and addressed the largest map spread across the table. “The entire place is warded against entry and exit except by designated doors.” He pointed to the obvious entries, which would be just as obviously watched. “You’ll have to take the long way around if you want to get him out.” Avery traced a pathway through a myriad of stairwells and floors. It was dizzying to watch, impossible to follow, labyrinthine and riddled with possible ambush sites. He was not apologetic. “It is the more prudent option.”
“You misunderstand. We don’t have to get him out,” Inq said, turning her impish eyes to Avery. “We have to get in him.” She waved a hand impatiently as the moment of comprehension was lost under the spell and Avery’s look of curious alarm changed quickly to veiled boredom. Inq huffed in annoyance. “In any case, if I can find the door, I can open it,” Inq said. “If the Council locked the door, they had to have sealed it with glyphs. Ink and I were made with the base ingredients of signaturae. Either one of us can slip through as long as we leave our bodies behind.”
“What?” Joy said, horrified.
Inq flicked her wrist. “Don’t be so squeamish. These are just shells,” she said. “Beautiful, I admit, but shells, nonetheless. Our bodies, like yours, are merely containers,” she said, gesturing to Joy. “It’s what’s inside that counts. Luckily, we always have a backup store, as you know.” When Ink had fed himself into his sister, slashing his fingers open like fruit, and later when Ink gushed across the warehouse floor, he’d returned to her—just as Inq promised—whole and restored, but older, wiser, both more careful and more precious with the life he’d been given. That had been a gift from his sister and, unknown to him, his mother. The princess, locked inside the Bailiwick, waiting to be rescued.
“Okay,” said Joy. “So you can get past the locks once you find the door, but how are you going to find it?”
“If Aniseed was the courier, I can find it,” she said. “I’m a Scribe—I’ve been drawing her sigil for centuries. She’ll have left her mark.” Her gaze bounced from her brother to her lover to Joy. “Once I get inside, I’ll find it.”
From Inq, it sounded less like a promise then a threat.
Joy would accept either one gladly. “Done!”
* * *
Joy stepped onto the trail with Ink at her side, her shoes crunching on the gravel in the predawn dark. She planned to jog around the corner as if returning from a run. She took a deep breath of morning air and let it out slowly, loosening the pit of snakes in her stomach.
“Joy?” Ink asked.
“I’m nervous.”
Ink squeezed her hand, offering what comfort he could. He was learning to understand and be understanding, to be more human, more like her, which meant that some things went unsaid. She looked at their entwined hands. He even has a heart, she thought. Now he’s more human than I am.
“We’ll be packing up and leaving before sunset,” she said as if it was already happening—as if the world wasn’t changing between this morning and the next. “We should be home by six or seven.”
“I will come for you after dark,” he said. “Raina said that you would need time to prepare.”
“Raina said?” Joy mocked. Ink ducked his eyes and withdrew his hand.
“Yes,” he said. “She has offered to help you, if you need her, while the others take their places. She cannot accompany you inside the gala since humans are not allowed, but she has extended this small kindness.” Ink stared at Joy. “She is a friend, Joy, nothing more. I did not intend her candor to be inappropriate.”
Joy touched his shoulder. “No. It’s okay. I get why you felt you could talk to her. Better than the Hormone Boys, I guess! She’s—very easy to talk to.” And mature. And gorgeous. And worldly. And Inq’s. But Inq says nothing is off-limits... Joy felt herself growing jealous again. Crap.
“It was in confidence,” he said, catching her fingers. “But I did not ask all the questions I want answered.” He straightened his arm, bringing them flush together, and his breath brushed her face as if tasting her lips. “There are some things I want to learn from you.”
How did he have this way of speaking that reached inside her and squeezed? Joy touched her lips to his and felt the kiss through her whole body, filling her up slowly like a glow in the wan light. His tongue tasted hers, making her moan. He tightened his grip on her waist and let go. A flush colored his high cheeks.
“I am learning,” he said.
There was a catch in her breath. “No kidding.”
“Until tonight, then,” he said with a bow.
“It’s a date,” she said as he whipped his razor sideways and stepped through the breach.
Joy blew out a long breath and bounced on her feet to get her blood moving—how could it move without a heart? Was it magic? Did it matter? It would all change back when she asked the King and Queen for a boon. She jogged in place, knees high, pumping her arms, forcing a sweat. When she got a steady rhythm, she took off down the trail, using an easy, lazy pace as she approached their camp.
Her dad waved from the fire, where two gutted trout were frying in a pan, spitting in a bed of greens, garlic and chives. “Hey, there, sunshine,” he called out. “Feeling better?”
“A bit,” she said, checking the words to see if they were true, like worrying a loose tooth with her tongue.
“Where were you?” Dad asked.
“Just coming back from a run,” she said, which was true, albeit a very short run. “I needed to clear my head.” She sniffed the campfire smoke. “Smells good. What’s for breakfast?”
“A lean meal, I’m afraid,” her father admitted. “I think our reputation preceded us. The fish weren’t biting.” He shrugged and jiggled the pan handle. “But Shelley will be happy. My weigh-in is going to look great.”
Joy sat down. Stef offered her an open cereal box. “Kix?
” he said through a mouthful. “Kid-tested, brother-approved.”
Joy accepted a giant fistful of cereal. They crunched the hard, toasty-flavored nuggets as the tiny trout sizzled. Dad flinched as he flipped the fish, spraying droplets of oil. The fire crackled and spat. The sky wakened in stages. The woods twittered with life. A new day. A last day. Joy felt the moment, the nearness of her brother and father, bittersweet.
The fire spewed a few bright embers. Muttering under his breath, Dad stamped out a patch of smoking grass.
“Stop eating that junk,” he warned. “And get me a towel.”
Stef rummaged through the supply bag, covering his mouth with his arm. “Where were you really?” he asked. Joy crunched on more cereal, blocking out his question and keeping her eyes on the fire. The dawn was yellow, green and pink, turning the undersides of clouds a dusty purple. It was pretty.
“I heard there’s going to be quite a party later this evening,” he said. Joy choked on her cereal. Stef folded the towel in half. “Want to tell me about it?”
The last thing she needed was Stef knowing about the gala. She had enough to worry about. She shrugged and ate more cereal. “Humans aren’t invited.”
Stef loomed over her, his body split half in firelight, half in shadow.
“I know.”
“Stef?” their father called. “Towel!”
Stepping around the fire pit, her brother squatted down to help salvage the fish. Joy hung her head. He knows. What did he know? He knows about me. About him? About halflings? About the Sight? She should have told him before, as soon as she knew—she was guilty of everything she’d once blamed him of doing: keeping secrets, half-truths, especially those things they should have shared. He was angry, hurt, and she understood, but worse, she deserved it. She was a hypocrite. She felt his unsaid words weighing her down with guilt. This time, it was her fault for keeping secrets.
But I can fix it. I know I can.
Joy watched the pale white moon fade into the sun-painted sky.
* * *
They spent their last vacation day hiking—real hiking—and that meant good shoes, thick socks, lots of water and a good map. They drove to Mount Mitchell in South Toe, where the trails were rough and steep, and the walk was more of a climb. Stef was thrilled. Joy was ambivalent, her mind full of plots and pearls. Mr. Malone folded up the topo map, shouldered his pack and grabbed twin walking sticks out of the trunk.
“What do you think?” Stef said, all boundless energy and giddy grin.
Dad looked up at the peak. “If I die, I want a Viking funeral.”
Stef laughed and clapped his father on the back.
The sky stretched above them like wide-open arms embracing clouds and jutting peaks, green valleys and dots of faraway lakes that sparkled like jewels in reflected sunlight. They broke through higher altitudes where the wind was brisk and the treetops trembled far below, but Joy was distracted, feeling too much of the earth as she trekked the steep angles, inhaling the taste of mountain soil. She could feel the Earth on her tongue.
The burn in her legs and her lungs was too real in a world that had become completely surreal. She didn’t want to think about the countdown of hours; she tried to savor the minutes, one at a time, following her father and brother and the sun. The day passed in a rhythm of one foot, then the other, step by step, up the mountainside, her steady footsteps mimicking the absent thump-thump-thump of her missing heart.
She felt sweat bead on her lip as they peaked a rise, checking her wrist and the soft part of her neck out of habit. Nothing. What did that mean, having no heart? What did that make her? Inhuman? Undead? Other Than...what? The Folk were like fairies out of fairy tales with magic and True Names; they were like vampires, having no reflections, and they were like ancient gods, powerful and petty. But what were they, really? What was she, if she was becoming one of them? And why did she keep seeking out that foreign feeling of salt and soil and old, old ice?
Joy wiped her forehead and picked up the pace, trying to outdistance her traitorous body and thoughts.
Her dad was in the lead, stabbing each walking stick in a rhythm, setting the pace with a chunk-thunk punctuating each step. Stef glanced back at her around the bulk of his pack, setting the aluminum water bottles swinging.
“You good?” he asked.
I’m good died on her lips. It was lie. She nodded and breathed openmouthed to keep from talking. But Stef waited, one boot propped up on a rock.
“Say it,” he said.
Joy licked her lips. “What?”
“Say that you’re good,” he said again. Joy was too preoccupied to pretend she didn’t understand. He was testing her. His demand caught her off guard. He’s guessing. He knows. He suspects. Stef frowned, his eyes hard, his voice anxious. “Say it.”
It only took a second, if that. While Ink had become more human, she’d become more like the Folk, and despite what Avery said, she no longer thought like a human. She might not be feeling “good,” she might not be “healthy” per se, but if she thought about it another way, she wasn’t bad, she wasn’t evil, and she was working to make things right. Therefore—
“I’m good,” she said.
His shoulders relaxed, the grip on the straps loosened. Joy tried to look innocent, or at least exhausted, as she trudged past him up the rocky trail. Stef watched her, suspicious. She felt his eyes boring into her back where her signatura burned. He knew—or at least suspected—that Joy wasn’t simply marked, wasn’t simply in love with one of the Folk. Had he already guessed? Why would he press her to see if she could speak the truth? Joy jogged up a root-lined path. Maybe she was overthinking things. Maybe she was being paranoid. And maybe she was quietly hoping to be let off the hook from having to tell Stef that he was one of the “Other Thans” that he’d hated all of his life. Great-Grandma Caroline had taught him to fear them, the Folk who had left her blind and betrayed and insane. But now he has Dmitri—doesn’t that make it better? Didn’t that make everything okay? She didn’t know. She couldn’t be sure. She knew she should tell him, but the wind washed away her words before they could make it to her lips. She had too much on her plate. She was too distracted. There was too much at stake.
The truth was, she was a coward.
“Only one more rise and we’ll hit the top,” her father called down. He leaned on the two walking sticks looped around his wrists. “C’mon, slowpokes!” he gasped. “Or do I have to carry you?”
“Now there’s a picture,” Stef said and poked Joy in the butt. “Move it, slacker.”
She growled, tempted to squirt him with her water bottle. Ribbing, teasing, getting annoyed at her brother—this was normal, but it felt weird, choked by things left unsaid. She had to remind herself that this was the real world with her family, together, for maybe the last time until winter break. It was the one thing that her father had requested they do as a family since Mom left—she owed it to her father to pay attention, to be fully here. She mustn’t ruin it. Joy glared at the sun, ticking like clockwork across the sky. She wanted to hold on to this day, hit Pause and have the world stop. But she couldn’t—she could barely hold on to a moment before it slipped through her fingers like the dry dust underfoot. It was funny how she’d gotten used to time standing still.
Tonight she’d have to play her part, but right now she had to be Joy Malone.
Whoever that is.
She hadn’t noticed that they’d made it to the top until she realized her feet had nowhere else to go. Dad wiped his face with a red bandana and smiled. Stef dropped the pack and twisted, making popping sounds with his spine. Joy stood between them and leaned slowly side to side, feeling her ribs bend, her lungs fill, savoring a muscle-deep awareness that stretched through her like a yawn. It felt good. It felt alive.
“This is it,” her father said. “This is what it’s all a
bout.”
They stood there, three Malones on top of the world.
“I’m really proud of you two,” her father said, still squinting out into the view. “Who you are, who you’ve been, who you’ve become.” He took a deep breath. “Who you’re still becoming.” It sounded like he might say more, but he’d never said this much, not stuff like this, anyway. It reminded Joy, uncomfortably, of their first real talk since the Year of Hell. He sounded lighter, somehow, and yet stronger.
“Are you dying?” Stef asked with typical Stef-ness.
Mr. Malone laughed. “No,” he said. “Well, not any more than the normal day-to-day life passing. But I’m not planning on going anywhere anytime soon.” He glanced over at his two kids. “Of course, I won’t be around forever, so you two better take care of one another. When you’re not fighting, you can be really good friends.” He pointed at them the way he had for countless years, scolding them for roughhousing, being obnoxious or unkind—but this time, it was different. His finger might have shaken. Or it might have been his voice. “If there’s one thing this crazy life’s taught me, it’s that family is what counts.” He glanced back at the vista, and Joy had the strange feeling her father was about to jump, step off into the wind and fly out into the sky, but he just smiled and hooked his thumbs in his pockets, his chest rising and falling above his almost-gone beer belly. Crinkles cut deeper into the corners of his eyes, his skin was looser, his smile softer. When did he get so old? Joy stared at him, this man, her father, and barely recognized him. His voice was soft and sure. “Trust me, kids,” he said. “This is what counts.”
Joy stood quietly, feeling her father’s words inside her. Stef stepped forward next to their dad and leaned into the wind. Bright sunlight bathed them both in a golden glow, father and son.
“Are there waffles?” Stef asked. “Because I wouldn’t want to have all of this if I can’t have waffles.”