by Dawn Metcalf
Joy glanced at Inq, who nodded. “Okay.”
“Good. Very good,” Mr. Vinh said and came around to sit on the mats. Joy and Inq joined him on the floor. He folded to a sitting position with ease.
“So what can I tell you?” Mr. Vinh said, placing his hands on his knees. “I am a wizard, which means that I provide services for humans and tien. Most often spells and most often for money, although I sometimes will take trade for hard-to-find things.” He opened his hands; one thumb was smudged in black paint. “My family was from a province near the Mekong River, before we came to America and brought our magic here. I make poultices and charms and small, everyday sort of spells, but glamours are my big magic—taught to me from my grandfather from his father and his father before him and so on, back centuries. It is an old craft and one that relies heavily on both art and discretion.” He smiled wryly. “My art at my discretion, you understand. It is the most common way that the tien may pass among humans.” He gestured with one hand. “You have the Sight—you understand why that is. You’ve seen what they look like without the veil.”
Joy shifted on the mats. “What veil?”
The wizard bowed toward Inq. “The veil is the natural aura of the tien that lets them slip past our eyes like oiled paper—” he drew his hands quickly past his face “—without notice. It is what has kept them alive in our world for centuries. Camouflage is an effective survival strategy.”
He rested his hands on his knees and continued. “The simplest glamour is not about creating something new, but dampening the individual veil, allowing humans to perceive them normally,” Mr. Vinh said. “This is not an option for many, as to see tien in their true form, unfiltered, would likely cause alarm, breaking pacts between our worlds, so minor modifications can be made to normalize their appearance or create an entire new facade,” he said. “It is a major undertaking and very expensive. Of course, in order to pass close inspection, there are additional changes necessary for masking horns, wings, tails, extra body mass.” He glanced at Inq. “Or unusual eyes.”
She winked.
Joy’s head spun. “But...how?”
Mr. Vinh grinned. “My son is a gifted animator,” he said with pride. “CAD modeling has greatly improved the quality of our glamours. We’ve been developing the technique since the early eighties.”
“No,” Joy said. “I mean, how is that possible?” She looked around the tiny room. “Spells. Glamours. Wizards. How is any of this possible?”
“A better question might be how are you possible, busy girl?” Mr. Vinh asked. “I cannot tell you how I make my magic, but perhaps you can tell me how you make yours.” He leaned forward slightly at the waist in interest. “So, my question—I have heard that you managed to remove your signatura, freeing yourself from your Master and unraveling the segulah’s curse.” Joy stared. Mr. Vinh was well-informed. She didn’t expect to hear these words from another human being. “Tell me,” he said. “How did this happen?”
“Oh,” Joy said trying to catch a cue from Inq, but she was busy inspecting the cabinet shelves. “It was an accident,” she said, choosing her words carefully. “Ink threw his scalpel to me after he’d stabbed Aniseed so that it could pass through her ward. I used it to free myself.” She and Ink had agreed to place the explanation for her escape and the magic of unmaking on the blade itself and not attribute it in any way to Joy, avoiding the truth that they had discovered while marking a man in a prison cell: that she could somehow erase marks that were supposed to be permanent, removing the True Names that linked the Folk to the last bits of magic in the world. “I had no idea what would happen,” she said honestly. “I was just trying to get out.”
“And so you did,” Mr. Vinh said as he rubbed his palms against his trousers. “This is a powerful thing. A valuable thing.” His eyes flicked to her. “You are full of valuable things.” Inq turned her head, almost frowning. Joy wasn’t sure what he meant, but she found that she’d been twisting her fingers in her lap. She flattened her palms against the mats. He pushed himself to a stand. “Like information,” he clarified as he straightened. “I value information because I value facts. Facts are the difference between real magic and trickery. It is very important to know all of the facts,” he said. “Here’s a fact—you do not need a glamour, so I do not know what I can offer you, but if you have need of a wizard, now you know where to look.” He fiddled with the frog buttons and placed his robe back on its hook. “I can offer you spells and remedies, and my son has a side business as a courier, should you wish to send something into the Twixt, but no discounts on store items. I still have to report to the IRS.”
Joy gave a small laugh. “Understood.”
He pushed open the Employees Only door back into the pool of glaring light and garish shelves of junk food. “Thank you for an enlightening lunch break,” he said. Joy’s stomach grumbled. This had been her lunch break, too. She needed to eat. He closed the door and shuffled back up the aisle. “If you need anything, drop by. Twenty-four hours. Someone is always available.” He smiled. “Busy girl is not the only one who’s busy around here.”
Joy rooted around her bag for something quick and edible. There wasn’t much. She was considering the worms. “Thanks, Mr. Vinh.”
“Anytime, busy girl,” he said cheerily. To Inq, he said, “Come back later. I’ll adjust the pupils. They’re not tracking as well as I’d like.”
“Artists!” Inq said and pushed through the door, ignoring its parting bing-bong. “Such perfectionists.”
Joy said nothing, knowing that humans noticed the details; it was how she’d known that something was wrong with Ink and Inq when she’d first seen them with their impossibly smooth skin and penetrating all-black eyes. The Folk seemed to bother only with surface impressions, which explained how the Scribes had gone so long without bothering to add little things like belly buttons or fingernails. It made sense that they would need a human to make convincing glamours for them.
She remembered the last time she’d sat with Ink, carving the perfect muscles of his neck and chest using a human figure drawing book as a guide. They’d laughed together as they molded a little innie in his long, rippled stomach. Her fingertips tingled with the memory. Or maybe it was low blood sugar. She popped a Gummi Worm into her mouth. It squished as she bit down. Ew.
“So,” Joy said around the orange glob. “Everyone can see you?”
“Of course. When I activate the glamour,” Inq said.
“Right. So why did you tell him I didn’t want one?” Joy said around another Gummi. “That is exactly what I want for Ink!”
Inq gave an exasperated sigh and flapped her hands. “You don’t just come out and tell a wizard what you want! They’ll jack up the price. Haven’t you ever haggled before?”
Joy swallowed. “No.” The one time she’d gone to Mexico for an international gymnastics competition, she’d been too intimidated by the constant hawking and badgering to buy anything at the market.
“Well, trust me—walking away now will make things easier for you later. Right now, it’s too obvious that you want something. I figured I would help you get the ball rolling and if we started asking about glamours today, then by the third or fourth time, it will be like you were hypothetically asking.”
“So—hypothetically asking—how much does a glamour cost?”
“Depends on the wizard, but he likes you. I bet we can get you a discount!” Inq winked, and Joy couldn’t help but smile. What she wouldn’t give to have Ink be able to meet Monica, Stef and Dad! To be visible, to be a part of her world like she was part of his. All she needed was to buy him a glamour—it would be perfect!
“I’d want to make it a surprise if I can manage it,” Joy said, grabbing another worm. “Don’t tell Ink.”
Inq touched a finger to her lips. “It’ll be our little secret.” She smirked, delighted in the same way she’d b
een when she’d first brought Joy through time and space to her own surprise party for Lehman’s Day. “Come on,” she said. “Let’s get you back to work. Start saving those pennies!”
She spread her hand, and the air bowed around them in concentric ripples.
“Approximately how many pennies are we talking about?” Joy asked.
Inq patted her arm good-naturedly. “Think of it this way—it’s always good to have a lifelong goal.”
FOUR
STEPPING OUT OF the void onto the asphalt behind Antoine’s back lot, Joy and Inq stopped laughing the instant Ink sprang up from the back steps and started toward them, worry and fury warring on his face.
“Where were you?” he said.
“Shopping,” Inq replied before Joy could breathe. While technically true, it wasn’t really the truth. Joy was amazed at how skillfully the Folk could twist words.
“Shopping?” Ink said. “You were gone and I thought...” He shook his head and turned to his sister, sounding strangely human. “It is dangerous for Joy to be out right now.” He gestured to the heavy back door. “I cannot ward a public place like this—there are too many people! And we have not heard back from the Bailiwick yet!”
“Better, then, that she was with me and not out on her own,” Inq said primly. “Isn’t it sweet how he worries about you?” She winked at Joy and made a big show of adjusting her corset. “You fret too much, Ink. Everything’s fine. You don’t have to wait on the Bailiwick to keep living your life. It’s not as if anyone’s foolish enough to try anything out here in the open in the middle of the day.”
Joy was about to say that this was exactly what had happened yesterday when she saw a rust-colored shape move from behind a parked car and the words died on her tongue.
The knight’s footsteps crunched on the pavement.
Joy backed away stumbling, knees jellied and mouth gaping open, tasting air.
Ink spun around. Inq’s hands blurred. The knight raised his weapon—a curved scimitar this time—and charged. Joy backpedaled against a nearby car and stumbled, the hot chrome bumper burning her leg. Ink stepped between them, straight razor raised. Inq’s right hand swept down, severing the knight’s blade from its hilt in a whine of sparks. The knight huffed and charged with the damaged half, a shard of razor-sharpness that caught the sun on its edge. Inq held her ground. Joy frantically fished for the scalpel, dropping the C&P bag, rooting around tubes of lip gloss and mascara. There was a dark blur of motion. Ink flashed past. The straight razor arced, but the knight swung, batting the blade from Ink’s hand. It clanged off a Dumpster and slid in the dirt.
Inq dived, humming fingers stabbing straight, but the knight dodged and wove beneath her arm. Gripping the end of his sword, he tried to drive the broken bit into Inq’s sternum. Joy grabbed her scalpel. Ink drew his black arrowhead. Inq’s hands stilled, fingers spread wide, the same moment that Joy lifted the scalpel and Ink punched through the armor, grabbing the knight’s elbow from behind. Joy stared as the metal mesh protecting the shoulder joint split, spitting broken links across the gravel in a gentle rain of rings. With a twist, Ink snapped the arm sideways, a sharp crack. The weapon dropped from the armored grip. His knees buckled. The knight heaved himself up and punched Ink in the throat. Ink’s face absorbed the blow and hardened like stone. Ink frowned and slashed the arrowhead down.
There was a splash of blood and a rough scream. Ink spat a word.
“Yield.”
Inq’s eyes widened, a wild smile on her lips. Joy backed away from the spatter of bright blood on cement.
The knight grunted and grabbed Ink’s shoulder with his good hand as if to tear it from the socket. Ink used both arms to trap the elbow and bend it back with a shriek of ruined metal. The knight’s arm pulsed another great gout of blood.
“Yield!” Ink said.
“I do not yield,” the knight grated from beneath his helmet.
Ink’s grip tightened. The armguard squealed.
“You will not touch her,” Ink said. “I swear it.”
“Then you, too, shall die.”
Rage lit Ink’s features, something pure and terrible; the hot neon light sparked like fire in his eyes. He shoved his knee forward, driving the arrowhead through the knight’s back. The knight crumpled, a sagging calm of junkyard noises as he sank to his knees. Armor hit ground in tumbling percussion as the body toppled over with a crash.
The sound broke something inside Joy—it was as if the world swam into sharp focus between one breath and the next. Ink stood over the body, barehanded and calm. Inq lifted her palms warily and took a step closer. The knight was a rumpled pile of red armor, its head wrenched sickeningly back. Joy couldn’t help staring where the helmet had lifted away from the neck. Pale skin peeked out from under the edge of the faceplate. No pulse beat there. It was very, very still.
Inq relaxed. “Well, that’s that.”
She touched her brother’s wrist. Something passed between them that snapped him out of his stillness. Ink flinched away with a dismissive gesture and looked back at Joy.
“Go inside,” Ink told her. “You are safe now. It is over.” The words fell like stones, flat and black. He sounded lost, tired and confused—she felt the same way. She couldn’t go to work, not now, not after this! As if he could read her thoughts, he shook his head gently. “Act normal. Otherwise, it will call attention to...” Ink stopped and sighed. “Please go. I will come back tonight and escort you home.”
Joy walked around the pool of blood, speckled with gravel and tiny links of chain, and hurried up the back stairs into Antoine’s low lighting and the smell of hot bread. The last thing she saw was Inq moving to touch her brother and Ink standing very, very still.
* * *
Joy waited by the restaurant’s front window twisting her apron strings around her knuckles, watching the raindrops fall in a smooth sheet beyond the awning. Main Street shone like a river stippled with tiny splashes. Cars drove by, shearing sheets of spray. People walked under umbrellas. A knot of teens passed, laughing as one tipped back his face, mouth opened wide to catch the droplets. It was a fresh, clean summer storm. To Joy, it smelled like Ink.
She trusted that the rain would wash away the blood.
She’d tried not to think about the look on Ink’s face in the back lot, or the armored body that had disappeared along with Ink and Inq when she’d been brave enough to check. It was as if they had never been, as if she’d imagined the whole thing, everything from the moment Inq had appeared at work to the moment when she’d walked past Neil with the scalpel still in her hand. It had been easy not to think about it while she’d rushed mindlessly between tables, but now it all came back to her in a crazy montage: ice cubes melting in a saucer, blood spouting over gravel, Mr. Vinh in a black robe behind a secret door at the C&P.
The rainy day world was as foggy as a dream.
“Need a ride?”
Neil appeared next to her, staring out at the rain.
“No,” Joy said. “Thanks. I’m waiting for a friend.”
Neil nodded and tapped his cheat pad. “Friend-friend or more-than-a-friend?” Joy turned and noticed him smile. “Just asking.”
Ink appeared just outside the door, slipping between one flap of reality and the next. Joy watched him unzip a doorway along a parking sign and check the sidewalks and streets, heedless of the rain wetting his clothes. He raised a hand, inviting her to join him.
“I have to go,” she said.
Neil frowned. “But there’s no one—”
“Bye.” Joy pushed out the door, hugging her purse close to her body. Ink had his straight razor in his hand and led the way past the window
“Are you all right?” she asked into her collar.
“Let’s get you home,” Ink said, slipping into rare contractions and walking quickly aroun
d the corner, out into the rain. Cool pinpricks tapped her arms and scalp as she walked beside him. Joy blinked through the rain on her lashes. On Ink’s face, they looked like tears.
He stopped in the middle of the sidewalk and stared at her. The rain matted her hair and slid a wet finger down her back. She glanced around awkwardly and felt drops trace down her cheeks.
“What is it?” she asked.
Ink blinked in surprise.
“The water is cold,” he said as a shudder passed over his body, muscles quivering under the silk shirt plastered against him. She’d forgotten how he still needed to concentrate to feel things.
“It’s not really,” Joy said, but Ink still looked amazed. He placed a hand against his chest. The shiver came again, shaking raindrops from the tips of his hair.
“It is cold. I can feel it,” Ink said, pressing his palm flat. “I am alive.” He said the words as if he’d never thought them before, as if their very meaning had changed. His eyes lifted and saw her with wonder. “I am alive,” he said again in his crisp, slicing voice. “And you are beautiful.”
Joy wiped the wet bangs from her eyes and stepped forward.
First she tasted the rain, which tasted like him—cool droplets on his mouth that melted against her tongue. The lightness bloomed into something warmer. He pulled her closer, and Joy forgot the touch of raindrops. Her arms felt heavy in her wet clothes, her fingers tangling in his hair.
He pushed her back.
“No!”