Ink Witch (Kat Dubois Chronicles Book 1)

by Lindsey Fairleigh

  Nik picked up the duffel bag, slinging the strap over his shoulder, then bent over to retrieve the discarded paper bag.

  One whiff of sugary, fried dough told me it was filled with donuts. “You left to get breakfast?” Astonishment knocked me momentarily senseless.

  Nik scoffed and waved me out into the alleyway. “Tick-tock, Kitty Kat. I’d rather not have to break your ass out of jail. Let’s go.”

  I didn’t argue. A rush of giddiness surged through me as I followed him out through the doorway. We ran up the alley and hopped on the first bus we saw, not caring where it would take us.

  To the University District, it turned out. Four stops later, we were off that bus and waiting at the main bus stop at the University of Washington on Fifteenth Avenue. In minutes, we’d be on our way to the ferry terminal downtown, and in hours we’d be stepping onto Bainbridge Island. There, I would be able to figure out some way to make Dom’s afterlife more comfortable. There, Nik and I would be able to reconvene with our people—the non-traitorous ones—and figure out what the hell to do. Our world was a ticking time bomb crafted by our own people. Evidence of our species was out there, in human hands.

  I didn’t think it wasn’t a matter of if the bomb would explode, but when. I just hoped we’d be ready.

  26

  I sat on the floor in my old room on the second floor of Heru’s house in the Nejeret complex on Bainbridge Island, surrounded by my old things. Now, even more so than before, I felt the convergence of who I used to be and who I was now. I was at a crossroads. I could drop everything—my sword, my shop, my name—and go on the run, be a lonely woman on the lam. I’d be running from myself as much as from anything else. Or I could give in. Accept who and what I was, both to myself and to my Nejeret clan.

  The desire to run was strong. After all, it was essentially what I’d been doing for the last three years—running from the past while staying put, anchored to it. Running was safe. It was simple. It was lonesome but devoid of the complications and utter devastation that come with strong bonds.

  But as I etched Dom’s full name, Dominic l’Aragne, into the wood frame of the standing mirror laid down on the floor before me, over and over, Lex’s words in that hospital stairwell—her plea—reverberated within me. Be the legacy she deserves. I couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that she was right, that my mom would be disappointed in the woman I’d become. Not the killer, but the recluse. The one who chose to hide from her past mistakes rather than learn from them.

  I’d distanced myself from my people, from Dom, and now he was gone . . . or gone-ish. And just like when my mom died, I was inundated with regret about time lost. Time wasted. I’d unwittingly thrown away the chance to see Dom a thousand more times, to share hundreds of philosophical conversations with him, to know him better. To let him know me better.

  It’s a funny thing, being a supposed immortal being. I’m only into my fourth decade, but even I have the deep-seeded belief that I and all of my Nejeret friends and family will be around forever. I’d been going through life the past few years thinking that someday, a good ways down the road, when I’ve got my shit together, I’d come back to them. But I’d been waiting until I’d become someone worthy of the love they’re so willing to throw my way. I’d been waiting for a day that would never come.

  I shook my head and started the thirteenth iteration of Dom’s name around the mirror’s wooden frame. I’d figured Dom and I would reunite someday, the dynamic duo, kicking ass and taking names side by side. And now that someday would never come. I was holding onto what little remained of him, my fingernails digging into his soul in a desperate attempt to regain what could’ve been. Possibilities that I’d thrown away so carelessly.

  “I’ll make this right,” I told the phone sitting on the floor beside my knee.

  Dom’s etched eyes were open, his sharp, rough-hewn features arranged in a pattern that I thought might, just maybe, be curiosity. I was fairly sure he could hear me, though that etched image of him moved so slowly that any responses he gave may have just been coincidental movements. I blamed his hindered mobility on the medium. Etched glass was too permanent, too hard for his ba to manipulate. This time I’d used ink—Sharpie, to be exact. And I’d given him a full body, taking up the entire mirror when I drew him in painstaking detail, right down to his favorite loafers with the little leather tassel things. I’d always teased him about those.

  There was a knock at the bedroom door.

  “Yeah?” I called over my shoulder. I wasn’t ready to share Dom with the others yet, not until I knew there was a way for us to communicate with him—for him to communicate with us. Not until I knew I wasn’t torturing him by keeping him here. I wanted his permission, his blessing, before I let the others know just how desperate I was to hold onto him.

  “It’s me,” Nik said. He turned the locked door handle. “Can I come in?”

  “Sure.” I didn’t bother getting up to unlock the door. He could do it himself by magicking up a key out of thin air. “Lock it again, though,” I said, once he was in the room. Lex, Heru, and the others were still on the west side of the Puget Sound, but there were plenty of other Nejerets who lived in the Heru compound and had keys to this house. Nobody could know about Dom until I was certain. Until I—we—were ready.

  Nik locked the door, just like I requested, and his footsteps were quiet as he crossed the room to stand behind me. He whistled. “That’s Dom, alright. Nicely done.”

  I finished the “e” in Dom’s surname, then started carving the final rendition of his name around the wooden frame. “Thanks.” I was quiet for a moment. “Nik . . . am I doing the right thing?”

  Nik stepped over the mirror and sat in the cushy armchair by the window. “Honestly, Kitty Kat, I’m the last person you should be asking about right and wrong.”

  I frowned but continued carving.

  “What would Dom say?”

  “That’s what I’m trying to find out,” I grumbled.

  Silence settled between us while I finished that final carving of Dom’s name. My hand ached, and my fingers were cramping, but I pushed through. Finally, I sat back on my heels and set the wood-handled carving knife on the floor, trading it for my dead phone. I held up the phone so I could look at Dom face to face, my lips pursing in thought. My focus shifted from Dom’s face to Nik’s. “Any idea how to get him out of here and into the mirror?”

  Nik shrugged. “You’re the Ink Witch.”

  I scowled. “Don’t call me that. I hate that nickname.”

  “You used to say that about ‘Kitty Kat,’” Nik said with a smirk. “Maybe it’ll grow on you.”

  “I hate that nickname, too,” I lied.

  Nik’s smirk widened knowingly. “Of course you do.”

  Heat creeped up my neck and cheeks, and I bowed my head, letting my dark hair fall around my face, a curtain hiding the unexpected blush. “I still hate you,” I told him.

  “Of course you do,” he repeated, his voice even more mocking than before.

  I closed my eyes and took slow, deep breaths, focusing on Dom’s dark, secretive eyes. In seconds the mental image replaced Nik’s pale stare, and I felt myself become centered within. Nik had a tendency to make my thoughts and emotions flail wildly, while Dom had always been able to ground me. Maybe it was why I was so desperate to hang onto him.

  “Touch.”

  My eyes snapped open, and I looked at Nik. “What did you say?”

  Frowning, Nik shook his head. “Nothing.” He was sitting on the edge of the chair, his elbows on his knees and his keen gaze locked on me, watching me do my magic. He was probably hoping to learn something, to understand, to figure out how I do what I do so he can train to do it himself. Everyone with a sheut could learn to do new things, train themselves to access more facets of their otherworldly powers . . . to some degree. I was still trying to master my own damn innate power. It was like trying to leash a kraken.

  Eyebrows drawing together, I stared dow
n at the phone. Dom returned my stare with so much intensity I had no doubt that he could truly see me.

  “Touch . . . mirror . . .” There was no mistaking it this time—it was Dom’s voice whispering through my mind.

  “Did you hear that?” I asked Nik, eyes flicking his way.

  Again, he shook his head.

  I licked my lips and, hands shaking, lowered the phone to the mirror. I set it down on the drawn-on glass and held my breath.

  Nothing happened.

  For nearly a minute, I watched, waiting. But nothing happened. Dom just stared back at me from the phone’s screen, blinking every ten or fifteen seconds.

  “Maybe turn it over?” Nik suggested.

  “Oh, right.” I gently flipped the phone over so it was facedown against the mirror.

  Almost immediately, silver poured into the mirror, billowing out below the surface like ink in water. Strands of it shot up from the mirror’s surface, diving back down almost immediately as the silvery filaments coiled around the lines of the drawing until the ink from the permanent marker was no longer black, but solid, gleaming silver.

  My hands covered my mouth, my eyes bulging. Tears streamed down my cheeks as I watched the impossible happen.

  The now-silver drawing deepened, gaining shadow and depth, becoming three-dimensional right before my eyes. Dom seemed to gain weight even as he gained substance, and his feet fell away, as though drawn by some other-dimensional form of gravity, until he was standing on an unseen surface below, face upraised. He stared up at me through the mirror.

  “Help me,” I said to Nik, reaching for the mirror’s edges. I gripped either side and lifted it a few inches off the ground, intending to stand it upright.

  “Little sister—”

  I dropped the mirror back to the floor, hands clutching my chest. Dom’s voice had been clear as day in my mind. There was no mistaking it. I looked from Dom in the mirror to Nik and back. Dom’s mouth was still moving, but his voice was gone.

  Without hesitation, I pressed my palm against the frame of the mirror.

  “Can you truly hear me?” Dom asked, his faint French accent more comforting than any hug had ever been.

  “Yes,” I said, chin trembling. Let’s be real, my whole body was trembling. I nodded, my free hand covering my mouth. “Are you alright?”

  Dom nodded sedately. “I am well enough. Though this position is not the most comfortable . . .”

  “Oh, right.” Once again, I gripped either side of the tall standing mirror and lifted it up off the ground. Nik helped, and we moved the armchair aside and arranged Dom in the corner of the room, where he would have a good view of the entire space.

  “Thank you,” Dom said. “That is much better.”

  Nik’s eyes opened wide, and a moment later, his lips spread into a broad grin. “Welcome back.”

  Dom’s dark eyes locked on Nik. “Should I say the same to you?”

  Nik chuckled. “We’ll see.” He looked at me. “Let go for a minute.” The moment I did, the mirror and its frame were taken over by a sheet of At, spreading out like ice freezing over a lake. Within seconds, the entire mirror had been transformed into At. “Wouldn’t want him to break,” he said as he pulled his hand back.

  Remotely, I could feel myself nodding, hear myself saying thank you. But I couldn’t tear my eyes away from my half-brother’s face.

  “I’ll give the two of you a minute,” Nik said, backing away. Out of the corner of my eye, I watched him turn and leave the room, shutting the door on his way out.

  I touched the mirror’s unbreakable At frame with trembling fingertips so I could once again hear Dom’s voice. “Dom, I—I’m so sorry . . . for everything. I tried so hard to save you, but I just wasn’t good enough.”

  His silvery reflection clasped his fingers together, almost like he was preparing to pray. “Answer me one thing, little sister, and all will be forgiven.”

  “Anything,” I said, meaning it with every fiber of my being.

  “Are you done running?” His eyes, somehow just as dark and penetrating in silver as they’d been in flesh, bore into me. “Are you back, for good?”

  I nodded vehemently. “Yes, Dom. I swear it. I’m back.”

  27

  “And that’s how you ended up in the phone,” I told Dom, arching my back and stretching my arms over my head. I’d been sitting in front of the mirror—his mirror, now—legs folded under me and elbows on my knees, for nearly an hour. Dom’s silvery non-reflection mirrored my position, if not the stretching.

  I dropped my hands into my lap, flicking a few fingers at the mirror. “So what’s it like in there, anyway?” I touched my fingertips to the base of the frame so I could hear his response.

  “It is . . .” His eyes narrowed, and he looked around. “It is strange. But also quite familiar.” His thin lips twisted into a wry smile. “I’ll let you know more once I’ve had a chance to explore.”

  I nodded slowly.

  “Kat . . . ”

  Uh-oh. I knew that tone—it was Dom’s do-as-I-say tone. His I’m-disappointed-in-you tone. Especially when he actually used my name. Usually he called me “little sister.” I held my breath.

  “You need food,” he said. “And rest. You must allow your body to heal—another regeneration cycle, at least. You will continue to weaken until you do.”

  “I know,” I said, shaking my head. “I can’t, though. Once Lex and Heru and the others get here with . . .” . . . your body. I cleared my throat, the words sticking, unspoken. “Once they get here, you need to tell them everything you can remember about Ouroboros, what they’re up to, and where they kept you and the others. Now that we know some of the Senators are involved . . . I just have a feeling it’s all going to blow up. I want to get those Nejerets—and those kids”—especially the kids—“somewhere safe before the Senate and Ouroboros figure out that we know what they’re up to. We can’t give them the chance to burn the evidence.” It was a figure of speech, but in this case, I feared the reality would be far too literal. Those poor kids . . .

  “Personally, I am more interested in why.”

  I cocked my head to the side.

  “Why did the Senate feed a human-owned and -run company the documentation proving our existence?” Dom said. “Why are they funding Ouroboros? Why are they handing over Nejerets allied with Heru and Mei? Why have they deemed them the opposing faction?”

  I stared off into the background of the reflection, searching for answers where there were none. “And what’s their endgame?” I said, adding to his list of questions.

  It didn’t make sense to me why any Senators would be involved in Ouroboros’s plan to prolong human life indefinitely—it would only crowd the earth, especially if, unlike the females of our species, human women retained their ability to reproduce, even when relatively immortal. And why give them the proof of our existence, unless they wanted Ouroboros to share it with the world? It would create curiosity at first, closely followed by hostility, paranoia, and panic. Then, if Nik’s fears proved true, all-out war.

  “We can only speculate the reason behind their actions at this point,” Dom said. “And in your state, speculate poorly. Heru and the others have yet to return home, and there is little you can do without them. Rest, little sister.”

  I rubbed a hand over my eyes. They felt gritty and dry, and my body ached with fatigue. I knew, in my bones, that Dom was right, but I wasn’t ready to leave him just yet. Part of me feared he wouldn’t be there when I woke up, like the magic would fade, and he would disappear from my life for good.

  My mouth opened wide in a jaw-cracking yawn.

  Dom stared at me through the mirror, his expression set.

  “Fine,” I said, giving in. “I’ll take a damn nap.” When I stood, I was surprised by how unsteady I felt. I touched the edge of the mirror so I could still hear him. “What will you do?”

  Dom turned his head, looking over his shoulder. “Why, explore my new realm, of course. I�
��m sensing that there’s more to it than either of us might think.”

  “Like what?” I asked, yawning once more.

  “I am unsure, but there are . . .” He frowned. “Sounds. And there are doors that do not exist on your side of the glass.” His frown faded. “‘There are more things in heaven and earth . . .’”

  It was my turn to frown. “Just don’t get lost, alright? We need you.” I need you.

  Dom nodded. “I won’t go far.”

  I held his reflected, silvery gaze for a moment, then nodded. Turning away from the tall mirror, I dragged my feet across the room to the bed and collapsed on it face-first. I was out within seconds.

  ***

  “Just watch . . . one day, they’ll know us.” The rogue Nejeret, a slender guy with the innate sheut power to camouflage himself like a chameleon, laughs bitterly.

  I’m standing over him, the tip of my sword perched on his chest, just over his heart.

  “Killing me won’t make one fucking difference.” He coughs, blood spraying out of his mouth. I’ve worked him over pretty good already. He deserved it; he used those color-changing cells of his to rob several dozen banks, resulting in thirteen human deaths. “Just you watch—one day they’ll know us. They’ll see us for what we are: the cure sent to wipe the scourge that they are off the face of the earth. One day, they’ll know us, and the next day, they’ll die.”

  I put pressure on the sword, shoving the blade straight through his heart.

  His whole body tenses, his eyes bulging. A moment later, he goes limp.

  “Self-righteous prick,” I mumble, yanking the blade free.

  “Tell me about it.” Mari leans against the wall on the far side of the garage, cleaning her nails with the tip of an inky black nail file. “Maybe the world’ll know about us one day”—her eyes met mine, almost highlighter green in the florescent lighting—“but only when we want them to. Only when we’re ready . . .”