by Dawn Metcalf
Ilhami placed a hand over her shoulder. Joy could barely feel it there.
“She brought the money, Ladybird,” Ilhami said. “That’s all. We’re done.”
“Oh, no,” the tall man said and waved his ringed finger. “Oh, no no no no. She has brought me something more precious than gold. More precious than diamonds.” He wrinkled his nose in delight. “She has brought me blood.”
Joy stumbled back from Ladybird’s face; Ilhami’s hand tightened on her arm. Her hand itched for the scalpel that wasn’t there. Her purse was in the car! I’m so stupid! The dealer tipped his head back and crowed with mirth, his Adam’s apple jumping in his speckled throat.
“Dear me, what a catch! Two birds with one stone,” he said, eyeing Ilhami as the young man darkened with rage. “Tell me, precious, are you the one the Scribe calls ‘love’ and the Council curses behind velvet walls?”
All eyes turned to Joy, human and not. She staggered under the unwanted attention. The fringe of carpet felt precarious, like the edge of a cliff. She tugged on Ilhami to keep steady, to keep moving. He inched toward the beaded door, his hand hot and clammy in hers.
“I think you are! I think you are!” Ladybird flung himself into an ergonomic office chair and let his heels drag on the floor. “A human with the Sight,” he said, delighted. “In all my days...”
Joy and Ilhami reached the door. The bead curtain rattled behind her back, the ward skittering sparklers against her palms. The guard had moved a fraction of an inch, right shoulder turned slightly, rock eyes gleaming. The dealer’s voice dropped an octave, suddenly serious.
“I will pay you handsomely for three drops of blood, willingly given.”
Joy was surprised that he expected some response.
“Um.” She licked her lips to wet them. “No.”
“I’ll forget the debt.” He gestured to the backpack.
Ilhami paused, his face hungry with want. Joy’s voice was surer now. “No.”
Ladybird stilled as if frozen by the audacity. His guard waited, eyes clicking behind yellow lenses like a mechanism engaged. The dealer’s wide smile shattered his face like glass.
“Very well then,” he said and sprang to his feet, crossing the room in two great strides and pinning Joy with a sudden swipe of his multiringed hand. “My card—” he said with a flourish “—should you ever change your mind.”
Joy didn’t move to take the card, black and gold in the light. Ilhami nudged her shoulder. She took it. The card was glossy and smooth.
“Oh, very good,” he said, retreating to the camelback couch. “Very, very good!” Ladybird stuck his face in the pale orange cloud above the horned man’s head, inhaling deeply. His eyes closed in ecstasy and his fingernails bent the upholstery. His eyes snapped open and he tilted his head. “Off you go, then.”
Joy tucked the card into her pocket and tugged Ilhami to go. The other occupants of the room had gone back to their distractions, puffing or plinking or dozing on the floor. Joy’s hand touched the beaded curtain. She felt the ward part.
“Ah, one more thing,” Ladybird said with a twirl of his coat. The dealer smiled and stage-whispered, “You are all under arrest.”
NINE
RED-AND-BLUE FLASHES PIERCED the smoke through the high basement windows. An electronic siren outside wailed. A whining bullhorn coughed and shouted.
“This is the police! You are under arrest! Stay where you are and put your hands in the air!”
The domino circle on the floor scrambled to their feet, scattering like roaches in different directions. The black man pushed past Joy and Ilhami as the two robed men dived behind a set of lounge chairs. There was a stampede for the exit, a shivering of sparks and bodies and beads. A surge of sound, and a girl with purple tattoos bounced off the beaded curtain as if it were brick. The crystal lamp shattered. Someone threw a punch. The brazier toppled over, spreading hot coals onto the carpet. A twentysomething guy got kicked in the ribs to get him clear of the door. There were terrified screams as Joy slammed against the wall. Ilhami threw himself around her and pushed her down.
In contrast, the Folk glanced around lazily, bored and amused. The pale woman blew a thin trail of smoke from her bone pipe and smiled. The feathered person in the papasan chair cackled, an alien sound, and the chubby girl on the ceiling started cawing, wild and obscene. Ladybird rocked gently in his office chair with a self-satisfied grin.
“It’s a raid! It’s a raid!” he mocked in a high, squeaky voice and laughed. “I find it’s good to clean house once in a while,” he said, staring straight at Ilhami as the humans fled past. Ladybird grinned as he rocked in his seat. “Keeps things interesting.”
“You called the police,” Ilhami said.
“What if I did?” Ladybird asked. “Cops are human. They can’t see me and mine.” He leaned a little forward and winked. “But they’ll most certainly see you.”
The embroidered caps resurfaced, bearing machine guns aimed at the windows. Joy inhaled to scream but lost her breath as Ilhami yanked her behind a column as they opened fire. Glass shattered under a hailstorm of bullets, chunks of drywall and concrete block. Rebel yells warbled. Answering fire rained down. Nearby couch cushions exploded in spurts of stuffing and wood.
Ladybird twitched his fingers as if conducting an orchestra.
“You’re insane!” Ilhami shouted over the automatic gunfire. “Bullets can kill you as well as anyone!”
“I very much doubt it,” the dealer said. “Besides, my boy, people come here to feel something, and while it might hurt, pain is undeniably something.”
Joy shuddered as several shots punched through the back of a pew. The olive-green creature on the floor snorted awake and yawned. It had far too many teeth.
Another chattering blast shot out some of the overhead lights. Joy cowered between Ilhami and the floor, wishing that Ink would appear and take her away. But she was far from him and his wards. It was up to her to get them out. She clung to Ilhami and tried to think.
One of the armed men flew backward with an “oof” of arterial spray. His companion kept shooting until he’d exhausted the clip. In the breath of silence, there were curses. Breaking glass. Thumping. Shouts. Something sailed through the window, trailing a stream of yellow smoke. The guard in the sunny-tinted glasses placed himself next to Ladybird and calmly handed him a black remote. Ladybird smiled and licked his finger, making a big show of choosing a button.
Ilhami didn’t wait. “In here,” he said and pulled Joy by the shoulders, pushing her toward the office door. “There’s a back exit.”
Joy grabbed the doorknob, coughing. Her eyes stung. She pushed into a dark room painted black with phosphorescent plants under blue lights. She couldn’t see a back door. Ilhami wasn’t behind her, and she turned to see him running into the main room. There was a low boom and screams of surprise and pain. Before she could react, Ilhami scurried back, pulling his backpack behind him. The firefight renewed with a series of pops and brat-a-tat-tats. There was a shrill cry followed by the sound of something crashing. He closed the door with his foot.
“What are you doing?” Joy snapped.
Ilhami lifted the backpack with a goofy grin. “Who says you can’t have it all?” he said. “Let’s go!”
Ducking behind the desk, Ilhami slid his fingers against the underside, searching for a button or a switch. Joy couldn’t think through the anger and fear. Noises filled the hallway; she could hear them coming closer.
“Ilhami,” she whispered.
He grunted. “I can’t reach it.”
“Move over!” she ordered and flipped onto her back, slipping her arm under the desk and running her hands over every surface. Finding a button, she pushed it hard.
“What are you worried about?” Ilhami said. “Ladybird’s right. They’re just bullets.”
/> “Just bullets?” Joy said.
Ilhami helped her up. “You’re protected, aren’t you? Ink drew a Tyche glyph on you, right?”
Joy yanked back her hand and shook with rage. “No!”
Ilhami’s eyes went white around the edges. “What?”
A shelving unit sprung open. There were stairs leading up into light. Ilhami pulled them against the wall. There were shouts in the main room, another exchange of fire. They both flinched as the office window sprouted a hole. Joy could see dark shapes through the tinted glass. They were almost there.
“Go!” Ilhami pushed her toward the stairs. “I’ll cover you.” Joy hesitated. He shoved her again. “Go! Go! GO!”
Joy launched up the stairs, a set of concrete back steps climbing to a side door. She looked back through the one-way glass behind the shelves and watched Ilhami raise his arms and shout something, his tattoos flashing, his stern face in profile.
And Joy saw him snap backward as someone shot him in the chest.
* * *
Joy muffled her scream against her palm, biting the skin between her thumb and finger. The back of her legs scraped the edge of the secret exit steps as she collapsed, her knees giving out. She squeezed her eyes against sudden tears. She saw him hit. She saw him fall. It was like the warehouse battle all over again, Kurt crushed under Aniseed, the torn puddle of Ink...
They shot Ilhami!
Whether it had been the police or the armed robed men or Ladybird’s pebble-eyed guard, it didn’t matter: Ilhami was dead and she’d be found soon. She’d be next. Joy pushed herself away from the hidden door, cowering on the stairs. Her ears roared. Her legs wouldn’t move. She had to get out! Get out! GET OUT!
“Ink,” she whispered as though he could hear her. “Ink! Ink! Ink!”
Joy squirmed on the concrete stair. She couldn’t feel her feet.
The door swung open. Joy gasped. Adrenaline splash. She felt a stinging slap against her head.
“Joy! Let’s go!” Ilhami hauled her up by the elbow and started climbing the stairs. He held the backpack in his left hand. His shirt was a mess. A vivid bow-shaped glyph glowed low on his ribs. Joy’s brain stalled.
“But...?”
“Wait.” Ilhami shoved the backpack into her arms and peeked out the window. He tapped his side hard three times. The glyph flared. “The car’ll be here any second.”
Joy squeezed the backpack to her chest. “You were shot.”
“Hmm?” Ilhami kept scanning the alley.
“You were shot. In the chest.”
“Yes. It’s unpleasant,” Ilhami said and shouldered the backpack. “Move!”
He pushed open the door and held Joy around her shoulders, ushering her before him, using his body as a shield. Joy didn’t see whether there were cops or Folk or gawking bystanders as she was shoved into the passenger’s seat of the Ferrari and immediately fell backward as Ilhami pulled the seat lever and threw himself across her lap, spilling cold coffee, slamming the door and tucking his body clear of the stick shift.
Enrique peeled out onto the street.
Joy coughed out a sound. Ilhami’s weight rocked against her. She felt sick and dizzy and desperately confused. Enrique gunned the engine. Police sirens sounded somewhere not far behind.
Joy strained under Ilhami’s not inconsiderable weight, her limbs rigid, feeling cold latte trickle down her shin. She leaned into the g-force pull, sinuses straining under pressure—they were obviously going very fast. She could hear the snarl of shifting gears, Enrique switching lanes and squealing through stops, slamming them sideways and around turns; the floor of the car and the seat leaped uncomfortably under her legs. She couldn’t see past Ilhami’s muscular arms, and the smell of roasted chestnuts pressed into her face. Horns blared. Sirens wailed. Traffic signs sped by in a blur. Her shoulder smashed against the door as they made another quick turn. Ilhami braced himself against the arm of the passenger’s seat so he didn’t crush her with every jolt.
“What happened?” Enrique shouted.
“Ladybird called the cops,” Ilhami said before barking a lot of angry-sounding garble. Joy thought that Turkish sounded a lot nicer on Ladybird’s lips, lots of lilting liquid noise. She coughed every time Ilhami’s weight bounced against her gut.
“Idiot,” Enrique spat.
“Hey, you were the one who sent her in without a glyph!”
“I did not,” Enrique said, turning a hard left. “Honey, you have a glyph, don’t you? Inq said Ink gave you one.”
“I had a pendant,” Joy said through clenched teeth. “A futhark. But it broke.”
Enrique shifted gears. “What about his signatura?”
“I erased it.”
“Que madre,” Enrique muttered and downshifted, gunning right. The car roared.
Another police cruiser flanked them on the parallel street; she could see the lights between buildings, hear the sirens through both doors. The sound buzzed against the windows. Lights flashed off the locks. She anchored her shoulders against the seat and Ilhami tucked himself tighter, bracing his knees against the passenger door. It probably looked like he was mooning the cops. Great.
There was a heavy whooshing sound that she could feel through the metal. There were amplified shouts to “Pull over!” in English and in Spanish. She pushed a hand against the door handle. Her head rattled as they thrummed over rumble strips.
“We’re going to die,” she said to Ilhami.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” he said cheerily. “Ink would kill us.”
“Hold on!” Enrique shouted and slammed on his brakes, shifting gears, spinning hard and careening in some new direction. Joy’s neck strained against the force of it and her head slammed hard against the window as they spun out and kept going. The side of her head throbbed. The backpack smacked against her leg. Ilhami pitched forward, his stubbly chin scraping her arm. The sirens blared behind them now, and Enrique gunned the car to the left.
“I need a little distance,” he said. “We’ll try the next bend.”
Joy’s stomach burned with fresh fear. “What are you doing?”
Ilhami laughed in her lap. “Getting away!” he said. “Ha!” His eyes were all pupil. Joy let go of the door handle and smacked his forehead. Hard.
Enrique hit the turn, swerving out of a truck’s path—the sheering of metal and tires and blaring horns spun crazily past the windshield. He cut a ninety-degree angle, drove into an underpass and flicked open the strange mechanism in the dash. It blinked twice with a countdown roar and the windows went dark. Joy’s ears popped. Ilhami whooped. Enrique hit the brakes. The world went white.
They appeared under a low garage, sliding into a parking space, smooth as warm milk.
Enrique jumped out and hurried to Joy’s door, opening it and yanking Ilhami off her lap, then helped her step out of the car with steady, strong hands.
“Get the plates,” he told Ilhami. The younger man stripped off his shirt, popped the trunk and pulled out a black plastic case. He began unscrewing the license plates with practiced ease and replacing them with new ones. Enrique steadied Joy on her feet and frowned into the car.
“You’re paying to get it detailed,” he told Ilhami. “And why’d you take the backpack?”
Ilhami finished replacing the back plate. “Spending cash,” he said, smiling, and winked at Enrique’s scowl. “Relax. It had her fingerprints all over it. With the cops there, I thought I should grab it for safekeeping.”
Enrique grunted and patted Joy’s shoulders. “You okay, honey?” She stared at him, hearing his words from a long way away. She blinked. “Everything’s all right now,” he said. “Let’s get you inside.” He folded her against him with a fatherly arm, took out his keycard, then slipped it through the slot. The door buzzed open and Ilhami jogged in after them,
tucking his ruined shirt under one arm. Enrique waved to the doorman in the glass-and-fern lobby and pressed the button for the elevator. Joy could see her reflection in the steel. She looked scared.
Funny, she didn’t feel scared. Oddly enough, she didn’t feel anything at all.
Her phone buzzed. Text from Mom.
Hi, honey! Writing from work. How was your day today?
Joy stared at the words and let out a horrified giggle. Hearing herself, she stopped.
Joy put her phone away, unanswered, and moved when Enrique moved, stepping into the shiny elevator and watching the doors close, curiously detached. Ilhami, bare-chested, stood on her left, holding the backpack over one meaty shoulder and scratching the glowing glyph on his ribs. It was hard to believe that no one else could see it—the glyph looked as if it were drawn on his skin in molten light.
Enrique pressed a button and the elevator slipped upward. Joy felt the little drop in her stomach as they rose.
“She’s not going to be happy,” Enrique said over Joy’s head.
Ilhami glanced at Joy’s slack face. “No.”
The doors opened and they walked quickly down the hall. Enrique slid the keycard through the lock as Ilhami walked cautiously backward, watching the elevator close and descend behind them.
“Clear,” he said. Ilhami’s fingers twitched and he had a bounce to his step.
Enrique opened the door and escorted Joy into a spacious apartment featuring a sprawling view of the city below. A curving kitchen bar and semicircular sofa split the great room into two sloping halves of masculine elegance. A wall-sized flat screen dominated the living room, and there was an outdoor stone fireplace flanked by hanging plants on the deck. Everything was done in shades of mocha, polished granite and tinted glass. The room slid off her eyes like rain.
“Sit down,” Enrique said softly. “I’ll get you some tea.”
Joy thought she should probably say something but couldn’t think what. She sat mutely on the leather couch. It barely creaked. Her phone buzzed. She took it out and stared at the text: Need to talk!
