Invisible

by Dawn Metcalf

  Joy twisted on the rumpled sheets, still holding the pillow to her chest. “What do you mean?”

  Inq leaned back on her hands. “The Tyche is a general protection glyph. It should keep you from most worldly harm—weapons, collateral damage, that sort of thing—but it can’t keep you safe from those in the Twixt who are intentionally seeking you out. Folk are too specific. Bound to narrow rules, they have specialized—hence their auspices—and so they have become very good at their jobs.” She scootched over to sit on the edge of the bed, her dress opening along the length of her thigh. She wore an old-fashioned garter with a black lace rosette. It made her seem older. “If someone intends to harm you, then we could build a ward against them. Using specific sigils, I could block all those Folk from harming you.”

  Joy frowned. “Don’t I need their permission for those to work?”

  Inq shook her head with a feline grin. “Protections aren’t the same as invoking someone’s True Name—for that, you’d need them to give their signaturae willingly, to be part of their pact, to share some of their power, give up some of their control. A ward is like a fence or a shield. To ward off a specific attack, I would just need to link their signaturae to the Tyche glyph. It would repel a specific person’s attack. And, technically, everyone grants me permission to draw their signaturae as their proxy because I’m one of the Scribes.” She drew a finger in the furrows of the mussed top sheet. “Of course, I shouldn’t do any such thing. You’re just a human girl, after all, and rumored to be a dangerous one at that.” Inq winked. “But I think us ‘dangerous girls’ should stick together, don’t you?”

  “You know everyone’s signaturae?”

  “Not off the top of my head,” Inq admitted. “It’s been eons, and I’ve drawn a lot of True Names, many of which are similar but not exactly the same. Every one has to be perfect, so it would help to have a visual.”

  Joy scooted up on her left elbow and fished her phone out of her back pocket. She scrolled through the memory download. Clicking through her photo file, she searched the dates and tapped an image, then turned the result to Inq.

  “Like this?” Joy said.

  Inq picked up the phone as Joy enlarged the photo with a sweep of her finger and thumb. Aniseed’s chalk wall zoomed to fill the screen. Hundreds of signaturae shone against the dark slate, scribbled in white chalk. Inq smiled slowly, the tip of her tongue between her teeth.

  “Yes,” she said, eyes sparkling. “Exactly like that.”

  * * *

  Joy walked out of the bedroom feeling larger than life. Her footsteps hovered on the carpet and her swaying arms left shimmery echoes in their wake. Her center of gravity felt lower, her senses sharper, her shoulders squared under an invisible suit. Turning her head caused sparkles to wink on the edges of her vision, reminding her vaguely of the splice of light that had first introduced her to the Twixt. Magic beat in her heart and sang on her skin. She could taste its burnt-sparkler-candy tang on her tongue.

  “Joy?” Ink rose from the couch where he’d been sitting with Enrique. Both men looked at her as if she were backlit onstage. Ink drew his fingers along the silver chain at his hip, his eyes wide and uncertain.

  Inq appeared from behind her and smirked. “How are you feeling?”

  For a long moment Joy forgot to answer, her eyes full of stars and wonder.

  “Amazing,” she said. The word bounced along the backs of her teeth. She lifted her hand and saw the pale sigils swimming on gold-colored currents. If she concentrated, she could almost feel them humming over her skin.

  “What took you so long?” Enrique asked. “It’s nearly dark.”

  “It’s complicated,” Inq said, wiping a hand over her forehead. “It took some time, but I wanted to do it right. I want to keep Joy safe.” She smiled at her brother, exhausted and proud. “Isn’t she gorgeous? And I’m not finished yet. It’ll take one more session to complete the design.” She poked Joy in the shoulder. Joy was rooted to the spot, as if her feet were magnetized to the floor, the steel girders of the building and the foundation deep underground. “Now don’t you go undoing all my hard work this time. With these in place, it’ll be hard for Folk to sense you, sort of like a dampener field or a masking scent. But if you suddenly remove one, you’ll light up on their radar like Boxing Day no matter where you are.” Inq squeezed Joy’s shoulder and winked. “Next time, I take your pants.”

  Inq had covered Joy’s back, chest and arms with sigils; her knees to the soles of her feet had undergone similar treatment. Inq had drawn on her palms and her lips and in between her toes. It had felt like floating in a bath of effervescent bubbles, ripples lapping and popping all over her skin. Inq’s fingers had looped scripts of sparkling wine over her bare body for hours. Joy lay back on the pillows, drunk on it. Inq had talked in low lullabies about the Cabana Boys, the Dark Ages and her earliest memories of transmuting herself from a hollow Scribe into the person who called herself Inq. She’d last been speaking about someone named Maimonides from Cordova as she’d drawn liquid squiggles between Joy’s breasts.

  Now, even fully clothed, Joy felt naked in a way she hadn’t felt since she was small: unashamed and glorified, hyperaware of her body as a miracle, too vast and unique to ever wither or die. She felt connected to a stream of living music that ran through everything in the universe. She felt like she could walk through walls, like she could call down rain, like she could fly.

  “Joy?”

  Ink’s voice reached her across the chasm of awe and she glanced up. She’d somehow missed him, musing at the light flickering along the back of her mind. She looked into his fathomless eyes and felt a fire ignite inside her. She smiled from the heart. It struck him—the shock was plain on his face.

  “Are...are you ready to go home?” he stammered. Joy had never once heard him stammer. It made her smile.

  “Yes,” she said, her voice thick with heat and magic.

  “Wait a moment,” Inq said, tapping Ink’s shoulder. “I’d like to discuss what else I’ll need to complete her armor. But first, I need some ice.” She simpered at Joy. “You’re quite a workout.” The Scribes strolled into the kitchen together, a matching set of black-and-silver instruments like his and hers knives.

  Joy stood in the main room, drinking in the New York skyline with hazy eyes. She felt the immensity of it—the surreal beauty of the city as the sky turned indigo-black-orange with a million square fireflies of light.

  Enrique handed Joy a glass of water. She drank it as if she’d never tasted liquid before. She felt the cold sliding down her throat, spreading from her stomach out to her limbs, keenly aware of everything the water touched and the gentle transformation happening inside her as water became blood and energy and Joy.

  “I’m sorry for bringing you into this,” Enrique said softly. “I should have known better.”

  “No, it’s all right,” Joy said. It was better than all right. She felt incredible. Ink kept stealing glances at her as if he couldn’t look away. “Where’s Ilhami?”

  “Still sleeping it off,” Enrique said, sipping a beer. “I’ll kick him out once he can get back to the studio on his own two feet. I’m certain there’s some masterpiece brewing in that brain of his, whatever’s left of it.” He sipped again and turned his shoulders away from the Scribes. “But that wasn’t what I was talking about. I hadn’t realized that you’d been kept clean of the Twixt. Now you’re covered in it.”

  Joy had forgotten that Enrique had the Sight. All the Cabana Boys did. And although it was a rare elixir that had given it to him and not a genetic inheritance like hers, it still meant that he could see all the changes Inq had wrought with her fingers and their diamond-studded tips.

  “It’s to keep me safe,” Joy said.

  “There is no ‘safe,’” he said back. “You’re part of the Twixt and it is a part of you. And while I’d be t
he first to admit that I’ve been incredibly fortunate, as well as exceedingly spoiled, being a lehman is not without its price.” He took another sip. “It means that you are far from safe.” Enrique downed the rest of his glass and set it gently on a marble coaster. “You are young, but look at Ilhami. Look at Raina. Look at me. A life that burns twice as hot burns half as long.”

  Joy frowned, his words poking cracks in her new glorious armor.

  “I don’t understand.”

  “You will,” he said. “And that is why I am sorry.” Enrique opened the hall closet and shook out a coat. He slipped it over her arms, buttoned the front and smoothed the collar. It smelled expensive, of cashmere and cologne. “We may live charmed lives full of sights and sensations few will ever experience and none would ever believe, but that is only for as long as they choose to bestow it and only for as long as we escape the notice of our enemies.” Enrique picked at a bit of errant fuzz as he whispered in her ear. “The Folk are passionate and also jealous. Whatever they feel, they feel it sharply, and are as quick to adore and anger as well as strike back.” He smiled his handsome, 007 smile. “I am fortunate to have been her favorite for so long.”

  He tugged the edges of her collar so that Joy looked up into his eyes. She’d never noticed that one of his eyes was slightly larger than the other. It made him look oddly lopsided, owlish and wise. “You do not have the advantage of being old and unimportant,” he said softly. “And I have forgotten what it feels like to be young and invulnerable, but I’m old enough to know the difference between what is real and what is not.” He settled a hand onto her shoulder. “This is not real, Joy. Not really. But time is real. What seems like a moment in our world is still time passing in theirs, and your mortal clock knows it.” His voice was insistent. “You will age, Joy, and quickly—it is a price they cannot fathom because it is one they cannot pay.” He patted her shoulder thoughtfully. “Do you have any family?”

  “Yes,” she said, dimly thinking of her brother and mother and Monica and Dad, all of them older and therefore more mortal than her.

  “Good. I have no family and so never had cause to want one, to miss it, to wonder ‘what if?’” Enrique turned her with his fatherly arm. “Keep them in your thoughts. Let them anchor you in this world—the real world. Do not forget what is important to you as an ordinary girl even though you’ve been given an extraordinary life. It is your life, after all, to live as you like. Remember that.” He kissed her on the forehead as if she were his daughter. “Good night, Joy. And thank you from Ilhami in absentia.”

  The Scribes were watching them from the leather-topped stools at the end of the bar. Inq popped the remnants of her ice cube into her lowball glass. Enrique placed Joy’s hand in Ink’s and touched the back of Inq’s neck, massaging the spot with strong, rolling strokes. Inq smiled luxuriously.

  “Thank you, again,” Ink said to his sister.

  “My pleasure,” she said and blew a kiss to Joy. “See you soon!” Joy saw the glint of mischief in Inq’s eyes before Ink tugged Joy sideways into a tear between worlds scented with cologne and rain and citrus spice.

  TEN

  JOY’S ROOM LOOKED somehow smaller than when she’d left it. It was as if she’d grown a few inches taller or her eyes had developed telescopic vision; the bed looked lower, the ceiling higher and the floor seemed very far away. She gazed at her computer, thinking that her fingers might now be too big for the keys.

  When she moved, she thought the sound of her footsteps might knock things off the shelves.

  “Do you want to sit down?” Ink asked quietly.

  Joy shook her head. This feeling was too big for her body. Another part of her mind, the reasonable part, knew that nothing inside her had changed, but she felt different, a buzzing aftereffect of Inq’s glyphs on her skin. It was almost as if she could feel the protective armor as she moved, scales of power overlapping, chains of symbols linked together and moving as her body moved, hot and liquid-smooth. She stood in the middle of her room, staring around with curious eyes.

  “Does everything look different to you?” she asked.

  Ink placed a hand over the back of his neck, smoothing the hairs there. It was a human gesture, both foreign and familiar.

  “Everything looks the same,” he said. “It is you who look different.”

  “I do?” Joy had barely had time to look at herself since getting off Enrique’s guest bed. The echo of the rumpled sheets mixed with the smell of her own skin and Inq’s strange, dry rose perfume. “What do I look like?”

  Ink swallowed. “A goddess.”

  Joy smiled. “Have you met many goddesses?”

  Ink grinned shyly as if he wasn’t certain he should. Only one dimple teased his cheek. “Given that your people have often worshipped the Folk as gods, I should think that I know quite a few.” He leaned against her closet door, his hands tangling in the wallet chain. “You glow like light on the water, taking shape in the waves.”

  Joy looked at her hands and feet. She saw the symbols as he described, a golden glimmer moved as she watched the calligraphy shifting. She’d seen a similar effect on the ouroboros on Ink’s back. She remembered his signatura had been Inq’s handiwork, too.

  “This is not usually what happens, is it?” Joy asked, exploring the play of light on the backs of her knuckles. She remembered watching Inq mark a girl in a blue bikini, a cut-paper-snowflake pattern unfolding under the girl’s skin. “Is this normal for Inq?”

  “Maybe it is not Inq,” he said. “Maybe it is you.”

  Ink reached out and brushed the hair from Joy’s neck.

  “It starts here,” he said, his touch featherlight. She leaned her head to the side. He traced lines slowly, weaving his fingers along the filigree that connected the glyphs. His hand faltered at the collar of her coat; the sloping lines disappeared beneath the neckline. Joy stared into his eyes and undid the buttons, one by one, peeling layers away, exposing more of her flesh to his touch.

  Ink opened his mouth to say something but instead slid his hand against her skin, as if unable to help himself. The warmth sent her mind swirling. Liquid sunshine dazzled along the ceiling and the floor. Mesmerized, Ink watched the light play through his fingers, dancing to her quickening pulse. She felt it thrum and pound in her veins.

  Dipping his head, he touched his lips to the cleft of her throat as if to taste the honey-colored light. Joy gasped at the softness, the surprising stillness; anticipation heightened the almost unbearable moment—sensations lit crystal sparks behind her eyes. The kiss hovered, incomplete; she felt his parted lips barely brush her skin before the warm tip of his tongue traced one of the glyphs.

  Joy’s hand fastened to the back of his neck, grabbing his hair. She felt the soft moan in his throat, the edge of his teeth and his body pressed against her hard enough that she thought they might fall.

  There were three pointed knocks on her door.

  Joy wet her lips, dry from gasping. Ink dragged his chin upward and rested his forehead against her jaw.

  “Joy?” Stef called through the door. “Tell him to go.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding,” Joy muttered. She could barely keep her balance, crushed against him. Ink’s hands tightened on her waist, his breath barely a moan.

  “Joy,” Stef warned.

  Joy’s hands opened and closed in impotent fists. “Go. Away. Stef!”

  “It’s late. And I have to talk to you,” Stef said calmly. “About the front door.” Joy’s head spun, trying to remember the door and the knight and the kick and Ink on the floor. But Ink was in her arms, willing, needing. Her body felt swollen and burning with more. “I expect it might take a while,” Stef added drily.

  “I’ll go,” Ink said, a husky hush in his voice. His hands were hot and tight against her skin. She’d never heard him sound so human. She had never wanted him
more.

  Joy kissed the side of his cheek, his jaw, his ear. “I’m sorry,” she said. “My brother...”

  “Is right,” Ink said, his fingers releasing their hold all at once, an act of will and deference. “He is right. It is late. And I am still...” Ink stopped, facing her, a golden stardust in his eyes reflecting her strange light. He smiled at her ruefully. “New...at this.”

  It was a gentle withdrawal, a subtlety she hadn’t thought him capable of. She suspected that Inq had helped. Was there anything in her life that Inq hadn’t touched first?

  “Okay,” Joy said softly and took a deep breath. She added a louder, “Okay!” aimed at the door. Joy adjusted her coat and her shirt and shook out her hair, damp and sweaty at her neckline. “I’ll be out in a minute.”

  “I’ll be waiting right here,” Stef said from the hall.

  “Stef,” she warned.

  “Joy,” he mocked back.

  Ink slid his fingers along the silver chain with a caress that she envied. She twisted her hands behind her back, her body aching for another touch.

  “It seems our siblings have much in common,” Ink said. “However, if it were Inq, she would be far less polite.” His breathing steadied; his hands stopped shaking. “So I will go now and see if I can procure what she needs to complete your wards.” He stared at her. “To keep you safe, I will do anything. Even leave you like this. You must know that.”

  He unfolded the straight razor. Joy crossed her arms.

  “What more does she need?”

  Ink paused. “Your attacker’s signatura.” He’d stepped through the breach to another place entirely, a line in space invisibly cutting him off at the knee. “Do not worry. I will find it, Joy. I will not fail you.” He straightened. “I love you.”