Invisible

by Dawn Metcalf

  “Is this a trick question?”

  “Well, I thought it was pretty obvious from the last time,” Inq said. “Anything we didn’t get to before we’re doing now.” Joy crossed her legs and hunched forward. Inq frowned. “What?”

  “Is that strictly necessary?” Joy asked.

  Inq laughed. “You’re wise to ask, and while I admit to getting a teeny tiny thrill out of making you squirm, the truth is that, yes, we want to shield you from head to foot and everything in between. Ever heard of Achilles? We don’t want you dying of a crotch-shot. So,” she said turning magnanimously around. “You get undressed while my back is turned, slide under the sheet and we’ll take it from there.” Joy could hear the grin in her voice. “I promise to be gentle.”

  “Ha ha,” Joy said, but she didn’t feel like laughing.

  Being on a team full of girls had nullified Joy’s body shyness years ago, but even having one of her teammates ask her out on a date hadn’t weirded her out nearly as much as the thought of having Inq draw on her skin a second time. As much as Joy understood the logic and that Inq was doing her an illicit sort of favor, she really wished there could have been another way. Even the memory of floating on waves of warm light didn’t comfort as much as terrify her now. Her stomach dropped out, releasing butterflies of panic. She tried to swallow her nervousness along with a mouthful of spit.

  Joy removed her clothes with her back to Inq, folded them neatly into a pile on the floor, adjusted the sheet to be certain it covered everything and tried to imagine this as getting a massage to save her life.

  “Ready?” Inq chirped.

  “Sort of.”

  “Don’t be nervous,” the Scribe chided and bounced over to the bed. “We’ll start with something simple. Strictly first base.”

  Joy laughed and that helped with some of the jitters. Turning up Enrique’s surround sound helped more. He had sophisticated tastes in music that were distracting as well as soothing. Inq, as promised, was professionally distant and Joy finally relaxed under the feather touches of languid, liquid heat. She lost herself to the thrum of the music as Inq traced something on her hip.

  “You seem to be doing better,” Inq said.

  “Amazing considering someone’s trying to kill me,” Joy said, checking to see if Monica had called to keep her mind off what Inq’s hands were doing. No new calls or texts. Joy debated whether that was a good sign or not. “Actually, I’m currently feeling pretty good about my chances at beating this thing.”

  “Especially now that I’ve got this.” Inq waved a little paper in front of Joy’s face; it had an elaborate scribble with three arrows jutting out of its base. Graus Claude had produced it within hours—“impossible” clearly being a matter of mood. She wondered how much the sigil was going to cost her in American dollars. “With the Red Knight’s signatura, there’s no way he can touch you.” The Scribe was almost giddy, as if she were a kid sneaking cookies instead of thumbing her nose at the Council’s failure. Joy didn’t know what Inq had against authority, but she wasn’t complaining.

  “I’m hoping that Graus Claude can call him off first,” Joy said. “Not that I doubt your work, but I’d rather not have it put to the test.”

  “No offense taken,” Inq said. “I’m impressed that you’ve gotten so much out of the Bailiwick. He must like you.” She drew a sloping line down Joy’s thigh. Joy squeezed her knees against the awkward tickle. “I’ve barely gotten more than a civil smile out of him in years. I don’t know how you do it.”

  “Must be my feminine wiles.”

  Inq squinted down at Joy. “Obviously,” she said. “Now roll over. I want to put the keystone at your throat.”

  Joy obediently turned over, holding the sheet to her chest, adjusting the pillow under her head and keeping her eyes on the ceiling so she wouldn’t stare up Inq’s nose. It was sort of like being at the dentist or the gynecologist, although the way Inq smirked at her would be considered totally unprofessional in the medical community.

  The Scribe placed her thumbs along Joy’s collarbones, pressing firmly down. The almost-heat spread between them like a circuit humming under her skin, a strange electricity pooling and trickling down her chest. Inq consulted the slip of paper, tracing the shape of the glyph with her forefinger, holding Joy in place with a touch of her left hand. Joy felt the signatura growing, heard it crackle, sizzling softly and sinking into her body as the power took shape. She swallowed it back, thick as honey. Closing her eyes, she concentrated on the feeling, like a handprint over her heart. She tried not to panic. There was a deep tugging, like magnets being kept purposely apart but inexorably drawing together.

  “Almost done,” Inq whispered, more to herself than Joy. Inq moved her thumbs, and Joy could picture the three arrows as they were drawn with aching slowness. The edge of Inq’s fingernail scraped the final stroke. Joy felt it drag along the backs of her knees, a single hairline of pain cutting through a haze of the strange compulsion gripping her limbs, torquing her bones. Her whole body shuddered as the armor coalesced, links clicking together, sparks snapping into place. A wave of scorching heat brought a thin sheen of sweat to the surface. Joy gasped, eyes wide, and half sat up.

  Inq winked. “Was it good for you, too?”

  Joy bunched the sheet under her chin and blushed uncomfortably. “Ha ha.”

  “Seriously,” Inq said. “How do you feel?”

  Joy flexed her arm, watching the filigree threads of power slide with clockwork grace. Glyphs shone at her major joints, strung along her limbs and bones like beads. They tangled together in clusters of cursive hieroglyphs, thin tendrils burning delicately over her fingers, eyelids and mouth. She touched the Red Knight’s signatura at her throat as if she could feel it there.

  Indelible. Indomitable. Invisible Inq’s.

  “Amazing,” Joy said. The heady rush that she’d experienced before, warm and wonderful, had intensified, focused down to minute detail. Her eyes swam with colors absent in the silver-black room. It was as if the lights had fragmented, throwing off bits of rainbows that shimmered behind her eyes. The walls had ripples. The music shone.

  Inq smiled, pleased. “And here is my gift to you,” she said and opened her hand. Joy offered up her own and Inq turned it over, drawing two circles in the center of Joy’s palm. It tickled as it cooled. “It’s not part of the armor. It’s a ripple,” Inq said. “A push. Just a little one, but enough to give you some space if you need it.” She folded Joy’s fingers over it. “A little something from me to you. A girl can’t be too careful.”

  Joy curled her fingers as if holding a secret. “Thanks.”

  “I couldn’t do anything with that ugly splotch on your back,” Inq said. “I had to draw over it.”

  Joy sighed. “Yeah, well, I can’t seem to remove it, either,” she confessed. “I’ve tried over and over and still nothing.”

  “Maybe it’ll stay until the contract is up or the Red Knights are all dead.”

  Joy pulled the pillows closer. “Great.”

  “Oh, and one more thing.” Inq tried to sound casual. “Do you want Ink’s?”

  Joy frowned slightly. “Ink’s what?”

  “Ink’s signatura.”

  “What?” Joy balked. “Ink would never hurt me.”

  “True,” Inq said. “Although ‘never’ is a long time and you hurt him today.” Joy shifted under the covers and wondered how much Inq knew. Bargaining with Graus Claude for the Red Knight’s signatura was equal parts protection and cover story, but Inq didn’t know that; she probably thought Joy was still saving up for the glamour. “But that’s not the sort of hurt I can shield you from, anyway. That’s Ladybird’s domain,” she said with a sneer. “I was thinking more along the lines of tacit permission—a lock instead of a ward, separate from the armor. Not to be indelicate, Joy, but my brother’s taking this whole
trying-to-be-more-human thing very seriously now that you’re in the picture, and he might not realize what he’s getting into if you know what I mean.” Joy didn’t like to think that she knew exactly what Inq meant. She blushed. The Scribe shrugged. “Think of it as magical birth control. I won’t lie to you—halflings happen.” Inq leaned close to Joy’s face, black eyes glinting. “And, like I said, a girl can’t be too careful.”

  Joy imagined Ilhami’s enormously pregnant booby doll with the scribbled-on eyes. “But what if...” Joy stopped. She didn’t want to sound naive or slutty.

  “Relax. You of all people could erase any one of these glyphs or the whole thing, if you chose. I wouldn’t link it to the others. You could unlock it anytime,” Inq said. “That’s the point—it would be your choice. No one else could take that from you, even by accident,” she said as she propped herself up on one elbow. “Guys get a little ‘overwhelmed’ their first time doing just about anything. Normally, I’d use your signatura, but since you don’t have one, I could use his to the same effect. Warding him off instead of locking you to yours—make sense?” Her face went a little funny. “Ink is the only one right now, right?”

  The heat on Joy’s face had nothing to do with the glyphs. “Yes,” she said. “I mean, he hasn’t...we haven’t...” Joy glared at Inq’s snorting fit of giggles. “There’s no one else, no.” Joy tucked the sheet under her armpits. “But I trust him. I don’t think we would do anything ‘together’ unless we decided it together.”

  “Ugh, monogamy.” Inq might have rolled her eyes, but the effect was lost with all-black orbs. “I’ll never understand it. Thankfully, immortality releases you from all those pesky human definitions.” She rolled onto her belly, staring over her bare shoulder at Joy. “After eons, trust me, nothing is off-limits.”

  Joy tried to sound neutral. “I am.”

  Inq blinked. “Of course you are, silly,” she said, spanking Joy’s arm. “You’re Ink’s and he’s yours. I’m the one who put you two together, remember?” She clapped her hands in rapid glee. “This is just a little insurance. Personally, I can’t wait to see how things turn out!”

  “Yeah, well, we’re not picking out baby names yet,” Joy said, regaining her composure. “I think I really shook him this afternoon.”

  “I know,” Inq said. “But you can make it up to him in a minute. He’s waiting for you outside in the hall.”

  “What?” Joy whispered and grabbed the sheet, yanking it over her glowing body pulsing with light. “He’s here? Now?” Joy grabbed for her stack of clothes.

  “Well, I wasn’t about to do something like this without him here,” Inq said reasonably. Joy once again marveled at the wide range of meanings of something like this. Inq shrugged. “He’s my brother, after all.” The timbre of her voice dipped lower. “But, just between us girls...do you want me to draw his sigil on you or not?”

  Inching back, Joy pulled on her shirt and let go of the sheet.

  “Okay,” she said. “Do it.”

  Inq grinned, waggling her fingers. “Don’t worry. It’ll be our little secret.”

  * * *

  Joy emerged from the bedroom to find Ink pacing the kitchen. Enrique watched him from the bar with casual interest. Both men turned as she and Inq entered the room, their expressions revealing everything Joy suspected.

  Ink’s face went slack, alien with awe. He stared at the light shining off her in undulating waves. It surrounded her in gossamer threads, suffusing the walls and filling his eyes—she could see herself in them and the thoughts that swam there: she was glorious. A goddess. Her skin warmed like sunlight, outlining his body. She smiled as she shone, a golden angel on unsteady footsteps.

  “It will fade in due time,” Inq said from behind Joy’s shoulder. “It is freshly made and should settle in soon. Enjoy it while it lasts.” She glanced at her brother’s face with a sympathetic moue. “Don’t they act adorable when you’re so pretty?”

  “Ink,” Joy said from miles away. She saw his eyes follow the shape of his name on her lips. “Are you okay?”

  The word came from him, unbidden. “Yes.”

  She did not feel reassured. He was worshipping her every word—it was a little unnerving. “I wanted to tell you...I wanted to say again that I was sorry,” she said. “About this afternoon.”

  “This afternoon?” he said, as if unfamiliar with the words.

  “Yes,” she said. “At the cache.”

  Ink nodded very slightly, a dip of his chin. “He said it was to keep you safe,” Ink said, reaching out as if afraid to touch her, as if to verify that she was real and worried that she wasn’t. “When I asked him. The Bailiwick.” He looked dazed, possibly dazzled. Joy was unsure what to feel. Fumbling to find where she was in the world—she still felt like she was floating, tethered with ribbons of light. It was as if she were looking down on herself from above, spliced tunnel vision hidden in the crown molding. Ink was acting strange. His eyes were intense, their warmth palpable. Or maybe it was the glyphs? Or, like he’d said, maybe it was her? Her armor sang a chorus of goose bumps on her skin.

  “I promised that I would keep you safe from the Red Knight,” he told her. “I am bound by it, Joy.” His fingers caught a curl of hair by her ear and he fanned his fingertips on the very edge of her cheek. She watched him watching her, transfixed, mystified; his words were both frightening and eerie with desire. Joy couldn’t help but feel undeserving and oddly wished he’d kept his simmering anger rather than this sudden, smitten awe. But the way he looked at her was all truth and adoration. Love was written in his every movement as plain as the signaturae on her skin. She was shy without words to keep him at bay.

  He stepped forward, hand still hovering, still not quite touching—what space left between them growing more heightened, charged.

  “Please. Not in the hallway,” Inq said, squeezing past with an indulgent smile. “Go home, Joy. Go home, Ink. P.S. Enrique says, ‘Hi.’” Joy spied the silver-haired gentleman by the bar giving a sly salute. Inq tapped her brother’s shoulder. “She’s running very hot right now,” Inq whispered by his ear. “Do be careful not to burn up all at once.”

  He gave no answer but reached behind his back and opened his straight razor, his eyes and fingertips never leaving Joy. He tore a long incision in the universe and guided her toward him by the intensity of his stare, stepping back and through and out and away. Joy followed willingly, gratefully, playfully, eagerly.

  She walked into her room and into his arms.

  His hands folded around her, curling into her hair, holding the back of her neck and cradling her jaw as their lips met, brimming and full, murmuring sounds of relief. Joy melted. Forgiven. Forgotten. Permission granted. Her arms closed about his waist, the wallet chain delicately sliding against the side of her wrist.

  “I love you,” Ink said between kisses. “I missed you. I was worried. I thought...” He couldn’t stop kissing her, and Joy chuckled against his lips. He smiled self-consciously while stealing another kiss. “I thought, perhaps, now that you have your own protections, your own powers, your own place in the world, that you no longer needed me.” He paused in his confession. “That you would no longer want me the way I want you.”

  “What?” Joy pulled back an inch or two and stared into his eyes framed in thick lashes. “Ink, this is wanting. This is needing.” She squeezed him closer, as close as she could, suffusing herself in strong limbs and the scent of rain. “I love you, Ink, and I want you—only you. Being strong doesn’t mean I don’t want you, too. You are the only person who knows every part of my life, every part of me in it, the good and the bad and the horrible, and you still love me.” She rested her forehead against his, the tips of their noses almost touching. “You are always with me, even when you’re not there. And when you’re not there, I can feel it, like an empty space where you ought to be, and I can hardly wa
it until you’re back to fill it again. Neither world feels like it fits, but we belong. Here. Like this.” Joy kissed him long and slow and sweet, breaking apart only to catch a breath. “You have never let me down. You are always there for me. You are the best part of me, who I want to be, and every time I look at you I can hardly believe how lucky I am to be with you and I hope you know that.” She squeezed her eyes shut and swallowed hard. “Never let me lose you, Ink. Never let me screw this up. And never think for one moment that I don’t love you, need you or want you with me.”

  He stared at her, open and pure.

  “Joy,” he said. And then ran out of words.

  He slid his lips over hers, kissing the end of each filigreed glyph and teasing a gasp from somewhere in her chest.

  His hands loosened and slid down her arms, soothing as raindrops, trickles of touch. She tightened her hands on his back, needing something to hold on to, her senses on overload, head swimming, eyes closed. Having been naked for the past hour or more, her clothing seemed unnaturally restrictive now. Her body strained against the seams, hems catching at the buttons; breathing deeply, she felt the fabric pull. He held her so softly, almost reverently; it was maddening. Too much was in the way, too many layers between them—sweat wet her bangs as her body burned.

  He turned his head to the side, kissing the sigil at her throat, following its curve down the length of her neck as if he could catch droplets of water from the tips of the glyph. His hands held her steady as she bent back and back and back. She unfolded like a dancer, gymnastics had given her a dexterous curve; his forehead rested on her chest as her legs twined in his, her knee clamped over the swell of his hip.

  “Joy,” he murmured and lifted her, holding her hips and sliding his hand up her spine to help her look into his eyes. She was dizzy, head ringing, eyes wondrous and wide. “You are my everything,” he said to her solemnly, his crisp voice breathy and hoarse. “You are everything that matters to me.” His hand gathered her hair at the base of her skull. She was pillowed in his arms. “Tell me you understand,” Ink whispered. “Tell me that you feel this, too.”