by Dawn Metcalf
Stefan crossed his arms tightly across his chest and retreated warily to the counter’s edge. The tag of his backward/inside-out shirt wagged below his Adam’s apple as he swallowed. He watched Inq carefully as Joy unzipped her purse.
“I thought we were done here,” he said too loudly.
“Relax,” Inq said. “This is just a house call. I’m here to protect her.”
“It seems to be that your kind’s form of ‘protection’ keeps almost getting her killed.” Stef’s angry retort came out more like a plea. Joy paused and stared at her brother. He was afraid. Really afraid.
Inq smiled at his evident discomfort. “It’s not easy to love a sibling, is it?” she said, turning a sideways glance to Joy. “Their pain so quickly becomes your own.”
Joy returned to her chair with the scalpel in hand, hair hanging down to cover her face. She touched the tip of the blade to her throat, cool and sharp. Stef made a strangled noise. Inq held up a hand to stay him.
“Don’t worry,” Joy whispered. “I’m just...” She found that she couldn’t even begin to explain. Stef didn’t know. She’d never told him. She traded looks with Inq. “It’s fine,” she said and brushed back her hair. Joy felt the light tug at the handle as she slipped the blade beneath the Red Knight’s mark and cut. She felt the pressure evaporate with a wash of cool air, an odd, unsullied kiss on her unprotected skin. She tilted her chin to the side, like Ysabel on the couch, surrendering to Inq. Again. “Did I get it?”
“Yes,” said Inq. “Now sit still.”
Stef hovered behind Inq as she drew her thumbs over Joy’s throat, sending the alien heat into her body, curling in warm wisps of honeyed brandy beneath her tonsils.
“This is why I always have more than one of you,” Inq said as she worked. “Human hearts—fickle as the wind.”
“I’m not,” Joy said.
Inq squeezed her throat a little harder than necessary. “You are.”
Joy stayed quiet as Inq’s fingers wound their magic. It was nothing like it had been before, and Joy knew that all the care and love and gentleness had gone out of Inq, reminding her of the veiled, dark threats the Scribe had issued back when they’d first met. Joy had broken something between them by upsetting Ink. Anger she could deal with, but hurting her brother was death.
“He made me promise—he made me swear—to make it perfect. To protect you,” Inq murmured softly. “You who would so easily cast us aside, undo everything that we have worked for, what we have given you—you selfish, ungrateful brat.” She curled the loop around the top of the sigil, muttering hotly under her breath. “Power, wealth, status, our integrity, my protection,” she whispered a hiss. “His heart. None of it is good enough for you.”
Joy felt the lines of power surge, a splash of light and heat as the newest signatura melded into her armor. The latest incarnation of the Red Knight was up and running, another assassin on the hunt for her blood. Who had ordered the contract? Would Graus Claude bother to stop it now that she was no longer welcome in the Twixt? Would the newest Red Knight still go after Ink? Would this moment with Inq be their last?
Before Joy could thank her, the Scribe wrapped her fingers around Joy’s throat and gave her a quick shake. Stef grabbed Inq’s arm and she threw him off, releasing Joy with disgust plain on her face.
“Don’t make me do this again,” she said. “You have a problem? Fix it yourself!”
“How?” Joy said carefully, coughing and rubbing her neck. “How can I stop it?” Stef’s hands were on her shoulders, holding her steady, but she trembled with more than anger or fear. “They’ll just keep coming—you know they will. How do I stop it?”
Inq smiled mockingly, her eyes devilish and sad. “Do what you always do—hide behind a ward,” she said.
“The house is already warded,” Joy said. “And so is my armor, but that won’t stop the Red Knight.”
“There are different kinds of armor, Joy—those that keep danger out and those that keep danger in,” she said. “If you lock the Red Knight’s Name in place so there cannot be any others, you can take care of him yourself. Force it upon him. Bind him to his mark. It’s just armor, Joy—think about it. Consider it another gift from me to you.” Inq slammed her palm flat against the kitchen table; the slip of paper with the scribbled signatura of the latest Red Knight was trapped under her fingers. “If you’re brave enough, and can get close enough, you can carve his mark—bind him to his Name—make him wear it. Make it stick. Your armor will repulse him and he cannot touch you. I daresay you’ll be the only one who has ever had the chance to try.” She pushed herself upward, away from the Malones. “My brother will not always be there to save you.”
Joy swayed in her own brother’s grasp, wary and warm.
“How did you get in here?” she said. “His wards...?”
“Oh, they’re still here,” Inq said. “Despite everything, Ink has not abandoned you yet. And there is nowhere he can go that I cannot follow. Besides, my blood still lives on your threshold.” She gestured to the open hall. “I can make it this far. And, just a heads-up, you let me in.” Her eyes flicked to Stef, whose hands tightened on Joy’s shoulders. “Blood calls to blood. Thicker than water, so they say. But even back in the Old Days, I never developed a taste for it.” She snapped her tiny teeth together. “Too salty.”
Joy felt Stef’s hands tighten again, a tremor buzzing along her bones.
“Get. Out.”
Inq winked and slid her palm up the edge of the door.
“Don’t get your boxers in a twist,” she told him. “I’m already gone.”
The door slammed closed. Stef spun her around.
“Are you insane?” he snapped. “What was that?”
“That was Inq.”
“No.” He drew a slicing line across his throat. “That. What was that?”
“That was this.” Joy held up the scalpel. “This was Ink’s. He gave it to me for my birthday after we figured out what it could do—what I could do with it.”
“What—?” Stef’s hands were on his hips, like he was anchoring himself for something. He shifted his weight. He licked his lips. “What can you do, exactly?”
“I can erase marks,” she said. “Remove them.”
“Marks? Marks like those?” He gestured to her whole body, which still glowed faintly, fading as the Red Knight’s link settled into place. “Then do it. Remove them.”
“I can’t...”
“You just said you could,” he said. “You just did.”
Joy tucked her bangs behind her ear. “I had to replace one of the links. That’s why Inq was here.” She pushed past him, gathering her plate and napkin for something to do. “The Red Knight’s signatura keeps changing, so in order to stay protected, I have to update the glyph.” Joy started scraping bits into the trash. “And I’m not supposed to be able to do that—no one is. That’s what got me into trouble with the Council in the first place. It’s what got me into trouble with Ink. And Inq. And the Reids.” Joy started crying and put the scalpel and the plate down on the counter.
Stef sank into his chair and pushed away from the table. He cleared a small space to rest his elbows as he ruffled his hands through his hair and took a deep breath.
“Okay,” he said. “I am officially beyond capacity.” He adjusted his glasses, sliding his thumb over the glyphs scratched into the sides. “I want you to start at the beginning and keep talking until you get to right here, right now. Go.”
What did she have to lose? Joy started talking, beginning at the Carousel with Ink and Inq and a razor in the dark up to Aniseed’s plot to kill the bulk of humanity and bring about a legendary Golden Age, to Graus Claude and Kurt and those loyal to the Council finally taking them down. She talked about how the Scribes marked humans and the accidental discovery that she could erase marks and why it
had to be kept secret from those who already didn’t like her being a human with the Sight. She talked about the Tide and the Red Knight and her armor, skipping over certain sundry details like Hasp, Briarhook, Ilhami’s drug bust and how far she’d gone shaping Ink’s naked body. Joy explained how she’d saved herself from the magic disease by removing the signaturae on her skin and finished with why Ink was so angry because she’d put everything and everyone he loved at risk, how Mrs. Reid had found her with the scalpel over Monica’s face and why Inq had had to come over since Ink had killed another Red Knight in order to redraw its reincarnated signatura on her invisible, illicit armor.
“I don’t know whether I’ll still have to go before the Council,” Joy said after a long drink of water, “considering that I may no longer be part of the Twixt, but Ink’s sworn to protect me as long as the Red Knight is still after me, and yet that still doesn’t explain the weird mark on my back.” She took another cool drink of water. She’d been talking for a while. “Maybe it’ll disappear when the contract’s lifted?” She looked over at her brother. His face had gone blank. “Stef?”
He pushed back his chair, calmly stood up and picked his keys out of the dish by the door. He didn’t look at her, but he paused in the entrance.
“Stay here, Joy,” he said.
“Stef?”
His eyes were hard. Not cold but hard. His voice was, too.
“Joy Malone. Stay. Here.” Stef blinked once. “Trust me.”
She did. Of course she trusted him.
He walked out and closed the door.
Joy jumped out of her seat and yanked the door wide-open, aware suddenly of the edge of the wards and the fresh protections and the fact that Inq’s blood must have seeped into the hall carpet or into the cracks between jambs. Ew. She stopped, unwilling to cross the threshold. She heard Stef’s footfalls quickly disappearing down the stairs.
“Stef!” she called after him. He didn’t answer. Joy stayed in the doorway out of respect or fear. “Stef!” She stomped her foot. “It doesn’t matter! It’s over!”
She leaned forward to call down the hall. Pain erupted in the back of her brain, crawling up her shoulders and wrapping like a hoodie over her head. Joy reeled back and slammed the door closed with her elbows, pushing the meat of her thumbs against her temples and grinding her teeth. Her neck and shoulders bunched with the runny feeling that she might have a nosebleed; she could almost taste the scorched-flesh flavor of Briarhook’s branding by memory alone.
What’s happening?
She clawed off her T-shirt and pressed it into her eyes. She breathed in the scent of her deodorant and gave a muffled groan. Blinking, she expected to see burned holes or blood, but her shirt was pristine, if rumpled. She dropped it to the floor and stumbled to the bathroom.
Leaning over the sink, she stared into her own face, flushed and feverish. She felt like she’d been gut-punched. She felt like throwing up. Images of cold melted cheese and marinara made her insides churn. She wiped damp bangs away from her eyes and sat one cheek on the sink, twisting sideways to take a look at the thing on her back.
The ghostly sigil burned with a peppery sheen. It glistened along semicircular, sloping lines—a thin, squiggly shape blurred at its center, splitting and curving into a hazy circlet. It was morphing, becoming clearer if not clear. She ran her fingers over it. Grabbing a washcloth, she scrubbed at it, which only turned her skin pink. Joy twisted in both directions to try to get a good look, to see it in her mind’s eye. Perhaps the Red Knight was nearby? If this was a magic tag to sniff her out, was the pain a proximity alert? A warning? Or something worse? Was something happening to her? She tried to remember when else she’d gotten sudden headaches, but it was becoming too hard to think.
Joy ran into the kitchen in her shorts and bra. Snatching the scalpel from the counter and her purse from the table, she ran to the door-length mirror in her closet to once again try to slip the blade underneath the shape and break the mark. She struggled on her tiptoes, straining her elbows and neck. It wouldn’t catch. It was like trying to cut clouds with a knife.
She dropped her hand and rolled her shoulders. Her eyes in the mirror looked cagey and wild. Joy had the sinking feeling that time was running out. The Red Knight was after her and she was all alone, safe behind wards—for now—lost but not forgotten.
A thin smell of smoke penetrated her rising fear. Joy turned, trying to locate the scent, worried that she’d left something burning on the stove, and saw a tiny trickle of gray curling up from her purse. She spilled its contents onto the floor. Sifting through the mess, Joy found the small pouch from Filly—it was warm. Loosening the drawstrings, Joy fished out a tiny roll of paper from the small puff of smoke. Unrolling it, she read the words:
Joy blinked. Her mind fogged. The words didn’t make sense, or, if they did, they wouldn’t fit inside her brain. She couldn’t make them fit. The Red Knight? The Red Knight was after Ink? That made no sense! The floor fell out beneath her and she stumbled against the counter as her knees buckled. Her mind swam. Ink! No! Joy focused on the last words: Burn this after reading. Okay. She could do that. She would start there.
Joy went back to the kitchen and, flipping over the note, wrote back, Please come. I need help!-JM and turned on the stove. She placed the piece of paper on the metal burner and waited, watching as the bit of paper curled brown then black then ash. She turned off the gas, put on her shirt and picked up her phone out of habit. She should tell someone, shouldn’t she? She should call someone.
Who?
Monica? No. Stef? No. Dad? No. Mom? God no. She flipped over her phone, searching for Ink’s mark, but she didn’t see it. It had gone, disappeared. She held her cell phone in her hands, like a prayer, and said, “Ink.” Then she searched through her call history and dialed Enrique. The phone connected and told her that the number was no longer in service. Worried, she tried Ilhami. Then Luiz. Then Nikolai—all the same. Even Tuan and Antony, whom she only knew by the smiling faces on her camera, had had their numbers blocked or changed. She’d been rejected, shunned. First Ink, and then Inq, Graus Claude and now the Cabana boys. Even Stef? Everyone was systematically shutting her out. Leaving her. Abandoning her.
Joy began to cry.
Wiping her face, she started searching through her contacts. Maybe Graus Claude would still take his messages? Maybe Kurt could help? Maybe Stef took his phone? Maybe Filly...
There was a rumble that shook the kitchen window and a small sonic boom. A voice shouted from outdoors.
“Joy Malone!”
Her head snapped up in recognition and relief. She ran to the window and saw Filly outside the gate, hands curled into fists, vambraces flashing in the sun. The blue tattooed spots on her face showed livid against her skin. Her lips split in a wide grin as her cape of bones rattled in the wind.
“Joy Malone! Come outside!”
“I don’t think I can!” Joy said. She drew her fingers along the sill and felt the tickle of the ward keeping her safe inside. The Red Knight might be out there, but she was surely stuck in here.
Filly grumbled and kicked a patch of dirt. She squinted up at the window.
“Then tell me quick,” she said.
“The Red Knight is after Ink?”
Filly bobbed her head. “Yes, yes, I know. I was the one to tell you,” she said. “But do you know why?”
Joy shrugged. “I’m not sure.”
Filly stamped her foot like an impatient animal. “Think!” she said. “Do you know why?”
“Maybe,” Joy said. “The Red Knight wants to flush me out. He can’t get through my armor, but he can get around it as long as there’s no one there to help. Now Ink’s dumped me, Inq’s furious with me, Graus Claude fired me and all my go-to numbers are gone. I’ve basically been kicked out of the Twixt.” As she said it, Joy realized she wasn’t sad about
it. She was mad. How dare they! Her voice gained some heat. “It’s like everything the Tide wanted has happened already!”
Filly crossed her arms. “Well, what are you going to do about it?”
“I’m not sure yet. Something.”
Filly grinned. “That’s why I told you,” she said. “Because you will do something. Not like those nattering heads in the Halls—all talk! You and I, we make things happen.”
“Yes!” Joy said, gripping the edge of the sink. She realized that she, Joy Malone, could do a lot, but not alone. “Will you help me?”
“Of course,” Filly said in her boisterous, boastful crow. “I will agree to help you if you agree to help me.”
Joy hesitated. “With what?”
“With payment only you can provide,” Filly said. Joy’s internal alarms started clanging, and Filly laughed at whatever look crossed her face. “You’ve already given me your most valuable possession, Joy Malone, but I need your help solving a riddle.” She patted her nest of braids and grinned. “If you are willing to aid me in that, I will most certainly aid you now.”
Joy twisted her fingers. She wasn’t great at riddles, but the young horsewoman had only asked for her help, not on the condition that they succeed. If nothing else, Joy had learned to think through some of the loopholes of language when dealing with the Twixt. Joy took a deep breath, then nodded. “Done.”
“Excellent!” Filly crowed and clapped both her hands. “You have a plan?”
“Not yet,” Joy said.
“Aha. Well, first thing’s first,” Filly said, kicking the gate. A blue spark shot up. “You are well protected or well caged.”
Joy considered the window ledge and the door and the glyphs she knew must be there, repelling the dangers, keeping her safe. Wards. Glyphs. Sigils. Marks. She knew what she could do with those.
She picked up her scalpel.
“Not for long,” she muttered and slipped the blade through Ink’s ward.
