Invisible

“Okay.” Her dad kissed the top of her forehead. “I’m headed out.”

“Poker night?” she asked.

“No, just a few rounds of darts with some guys from Doolin’s.”

Joy whistled. “Look who’s Mr. Popular!”

“It starts by getting out of the house,” he said. “You really ought to try it someday.”

Joy mock frowned and crouched over her phone. “Outside bad! Dark. Scary. Inside good! TV. Food.”

Dad rolled his eyes. “Don’t wait up.”

“Bye!” She waved over her shoulder. “Have fun!”

“Emergency number’s on the fridge in case you decide to break another window...”

Would she ever live that down? Joy turned and shouted, “Bye, Dad!”

He grinned boyishly as he shut the door.

Joy shook her head and typed a final message to Monica.

Guys r weird.

Monica’s reply came in all caps:

AMEN, SISTER!!!

* * *

With an hour to burn, Joy decided to clean her room rather than surf online. It would be tougher to tease her brother for being the family slob if her room looked messy when he got home. After filling her trash bag and emptying the hamper, Joy dusted off her dresser and wiped down the shelf that held three printed invitations to various swanky parties in Zurich, Melbourne and Moscow (care of Nikolai, on tour); a heavy glass snow globe from Glacier Bay, Alaska (from Enrique’s latest adventure); a cashmere infinity scarf (from Luiz in Paris); and an odd collection of figurines—what Ilhami called “booby dolls”—from various cultures around the world. She had eight so far, wide-hipped, big-bellied and well-endowed, lined up in a row. Ilhami thought sending them to the “Cabana Girl” was hilarious. He had even scribbled eyes on one of them in Sharpie marker, which was probably sacrilegious, but Joy got the reference: knocked up by Indelible Ink.

As if on cue, Ink zipped into her room through the space next to her nightstand.

“What are you doing?”

Joy shrugged and put down the booby doll. “I’m cleaning,” she said into the mirror, which failed to catch Ink’s reflection behind her. “I was bored.”

“I see,” he said with a smile. “You know, if you are ever bored, you can always call Inq.”

Joy neatened her ponytail. “I’m not that bored.”

He laughed. “Probably wise,” he said. He draped her pink bathrobe across the bed and picked up the sword. He inspected the weapon closely, watching the light gleam off the nicked and pitted blade. “The Bailiwick often says to be wary of wishing for an interesting life,” he said casually. “And while I have been gone, I have discovered many interesting things.”

Joy twisted her fingers in her shirt. “Such as?”

Ink’s eyes flicked to her. “I went back to the edge of the Glen where we fought,” he said. “And you were right—I do not think this was an idle threat.”

Joy crossed her arms against a sudden prickly chill. “So do you think that one of the Folk was really trying to kill me?”

“I do not know.” Ink’s boyish face grew serious. “To know that, we must bring this—” he hefted the sword “—to Graus Claude.”

Joy scraped her bare feet against the carpet. “‘We?’”

“Of course.” Ink grinned and held up her discarded clogs in his left hand. “Clearly, I can’t leave you alone for a minute.”

“Ha ha.” Joy took her lost shoes and slipped them on. “Monica and Gordon are on their way here,” she said. “To keep me company.” She almost added, I wish you could meet them. Almost. But didn’t. It was impossible, dangerous and probably stupid to expose her friends to her other life in the Twixt. And Monica and Joy’s motto had always been No Stupid.

“It will only be a moment,” Ink reminded her.

“If that,” she said, smiling. “I remember.” And took his hand.

A flick and a swish of citrus-scented breeze and Joy stepped from one world into the next.

TWO (#ulink_d9525521-8561-5395-9c4c-1f5e6f6781cd)

THE BAILIWICK’S GRAND brownstone was both impeccable and impressive. Its stone steps were swept clean, the ironwork polished and the miniature evergreens flanking the door had been replaced with urns of hardy bamboo. The stalks rattled in the wind as Ink rapped the brass knocker twice.

Kurt answered the door in his crisp black suit with white mandarin collar. Joy was overly conscious of her dusty clothes, but she’d arrived in worse states before. The butler stepped aside, making just enough room for Ink and Joy to enter past the bulge of his gun under his jacket. Today, Joy took comfort in Kurt being cautious.

She was about to say hi but then noticed that they were not alone. A strange woman sat in one of the foyer’s wingback chairs, her fist pulling a hooded cloak tightly around her face. She looked nervous, her yellow-gold eyes wide. A strange sort of squiggle ran along the edge of her jaw. She tucked her feet under her chair, politely allowing Joy to pass, but kept staring at the sword in Ink’s hand. Joy quickly sat in the second wingback chair, noticing that it no longer matched its twin—it had a different, though complementary, floral pattern, and the crystal bowl of eggs was notably missing. Joy wondered if she’d been the cause of both changes to the décor.

Ink offered Kurt his calling card, but the butler held up a gloved hand and beckoned them to follow. Ink withdrew the card and nodded to Joy. She gave an apologetic smile to the shrouded woman, who’d clearly been waiting there first, and hurried down the sconce-lit hall after them.

Kurt knocked on the great double doors before throwing them wide. The windows were open, flooding the office with light, and a fresh breeze tickled the gauzy inner curtains. Twin basins of lotus flowers lent a watery scent to the air, and jewel-winged dragonflies hovered over the fat lily pads. Natural light spilled into the room, reflecting off the emerald-green lamp and the crystal bowl of roe, now resting on the Bailiwick’s enormous mahogany desk. The Bailiwick himself stood up from his chair like a giant amphibious king before his court.

“Master Ink, Miss Malone, welcome.” All four of the great toad’s hands bade them enter. Two smoothed the edge of his tailored, pinstripe suit jacket, erasing an offending crease, while two more gestured to the chairs before him. “Please, sit.”

Kurt backed out of the room, but as he closed the doors, Joy caught a quick smile and a nod, which made her feel better. His stiff, formal demeanor as butler and bodyguard felt unfamiliar to her now. She’d last seen him on a beach in Mykonos, dunking Invisible Inq in the surf.

Graus Claude settled into his high-backed chair, the great wooden throne groaning under his monstrous bulk. “I have directed Kurt to grant you two immediate audience when I am available,” the Bailiwick said. “Given your recent propensity for dramatic and often untidy entrances, I thought it might be prudent.”

Ink settled into a chair. “Should that be considered a ‘dubious’ honor?”

Graus Claude smiled, his ice-blue eyes sparkling. “Quite.” One warty olive hand plucked up a fountain pen while a second clicked the wireless mouse and the third and fourth delicately steepled their fingertips together. “Now, then, to what do I owe the pleasure of this nearly pristine visitation?” Joy wiped her hands against her pants and tried not to think about her muddy shoes. “Might I presume that it has something to do with that sword?”

“Perhaps,” Ink said. “I would like to know if the Edict is still in place. The one protecting Joy?”

Whatever Graus Claude might have expected, it wasn’t that. His eye ridge rose, exposing widened icy blue eyes. “Of course. Why do you ask?” he said. “Even if we had held you to your declaration that you were no longer formally involved with Miss Malone, the Council’s decision was based on her service to the Twixt and not dependent on her status as your lehman.” His eyes flicked to Joy. “Although there has been no precedent to rescind an offer due to a change in status since the role of a chosen human consort has always been a permanent one.” Graus Claude’s voice purred. “Yet ‘permanence’ does not seem to apply when it comes to you, Miss Malone.”

Joy twitched, oddly chastised by his stare. Ink placed the sword on the great toad’s desk with a mellow thunk.

“Joy was attacked this afternoon by one of the Folk bearing this,” he said.

Graus Claude picked up the sword and examined it with all his hands. “It is an elemental blade,” he said. “It’s old. Poorly kept. Recently discharged...” The Bailiwick’s nostrils flared and he glanced at Joy. “Are you certain this wasn’t simply a threat, Miss Malone? I warned you that there might be those seeking to test your mettle and that you must not rise to the bait. A human provoking one of the Folk has the onus of fault.” His ice-blue eyes blinked. “Do not let them taunt you into ill-advised action.”

“He didn’t taunt me,” Joy said. “This armored guy showed up after work and tried to kill me. When I ran into the woods, he threw that—” she pointed at the sword “—into a tree and blew it to pieces.”