Invisible

Joy paused still tasting his breath on her lips. “I don’t understand.”

“No, you don’t. You can’t. And that is good,” Ink said. “There is an innocence in not knowing what you can lose.” His voice grew stern. “Do not allow anyone to place their signatura on you and claim you as theirs. Your body, your skin, your blood, your tears, your wishes, your dreams—they are yours and yours alone. Do not let anyone take them from you.”

Joy was taken aback, wondering what he meant and wondering again what she did not know.

“I won’t,” she said. “I promise.”

Ink looked at her strangely, almost sadly, drawing his fingers down her cheek. “You cannot promise such a thing,” he said. “You are only human.”

It was true, she was not bound like the Folk to never tell a lie, but his correction stung nonetheless. Before she could say more, the doorbell chimed. Joy glanced at the clock, disbelieving.

“Monica,” Joy said.

Ink stood up, folding his wallet and fitting the chain.

“I will return to Graus Claude and follow the answers,” he said. “In the meanwhile, please do not take undue risks. Remember, my theory is just a theory, and I would not welcome any opportunities to be proven wrong.”

Joy touched the glyph under her shirt. “I’ll do my best.”

Ink half smiled. One dimple only. A hand on her arm. “Thank you,” he said and let his hand trail, a lingering touch on her skin. He stepped back, palmed his razor and opened a neat door with a wave of his hand.

“Wait,” she said. “One kiss.”

“One kiss?”

“One kiss,” Joy said. “Nonnegotiable.”

His lips were warm and welcome and sweet, holding a promise of their own.

He rested his head against hers. His voice softened.

“I love you, Joy Malone.”

She smiled. “I love you, too.”

It was all she could say as he disappeared, since she realized in that moment that she no longer had his True Name.

THREE (#ulink_109fee99-514c-5277-b3e7-b9682574a19b)

JOY ANSWERED THE door holding up two mailers.

“Dino’s or Pizza Pi?”

Monica snickered as she walked in. “And hello to you, too.” Gordon propped the door open with his shoulder and offered one of two lidded paper cups.

“I come bearing caffeine,” he said. “One of these iced lattes is for you.” He glanced down. “Nice socks.”

Joy was wearing mismatched tennies, one green, one pink with daisies; it made her feel more like herself. She accepted a cup and took a sip, bowing. “You are a god.”

Gordon grinned and shut the door. “It’s nice to be worshipped.”

“Don’t let the humility fool you,” Monica said, dropping her purse and giving her boyfriend a kiss. In Joy’s head, she still called him “Mr. Wide” due to his quarterback shoulders and the size of his grin. Monica smoothed back her bob. “I vote Pizza Pi.”

Gordon shrugged. “I’m up for anything with extra cheese.”

“Don’t say ‘extra cheese’ around me for the rest of the day,” Joy said, snagging a phone and checking the number on the flyer. “If I hear one more order for anything involving extra cheese, I will seriously lose whatever is left of my mind.” She flumped on the bare couch. Joy missed the old afghan, but even after several covert washings, the yarn had snarled itself around the crusted stains of Twixt and human blood. She’d had to throw it out and tell her father that she’d accidentally left it at the beach. It had been her grandmother’s and she’d been grounded for two weeks. Lying sucked.

She dialed with her thumbs and kicked her feet over the back of the pillows. Monica made a face.

“Rough day?”

Joy groaned. “If this day went to the spa, it would need exfoliation treatments.”

“Hey, there’s an idea!” Monica said. “Spa day!”

“I wish,” Joy said. “I have to earn enough to pay for my plan or Dad said he’s taking my phone.”

Gordon whistled. “Harsh.”

Joy shrugged. “A couple of shifts a week should cover it,” she said as the phone rang. “Orders, please?”

Half an hour later, there was pizza cut into long, thin strips, three empty coffee cups and a half-eaten bag of Smartfood as they chatted about the latest in Nordic bubblegum punk.

“Crushed Tomato isn’t a band name,” Joy said, tossing her crust in the box. “It’s a pizza ingredient.”

“Actually, there’s a song off their new album that I think you might like,” Monica said from the opposite end of the couch. Her dark legs draped over Gordon’s lap and his hand rested on her knee as she stroked his blond crew cut. They looked entirely too adorable. Joy debated throwing a pillow at them.

“Oh no!” Joy said. “You’ve corrupted her ears! The only things she had left were her virgin ears. What will she save for marriage?”

Monica threw a pillow at her. “Well, they’re a lot better than Last Dog Standing.”

“Agreed,” Joy said, tucking the pillow behind her head. “And twice as good as that Der Franzen CD.”

Gordon placed a hand on his chest. “You wound me. I love that band!”

Monica patted his shoulder. “Sorry, sweetie, but I’m with Joy on this one. Your boys are into some seriously weird noise.” She placed her elbow on the armrest and tugged her knees free. “Speaking of boys, when, exactly, do you expect Stef home?”

Joy shrugged. “I dunno. Sometime in the next two days.”

Monica winked as the front door clicked. “How about now?”

Joy spun around to look over the back of the couch. Her brother walked in under a giant duffel bag, his face scruffy with two days of beard. He beamed at her through his rectangle lenses.

“Honey, I’m home!”

Joy squealed and flung herself at him in a full-body tackle, wrapping him in a tight squeeze. He hugged her back, smelling of open road and barbecue chips. His stubble scratched her ear, and she’d poked his glasses askew, but she didn’t care. She could feel his laugh in her chest and his voice in her ear. Stefan was back! Her big brother was home! It felt like she was the one returning after being away for far too long.

“Hey, you,” Joy said, letting him breathe. “Had a good trip?”