Invincible (19 page)

Stef smiled, blushing. The troop leader back-kicked the dirt with a scarred hoof. “Idiocy!”

Dmitri shrugged. “Call it what you want,” he said. “I choose to be happy.”

“You're young and foolish,” his elder grunted, sweeping his spear wide to encompass all the outsiders. “If you think the rules don't apply to you, you are sadly mistaken.” His eyes narrowed as he glared at Joy. “It begins and ends with you.”

She couldn't deny that.

He righted his spear. “Get out,” he said. “Get out of my sight.”

* * *

“So what are we going to do?” Joy asked as Stef packed the last of Dmitri's things into his car.

“About what?” Stef said.

“About the satyrs, the Grove, the King and Queen, Graus Claude, the Council—all of it.”
And the change
, Joy thought but didn't dare say.
How are we going to stop me from changing into something that might destroy the world?

“Joy, this is what happens when you mess with Folk politics. You don't
have
to do anything—this isn't about you.” Joy didn't bother correcting him by saying that it
was
about her, about the Council's ruling, the King and Queen's Decree, and the possibility of changing into an Elemental—mostly to avoid sounding like the most childish person ever, but it also wasn't something she wanted to say in front of witnesses. Stef shook his head, misunderstanding her silence. “Listen, you broke the spell, you played by their rules, they have their memories back and their King and Queen can come home—what else do you want? You did it. It's done.
You're
done. It's over.” He adjusted his glasses. “It's time to move on. Life goes on, and I, for one, am all for getting back to the real world.” He glanced at Dmitri. “Plus one.”

Dmitri dared a small smile, but his ears still drooped. Stef reached out a hand and took the DJ's, less a meshing of fingers than an offering of strength. Joy averted her eyes, slipping her hand into her purse, finding the smooth shape of the wax doll with her fingertips, seeking out the dark bump in its chest. She ran her thumb over its surface, the simulacrum of her heart, and felt a stirring in her chest, something like hope. Was it possible it was working? Was she growing a heart? Joy felt a little flutter. She touched the spot in her chest, trying to believe in an answering echo—perhaps it was nothing. Perhaps it was too soon.

What does time mean to one of the Folk?
Dmitri and Stef had met and lost each other years ago and had been reunited only very recently. Was that a long time or no time at all? The way that they looked at each other, it was like it was the first time and also forever.

Stef helped Dmitri push the last box into the car. The thing was packed right up to the front seat. They closed the trunk and sat on the back fender, leaning on one another's shoulder, sharing a beer.

And that was when Joy figured it out.

Ink smiled at her. “What is it?”

She grinned, eyes sparkling. “I just had a perfect idea.”

SIXTEEN

“THIS IS A TERRIBLE IDEA,”
Stef said, standing outside the Bailiwick's grand brownstone.

“What he said,” Dmitri agreed, craning his neck. “This is insane.”

“Shut up. It's brilliant. And it solves all of our pr—” Joy stumbled on the stone steps. Wind shivered the urns of bamboo. “Well, most of our problems, anyway. But we have to find the Bailiwick first.” She rapped the door knocker again sharply. She'd never had to knock twice. No answer could mean anything, but she gave Ink a worried glance—they'd never been left standing in front of the building for long.

Joy swallowed back her worry and a mouthful of spit. She was dying for a Clif Bar and a blue Gatorade. Maybe some pizza. And pretzels. Anything with salt.

Ink inspected the doorway with a critical eye. “The wards are in place,” he said. “There may still be a chance that I could appear inside, but it would most likely be—” he chose his words carefully “—messy and unpleasant.”

“Two of my least favorite adjectives,” Dmitri said drily.

“Hang on,” Joy said and pulled out her phone, scrolling through contacts and tapping Kurt's name. She hated to call on him for anything short of an emergency, but if she was right, this might qualify. If she was wrong, well, she was already outside.

The phone rang once and connected.

“Joy.”

Kurt sounded not-at-all pleased. She'd kind of preferred it when he was mute.

“Hey,” she said. “We're outside the brownstone. Anybody home?”

“The Bailiwick is unavailable at this time,” Kurt said. “He will contact you at his convenience.”

“We need to see him now,” Joy said looking at the others gathered on the steps. “I have an idea how to get the King and Queen to come back, and better sooner than later.”

“Miss Malone—”

“Aniseed's loose,” she said, cutting him off. “She's out. She's escaped. The satyrs think her graftling's going to die now that it's off her stump, but I think you and I know better than that.” There was a satisfying pause on the other end of the line. She'd gotten his attention. “We have to stop her. And for that, we need Graus Claude.”

The front door opened. Kurt glowered at the rabble on the doorstep. Stef got to his feet. Dmitri's hooves clomped up the stone stairs. Ink fished behind his wallet and held out his card. Kurt frowned at it; his muscleman body blocked the door. The Bailiwick's butler was as immovable as iron.

“The Bailiwick is not in residence at this time,” Kurt said.

“I know,” Joy said. “And I know that you must know where he is.”

“I do,” Kurt said. There was no sense in denying it. “However, he has made it clear that he does not wish to be disturbed.”

“Yeah?” Stef said. Joy shushed him. Her brother ignored her. “Let's say that he owes me one. I found the Bailiwick in my room wearing my bedsheets—which, I assure you, certainly qualifies as being ‘disturbed'—so I'm certain he can put up with us dropping in unannounced to tell him that we're trying to save his world.”

Dmitri's eyebrows shot up. Joy bit the inside of her cheek. Kurt did not shift his eyes from Stef. A muscle moved, a twitch in his arm. Ink stroked his fingers nervously along his wallet chain. Kurt stepped aside.

“I would have
loved
to see that,” Inq quipped from inside, materializing in the dark corridor as if emerging from the wall. Joy knew she'd actually used the secret elevator at the end of the hall. Inq smiled at the assembly, grinning hugely when she saw Joy. She clapped her hands girlishly. “Look! You brought me presents.” She beamed. “And here, I didn't get you anything.”

Stef rolled his eyes as Dmitri leered a foxy grin. Ink greeted his sister by touching her shoulder.

“We need to see the Bailiwick,” Ink said.

“He isn't here,” Inq said, sliding a hand down Kurt's chest. “And we're quite enjoying the place without him.”

“Joy believes she has found a way to convince the King and Queen to return,” Ink said.

Inq's eyes lit up with interest, all green and purple fire. “Really?” she said. “Tell me.”

Joy gestured to her brother and Dmitri. “Meet Exhibit A and Exhibit B,” Joy said. “If the King and Queen want proof that it's safe to return to the world of humans and Folk, then why not show them how well we get along?” She flashed her Olympic-class smile. “Ink and I have already made our first impression, and I considered asking you and Kurt but, as you've pointed out, you're not
technically
Folk.” Joy shrugged helplessly at Kurt. “And, frankly, you're not so human yourself. So, I figured the best thing is to show them the two lovebirds, here.”

Dmitri licked his lips and whistled a twittering, lively tune. Stef slapped him in the stomach. He stopped.

“Well, well,” Inq said approvingly. “A very compelling argument. And quite a handsome pair, too! In fact, we should dress them up properly—you know how much royalty loves pretty things.” She gave Kurt a sly smile. “By all means, then, we should find the Bailiwick at once.”

“The Bailiwick left explicit instructions regarding his wishes,” Kurt said flatly.

“Then he should have been a djinni,” Inq said with a haughty wave. “Honestly, he couldn't have known that Joy would find a solution so quickly or that Aniseed's offspring might escape the Grove.” She sat herself in one of the flaring wingback chairs. “Time is of the essence. They need to see Graus Claude. Give them the coordinates and Ink can take her to him with their prize specimens in tow.”

“Hey!” Stef managed, but Dmitri hushed him quickly. Joy's brother looked murderous. Inq grinned.

“Good puppy.”

“That's it!” Stef snapped. “I'm out of here.”

“Seriously?” Joy said, a tired edge in her voice. She turned to Kurt. “Can you tell us where he is or not?”

Kurt's spine straightened an inch. “No.”

“You mean to say ‘yes,'” Inq simpered under the butler's black glare. “Well, it's true—you
can
tell them, you just won't.” Inq stage-whispered to Joy. “Hence, the usefulness of having a manservant who can lie.”

“You mean slave,” Kurt said flatly. The word dropped like lead.

Inq stopped and placed a hand on his chest. “One day, my love, we will all be free.” She said it like a promise without words, because she, unlike him, could not lie. Joy wondered how long Kurt had to work off his debt to the Bailiwick or if it would ever end.

Inq forced a lightness into her voice as she hooked Joy's elbow. “Excuse us, boys, we have to go powder our noses.”

Kurt glowered at them but didn't move as Inq sauntered past, dragging Joy in her wake. They walked down the sconce-lit corridor with its old mirrors and oil portraits in gilt frames. Joy felt Kurt's gaze sizzle on her back.

Joy stumbled on the carpet runner. “You don't pee,” she whispered.

Inq huffed. “Details. Get in.”

She pushed their way into the powder room with its salmon-and-gold-striped wallpaper, fluted sink, claw-foot tub and matching couch and ottoman. It was eerily surreal how often Joy had experienced life-changing moments in this all-too-familiar room, most of them medical and many of them painful. She wondered if Graus Claude had gotten around to installing a Rod of Asclepius outside the door.

Joy eyed the fainting couch. “Are you going to get Kurt to tell us?”

“Ha!” Inq barked a laugh. “No. He's had enough of being manipulated, don't you think? However, I believe I know how to find our absent amphibian with minimal effort.” She bumped Joy's hip and tilted her head coyly to one side. “Do you have the dowsing rod with you?”

Joy rattled her purse. “Don't leave home without it.”

“Good,” Inq said. “All you need is a bit of the old frog, a little incantation, and off you go. Fortunately, I know just the thing.”

Inq let go of Joy's arm and crossed the room to the medical chest. Joy recognized it from when Kurt had tended her wounds. Inq opened the chest with an almost-sacred reverence before gently extracting some of the trays and clasped boxes, a biohazard bag and a heavy glass jug filled with a dark, viscous fluid. The lid was smoked glass in the shape of a squatting toad, balefully glaring and gloriously fat. Inq lifted the lid. The ring of glass scraping glass echoed in the room.

“Give it here,” Inq whispered, and Joy handed her the Y-shaped stick, the device she'd used to track down the source of the Amanya spell—the mass spell of forgetting—that had condemned Graus Claude, exposed the true traitor, Aniseed, and reawakened the Folk's memory of the King and Queen of the Twixt. For that, Joy had been accepted, assaulted, hunted, humiliated; chased from her own gala Under the Hill; and attacked in her home, across Faeland, the world and the Twixt, placing herself, her family and friends at risk. She twisted her fingers as Inq worked, thinking that a simple “Thank you,” would have sufficed.

Inq placed the dowsing rod on the floor and popped open a box of Band-Aids, choosing the smallest strip. Peeling a sterile syringe from its wrapping, she reached one hand into the dark, murky goo and carefully lifted out a single dark globe. Oily juices dripped off her wrist.

“What are you doing?” Joy asked, alarmed.

“No harm,” Inq said, turning the thing over in her hand. Light shone through the thick membrane, revealing a darker shape at its heart, like a pit or seed. Inq bit the cap of the syringe between her teeth, pulled it free and pushed the needle into the orb, then drew back the plunger, sucking out the thick indigo liquid. The barrel filled slowly. Satisfied, Inq pressed her thumb over the point of insertion as she withdrew the needle and stuck the Band-Aid over the tiny pinhole before dropping the orb back into the jar with a
plop
. She dropped the syringe on its plastic wrapper, rolled to her feet and washed her gooey hands in the sink. Joy stared at the mess, feeling vaguely sick.

“Please don't tell me—”

“Then don't ask,” Inq said, wiping her hands on the towel and draping it primly through its ring. “Now, the important thing is to have everyone holding on to the rod at once—that will decrease the chances of anyone getting lost in transit. You remember what happened last time.” She sounded mock-stern. “You left Filly bleeding under a tree somewhere north of Rovaniemi.” Inq neatly capped the needle and wiped the plunger with a cotton ball before offering it to Joy. “Use this to track him down. Blood calls to blood.” She paused, considering what was in her hand. “Or whatever. Close enough.” She waggled the syringe. Joy took it by the flanges. The liquid looked like prune juice and smelled like brine.
Egg albumen. Ew.

“Are you sure this will work?” Joy said weakly.

“It'll work,” Inq said, grinning. “Trust me.”

It was not exactly comforting. Joy kept her eyes on the purple liquid as Inq replaced the supplies in the chest.

“So what am I supposed to do with it?” Joy managed, swallowing thickly.

“See this divot here?” Inq said, lifting the dowsing rod so that Joy could see the tiny dip in the wood, no bigger than the pad of her pinkie. “Squeeze a few drops into the reservoir, whisper the word and hang on tight.” Inq tapped the syringe with a lacquered nail. “The spell is ‘Anvesana.' Say it like you mean it. Like you want to find him.”

“I
do
want to find him,” Joy said. “I want this to be over.”

“Well, once the King and Queen are back, you can wipe the slate clean—or rub it in everyone's faces, which is what I'd do.” Inq rubbed the towel between her fingers. “I checked on your secret, by the way—there hasn't been a sale yet. There's talk of bargains and bartering, negotiations, trade deals, offers, counteroffers—you're a hot ticket item and your secrets are as good as gold.”

“My
secrets
?” Joy yelped, fear dribbling through her nerves.

“Secret, singular,” Inq corrected. “My bad.” The Scribe paused, her curiosity piqued. “Why? Are there more?” Inq sounded positively delighted.

Joy scrambled to think of something crass or flippant, anything to divert Inq from following that particular line of questioning down a dark rabbit hole. She didn't need Inq to have another excuse to threaten her life.

The Scribe watched her squirm, then straightened with a laugh, flashing the silver necklaces at her throat. “Oh, Joy, you are a treasure! I really should have taken you for my own.” Her nose wrinkled in glee. “This is going to be
such fun
!”

She held the door open and Joy stepped out, tucking the dowsing rod and syringe back into her purse. Joy had the feeling that she'd just gone from the frying pan into the fire. Her face was hot and flushed as they entered the foyer. The menfolk were in a rough circle, glowering at one another in silence.