Invincible (33 page)

The double meaning wasn't lost on her. Joy sighed. “Thank you.” She shouldered her purse, checking her belongings and the precious cluster of oak leaves.

He nodded as if distracted. “The wind has changed,” he said quietly. “We should go.”

He retreated, but Joy snagged his cloak. Feathers bent softly under her grip. She tried to think how she could express that she understood the weight of what he had done, the choice he had made, the choice that he'd given her, that she'd noticed, that she knew.

“Thank you,” she said again. “Really. I mean it.”

He removed her hand, delicately peeling back her fingers, a gentle letting go. He inspected her palm, considering it, scratched and speckled with dirt and blood. He cradled it in his pristine palm, his fingertips enfolding hers. He stared at it a second longer and then dropped her hand and his gaze.

“Save it for your chair,” he said, raising the edge of his cloak.

Standing close as they swept out of the air, Joy wondered what had happened to Ink.

* * *

Joy stood in the shower, letting the hot water wipe away the sweat and the dirt and the fear and the questions that were raging inside her head on too much adrenaline and too little sleep.
Aniseed. I knew it. I told them. She's back!

Being paranoid doesn't mean they're not really out to get you.

She scrubbed herself with soap twice, scouring the crawling panic from her skin. Every time a memory shuddered to the surface, she cranked the temperature hotter, blotting out the thought.

When the water started getting cold, she relented, stepping onto the bath mat and wrapping herself in towels. She reminded herself that she'd have to replace the ones Graus Claude had burned before Dad found out. It was too much to hope she'd get another paycheck. She hadn't shown up to work in almost a week.

After getting dressed, she brushed her hair and picked out a pair of mismatched socks. She placed the sprig of oak leaves inside her open purse. She checked her phone for texts and emails. She put away her laundry. She ate grapes. She convinced herself that the fact that she could do these ordinary things meant that she was safe, and if she was safe, then she still had a chance.

Her phone rang. She grabbed it.

“Do not answer it,” Ink said.

She spun around, first relieved then confused at his sudden appearance. The phone shivered in her hand. Ink barely moved.

“Don't.”

Joy checked the caller ID: Cabana Boys. Joy hesitated. Luiz, Nikolai, Ilhami, Antony, Tuan—even Enrique when he'd been alive—she'd always answered their calls, and they'd always answered hers. It was a special bond between them, a secret order. Her fellow
lehman
understood each other in a way no one else could. They were there for one another. Even Raina, Inq's Cabana Girl, had been there for Joy.

“Why?” Joy asked. Ink didn't answer.

She did the unthinkable and let it go to voice mail.

Joy showed him the message screen. “Can you tell me what's going on?”

Ink's thumb slid silently over his wallet chain. “Inq asked me to help her retrieve one of her
lehman
,” Ink said softly. “Again.”

Joy had one guess. “Ilhami?”

Ink nodded. “She did not want to involve you,” he said. “However, this time there had already been an exchange—Ladybird turned him over in exchange for information about how he might get to you, namely your address and the weakest point of entry.” Joy's stomach clenched. “Ilhami allowed himself to be lured back and ransomed, even knowing how much he'd stolen from Ladybird last. And, because of that, Inq has decided that Ilhami must live or die by that choice. There will be no rescuing him this time.”

Joy twisted her fingers. “That seems...harsh.”

“Harsh?” Ink snapped. “He
sold you out
, Joy. He willfully put you in danger, giving Ladybird the means to enter your home!” Ink gestured angrily, helplessness and guilt tainting his words. “Ilhami cares
nothing
for you! He gave you up for lucid dreams, to escape his own skin!” He slashed the air in impotent frustration. “It is Aniseed and Briarhook all over again. This is what these people do! And if Inq had not done so, I would have condemned him myself.”

Joy knew he was right to be angry, to be frightened and hate Ilhami—and so should she—but she didn't
feel
it. Her brother
lehman
had placed her and her family in danger, but he was a sort of family, too. Enrique had begged her to help rescue Ilhami last time and they'd succeeded—if only just—and then the eldest
lehman
had died. She felt she owed Enrique, to honor his memory. And now Ilhami was in danger again, and she couldn't let it go.

“Where is he now?” she asked.

Ink turned away. “I do not know,” he said. “Hasp told Inq that—”

“
Hasp
has Ilhami?” Joy jumped out of her seat. “We have to find him! Hasp's a lunatic! He'll torture him—”

“Yes,” Ink said. “That is exactly what he will do.” Ink touched her arms, her hair, as if memorizing this moment. “He will do it because he wants you to come after him. And that is why we must not go—because that is what Hasp wants. He wants
you
.”

Her phone buzzed. Text message.

Hey Cabana Girl

...

I screwed up again

...

We're in your old hangout by the river

...

No booby dolls here

Joy's breath quivered with every three dots. She could hear Ilhami bleeding. She could see his hands shaking as he typed an obituary in texts.

Be sure I get a gallery show & get higher than the sky!

...

I'll tell E you say Hi

...

I'm sorry

“Dover Mill,” Joy said, grabbing Ink. “Take me there.”

Ink covered her hand with his, his face as still as stone. “Do not ask me to do this,” he said. “I told Inq I would not interfere.”

Joy grabbed her purse, snagged her shoes and slipped the scalpel into her pocket. She couldn't let Ilhami
die
. She wasn't heartless—not really—she was still human.

“I'm not asking you to,” Joy said. “Not when I can stop it. Just take me there. Please.”

Ink's face hardened. “Do you know what Hasp wants?”

Joy felt her tiny blade bite through denim. “I think I can guess.”

* * *

It looked the same from the outside—an old, abandoned mill alongside a quiet, muddy stream, its wheel fixed in concrete, and the rough, patchy lawn dotted with hazardous No Fishing signs. It was always windy, but it wasn't always cold. Joy shivered as she and Ink approached the illusion of Dover Mill.

Aniseed could be here!

Piercing the illusion bubble was easy when you knew what to expect, and so when the rickety toolshed became a large wooden overhang over a set of descending stairs, Joy was not surprised, but that didn't mean she wasn't terrified. She knew she was walking into a trap.

Ink checked the wards as he descended the stairs, straight razor drawn, guarding her bodily as they stepped into the underground cellar that had once been Joy's office and Aniseed's hidden cache. It was where the aether sprites had led them months ago in order to turn in one of their own. Hasp.

There were four bare walls, empty shelves, and the ever-present slab of slate. Ilhami lay slumped in a corner and an aether sprite hung upside down above him like a bat.

The yellow-green eyes opened. The football-shaped head split in a grin.

“You came quickly.” Hasp's sibilant
hiss
hugged the dark. “Mustn't be kept waiting. You
do
learn, after all.” His head rotated as his body unfolded, impossibly long fingers hooking into the tiny holes drilled into the wall where the suspension shelves had been, clicking and scraping as he lowered himself to the floor. One multijointed finger wrapped like a bicycle chain around Ilhami's throat. “This one said you wouldn't come.” His eyes flicked between them. “Yet here you are. Scribe.
Lehman
to Ink.” He paused thoughtfully, his breath expanding his thin rib cage. “Or is it Scribe and
lehman
to Joy?”

Ink switched his grip and so did Hasp, who bared his teeth.

“Stay back,” the damaged aether sprite spat. “You gave your oath.”

“I said I would not interfere,” Ink said. “But that only extends to your plans for him.” He gestured toward Ilhami.

Hasp sneered. Another knuckle slipped around Ilhami's throat.

“Yet you came,” Hasp said, his gaze swiveling to Joy. “You care whether this one lives or dies.” He dragged the young Turk across the dusty floor. “Monsiegneur Ladybird got what he wanted and then delivered him to me. But the Monsiegneur did not get what he wanted from you.” Hasp grinned sickeningly. “So maybe now you have something for me.”

She was through playing games. Her vision fuzzed. She needed more sleep.

“What do you want, Hasp?” Joy said, using his name as a reminder that he had not been able to change his True Name no matter how much he'd toadied up to Briarhook and no matter what Aniseed had promised. The crippled aether sprite snarled, and she knew the barb had struck home. Joy wondered if he'd always been ugly, even before the Council had torn off both his wings, or whether he'd been wallowing in human pollution for too long and it had turned the normal fairy beauty foul.

“Business,” he said simply, drawing out the
s
. “This is a place of business and I am here as a paying customer to offer trade.” He hunched closer to Ilhami's body, farther away from Ink. “Business with Briarhook's gone sour.” Hasp's bulbous eyes blinked. “Hasn't the
heart
for this. But you—” His hooked forefinger unwound, stretching toward her. “You know business,” he hissed. “And you, Master Scribe, will not interfere, but will bear witness in accordance to the Accords of the Twixt. Proper, legal, binding.
Yes
,” Hasp snarled through a maliciously clever grin. “Will it be so?”

Ink gave a delicate snarl. “It shall be witnessed, in accordance to the rules.” He lowered his razor as he turned Joy aside. “All you must do is listen to his offer. It is like parlay in the rules of war. You only have to listen. You do not have to obey. I am your witness.”

Joy glared at her kidnapper, Briarhook's accomplice. The tip of the scalpel shook with the memory of pain and fear, humiliation and snow. “What do you want?”

“What I have always wanted! What I'll always want!” he spat. “I want my
locqui
.” The word shivered down his bare ribs. “I want my birthright, my magic! I want to
fly
! And so, I must be free of my Name that chains me to earth and the Council's damned rules.” He tipped back his oblong head, exposing the underside of his chin. Joy's Sight revealed the barbed-hook shape of Hasp's
signatura
carved into the tip of his jaw. His long, pointed finger speared the sigil like a knife. He lowered his face to look at her. “I know what you did within these walls, and now you will do it for me.” His breathing quickened. “Erase my mark and everyone goes free.”

Joy's surprise was a hiccup of shock. Hasp took another step, dragging Ilhami behind him.

“Well?” he said.

“I c—” She gagged on the lie. She
could
, and part of her wanted to, relishing the chance to finish this, once and for all, but she was very aware of Ink standing witness. What Hasp asked for was possible, but it wouldn't do what he thought. A
signatura
wasn't a mark given to him by anyone else—it was the symbol that he'd accepted along with the power of his True Name. If she erased that, she'd erase him completely. He'd cease to exist. As tempting as that was, Joy was no assassin—she'd learned that the hard way. She cleared her throat and squeezed the scalpel harder. “I don't think you really want me to do that.”

Hasp smiled. “Oh, but I do,” he said. “As the Scribe is my witness, I most certainly do.” His eagerness seemed to feed a desperate strength inside his shriveled limbs. He shook Ilhami by the throat. “You will do it or I will
snap this one's neck
!” Ilhami flopped bonelessly in his grip. He wasn't simply unconscious, he was under a drug or spell or worse. “Do you understand?”

“The bargain is witnessed,” Ink said swiftly and turned to Joy. “Do you accept?”

She stared at Ink. He'd barely nodded—it was one of those subtle, human cues he'd learned by watching her. His pulse beat in the side of his neck as he swallowed. Anger brewed in his eyes, flushing his face. He was becoming so human, fingernails and forearm hairs, shades of meaning and shared moments together; now she could almost read his thoughts. Ink believed that she could walk away and Ilhami would die, but Hasp would not hold anything over her and they could leave in peace. Or, if she agreed to his demands, Hasp would be severed from the Twixt, no longer under the rules, and Ink would be free to kill him without the punishment or the guilt of Grimson's mark. But Joy knew if she did this, Ink would see that she had used his gift, his instrument, to commit sacrilege beyond murder—erasing one of the Folk—and that she was, as the Tide always claimed, the most dangerous girl in the world. It would reveal her ugliest secret, her greatest betrayal, and there would be no going back.

If she did this, she might lose Ink, but save Ilhami.

If she didn't, she would never forgive herself.

If she did this, the Folk would kill her.

But she would undo Hasp and he would never torture anyone ever again.

Joy swallowed, gripping the scalpel. Her arms shook.

“No.”

Hasp's other hand grabbed Ilhami's ankles, like a wishbone. “Then he dies
in pieces
.”