Invincible (39 page)

“Avery,” Joy said. “I know it's a curse, but you've given me
your
signatura
—if you want, I can negate the spell
by erasing its mark on you.” She glanced at Ink and her brother. “But it may
mark you as one of mine.”

“Really?” Avery said. “Have you discovered your auspice?”

She nodded. “I can erase the mistakes of the past.”

Avery blinked, and a flush of pink rose to his cheeks. “Well,”
he said. “That is something to consider. And I will consider it most seriously.”
He bowed to each of them, pressing a bandaged hand to his heart as he left.
“Many thanks to all of you and very well met.”

“Hey, Cabana Girl,” Luiz whispered timidly behind her, and then
Joy was in his arms, holding him, grateful and sorry and mournful and alive. It
felt like Enrique's funeral all over again, and she knew that Ilhami and Raina
were dead without even having to ask. Her eyes filled with tears as she squeezed
him harder. Knowing wasn't better than not knowing for sure.

“Inq?” she said.

“She's mourning,” Luiz said past her ear. “But we'll light
fires and have a party and paint ourselves gold.”

“And have an art gallery showing and get higher than kites,”
Joy said. “They would have loved that.”

Luiz started crying. “Now you get it, Cabana Girl.” Antony
hugged her next, stoic and solemn, then Tuan, who clung to her and openly
sobbed, but it was Nikolai who brought out the laughing tears, because Ilhami
was right—he
did
smell like beans.

One by one, the Cabana Boys melted into the throng.

“Joy,” Ink said, accepting her back into his arms. “I am
sorry.”

“It's done,” Joy whispered. “It's over.”

“Not quite,” Ink said, tugging her closer. “I must now give you
back what you have given me.”

A sudden fear crept over her.
What is he
saying? Is he leaving? Am I losing him
now
?
Joy blinked back startled tears. Her fingers tightened in his
sleeves.

“I—” she began, and swallowed, mouth gone dry. “I don't—”

He smiled, both dimples. “You gave me your heart,” he said
slowly, shyly, drawing his fingers down the silver wallet chain, back to the
trifold wallet in his pocket. He lifted out the silver quill, its every
fletching etched delicately by hand. Tilting the point above his heart, he swept
it expertly in a graceful design—a looping circlet with a hook at its center, a
pictograph in profile: a flame-winged bird taking flight. Joy recognized it
instantly.
My signatura
.
My
True Name.
He slipped his hand through the sigil, passing from one
plane to the next, and drew an object out of thin air, placing it in her hand.
“I kept it safe for you.”

The wax simulacrum was warm to the touch. Joy stared at its
brown hair and the red bump at its heart. She almost said,
How?
but then remembered Monica stuffing it in the ouroboros box,
her birthday present from Ink—their private way of sending each other letters
full of
I love you
and
I miss
you
, exchanging distant secrets across time and space.

It had sent him her heart. And he'd kept it safe.

Ink's fingers traced the tiny face, the curl of hair, and the
tiny red flower bud waiting to bloom.

“You!”
Briarhook's snarled. Joy
jerked in Ink's arms. The fetid hedgehog stood in his tattered rags and dirty
chest plate, bits of leaf and mulch sticking to the ends of his quills. He
squinted piggy eyes at her and curled his lip from rotted teeth. “Have business,
you, I. Promised you. Know this promise,
mine
!”

Joy could feel the nearness of the Cabana Boys and Monica,
Dmitri and Stef, and Ink steady at her side. Inq slipped through the masses, the
Folk parting to make way, and behind her, Kurt, her lover, followed carrying an
iron box. He presented it formally to Joy. It felt lighter than ever. Briarhook
hissed, drooling, his quills quivering as he watched it exchange hands.

She knew what she had to do. The nightmares were over.

“You're right,” she said. “I understand.” And she did. “I know
what it is to be without a heart.” She offered him the box. “Take it. It's
yours.”

He hunched back, wary, sensing a trap. “My
heart
—?”

“Yes.”

“Price, you?”

“No,” Joy said. “I give it to you, willingly.” Her arms shook
slightly. The box wasn't
that
light, and Briarhook
was still scary. “Let us finish this between us.”

Briarhook snatched the box greedily in both hands. Flipping the
lid, he grabbed the last morsel of his heart and stuffed it into his cheeks,
barely chewing, gobbling, swallowing it down. His eyes closed for a moment. Joy
waited, patient, tense. His body shuddered and he stood a little straighter. He
no longer looked quite as grubby, quite as pallid, quite as ill. His eyes opened
slowly. Wiping his sticky hand across his belly, he smiled.

“Ah. Promised you, I,” he said, coyly. “When my heart, mine,
then you die
slow
.”

Several weapons appeared as their small circle tightened around
Joy. Ink shoved the wax doll into her hands, the jagged razor reappearing with a
flick of his wrist. The hedgehog glanced at them, past them, then around the
joyous chorus of the Imminent Return. He shuffled forward, raising one hand,
spreading his claws like an umbrella; a strange heat blossomed, stirring the
thing in her hands. Joy felt something wriggle beneath her thumb.

Then, all at once, her doll's heart
bloomed
.

Joy gasped. The tiny flower had pushed itself out of the wax
and opened. She pressed her palm against an answering thud in her chest. Joy
inhaled like she'd been underwater, her cheeks flushing with heat, her eyes
sparkling, her ears pounding:
Thump-thump! Thump-thump!
Thump-thump!

“I can feel it!” she said, tears spilling out her eyes. She
grabbed Ink and pulled Monica close. She felt both of them laughing. “I can feel
you! I can feel my heart!”

Ink pressed her to him, smiling. “Now you know what it is to
feel Joy!”

Briarhook gave a dismissive sneeze and swatted the air with his
claw. “Is done. Promised you, I.” He scratched at his snout. “Die, you, old
age,” he muttered. “Mortal death, eh? You die
slow
.”
Hunching, turning away, he curled into a tight, prickly ball. Briarhook rolled
past the others and crawled into the briar bush, melting among the thorns, and
vanished with a rattle of quills.

Joy stumbled on her feet. She could breathe again! She could
breathe
!

“Well, now, that one certainly knows how to play his cards!”
Filly quipped, stepping up with a clatter of finger bones. She grasped Joy's
forearm, giving an extra squeeze. “Well played, indeed!”

“Well played, yourself,” Joy said. “Ink scared me to death when
he said that Kurt was dead. I wasn't sure if he meant the glamour or you!” Kurt
nodded politely. Filly laughed.

“Oh, I'm
fine
,” the Valkyrie said
with a wink. “No worse for wear after walking around looking like this ugly
brute.” She cocked a thumb at Kurt, who didn't even flinch. Filly's face split
in a slit-eyed grin. “I wonder how much fun I'll have with a glamour that looks
like you?”

Kurt smiled. It was scary. Inq chuckled.

Oh boy.

The King and Queen raised their arms, their long hair fanning
behind them like wings. Ink and Joy turned with everyone else to hear their
twined voices, crisp and sharp and clear as a sword cleaving the sky:

“And so it has come to pass that all those gathered here bear
witness to the miracle of an ending, the joy of reunion, the chance of rebirth—”
and Joy might have imagined their ancient gazes seeking her out, smiling in
Ink's arms “—as has been prophesied, the Old Worlds of Man and Folk have been
destroyed—they are divided no more. That Age is past, its blemish gone. Now our
futures shall be forever entwined, for today begins a new era, a new magic, a
new Age. Together, we shall explore our world and its wonders, discovering what
our children and our children's children can dream beyond imagining.”

Their faces were rapturous, their voices raised in song:

“Behold the Age of Miracles!”

EPILOGUE

“I DON'T UNDERSTAND,”
Shelley said as she took the roast out of the oven. “Where is all this coming from?”

“Joy decided she wants to major in Governmental Law at Georgetown,” Dad said with a shrug. “She says she's interested in diplomatic relations or something and qualifies for some obscure scholarship, so who am I to argue?” He tossed the roasted Brussels sprouts and grabbed the pepper. “She's excited about it, and I'm just glad she's made a choice.”

“Sounds wonderful,” Shelley said, setting napkins around the table. “Has anyone heard from Stef since he got back?”

“He lost his housing placement,” Joy said. “But he and Dmitri found an apartment off campus.” Ink handed her cups and she poured the lemon water. He was mesmerized by the cascade patterns splashing against the glass. “They said we can come visit once they're settled in.”

“We just got back from traveling,” Dad said, sitting down. “And now this trip to California?” He speared a sprout with his fork. “Some of us still have to work around here.”

“Hey,” Joy said, pointing at herself. “Paid internship girl.”

Ink sat down and passed the potatoes like a pro. “She is doing very well in her new position,” he said with a smile. “She is already indispensable.”

Dad smiled, “That's my girl.”

Joy laughed and Ink took her hand under the table, threading their fingers together. She leaned forward and kissed him full on the lips. Her heart pounded happily.

Ink caught her sleeve, tugging her closer. “Again, please.”

She kissed him again—an everyday miracle.

And he tasted like rain.

* * * * *

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

THIS IS IT—
the end of my very first series, my own Age of Miracles. Thanks, as always, to my editor, Natashya Wilson, for allowing me to share my journey through the winding, wonderful world of the Twixt, my agent, Sarah Davies, for wisdom and support, and everyone in my life who volunteered to help keep me sane as I struggled to keep track of just how many characters, plots, subplots, red herrings and loose threads I'd written over the course of three books, including Jenny Bannock, Nicole Boucher, Maurissa Guibord, Shari Metcalf and Kate Smith. My wall of Skittle-colored Post-its would be lost without you!

Deep, sweeping bows and heaps of roses for the Harlequin TEEN Dream Team who made the dream of the Twixt a reality (on paper, ebook and audiobook!)—kudos to Shara Alexander, Evan Brown, Bryn Collier, Ingrid Dolan, Kristin Errico, T. S. Ferguson, Amy Jones, Siena Koncsol, Margaret Marbury, Ashley McCallan, Suzanne Mitchell, Bradley Myles, Kathleen Oudit, Reka Rubin, Anne Sharpe, Mary Sheldon, Lauren Smulski, and Anna Baggaley of the UK Mira Ink team.

Finally, to the people who made all of my dreams come true from infancy to parenthood and whatever passes for adulthood these days: my parents, Holly and Barry, who filled my life with love and words and play, my other parents, Marilyn and Harold, who always support their crazy daughter-in-law with laughter and open arms, my siblings by birth and marriage, Corrie (Crunchy Parent), Richard (Suave Sir), Adam (Music Man), Michelle (Awesome Aussie), David (Gamer Mensch) and Shari (Riddle-Me-Miss) and to Jonathan, my beloved partner-in-crime in the starched pajamas who whacks people with pool noodles for a living and whom I love beyond words—thank you for your patience, your humor, your support and love...and for not whacking me with a pool noodle while I was busy typing. And, of course, to my two greatest contributions to the world: Maestro and The Pigtailed Overlord—I am so proud of who you are and who you've been and who you are becoming; I love you more and more each day! (And thank you, my darling daughter, for being old enough to be my very first, very best beta reader!)

And to all of you who have read this saga from beginning to end—my crazy only exists inside my head until I write it down, and then you read it, and now it exists inside
your
head! Treat it well. Pay it forward. Eat more chocolate. And thank you.