Invincible (7 page)

“It is past dawn, yet I doubt it is safe to contact Kurt at this time. We cannot know when we can expect his being available, but I trust in his unique inventiveness and I know that we can trust his unswerving loyalty.” He didn't bother adding that Kurt was bound to him in servitude due to the Bailiwick's saving him from the Black Plague. “However, his current absence is both unavoidable and inconvenient. Therefore, I shall endeavor to perform my own ablutions and toilette.” Graus Claude grunted as he got to his feet and unwrapped the towels with brisk efficiency before stepping gingerly onto the floor. The bleeding had stopped, but his wide, webbed feet looked much abused—gouged, patchy yellow, glistening with runny fluid and peeling, pale pink skin. He grumbled as he shuffled forward. Monica backed up into the hall.

“Um,” Joy said, picking up the towels. “I'll just go wash these—”

“No!” Joy froze. Graus Claude loomed in the doorway, his voice grave. “They must be burned.” The Bailiwick glanced at Monica's frightened face and adjusted his volume, sounding apologetic, but insistent. “We must leave no evidence of my being here, Joy Malone,” he said reasonably. “They must be burned.”

“O-kay,” Joy said and grabbed the laundry basket out of Stef's closet. “We can burn these in the bathtub.” She hitched the basket up on one hip. “Just open the window so you don't set off the smoke alarm.”

“A bath,” Graus Claude said wistfully. “Yes. Perhaps things will look brighter after a dip in the pool.”

Monica's eyebrows rose. Joy hesitated. “Um, we don't have a pool.”

He chuckled. “Well, I very much doubt that I could fit in your tub.”

Joy nodded. “True enough.”

Graus Claude paused, considering. “A shower, perhaps?”

“You'd have to squeeze,” Joy said, eying his bulk. “A lot.”

The Bailiwick lumbered forward, his vest draped over one arm and his chin at a stubborn angle. “Very well. Simply lend me a few more towels, if you please, and I am certain I will manage somehow.”

Joy opened the bathroom door as Monica pressed herself against the farthest wall. “After you.”

The eight-foot, four-armed amphibian steadied himself, turning his body sideways and shuffling through the door, mincing into the narrow space between wall and sink and toilet and tub. Joy placed a book of matches near the scented candle atop his pile of laundry, nabbed a couple more towels and squeezed out the door. Graus Claude watched her contort her way past him, his head cocked at a curious angle, one hand on the doorknob.

“Anything else?” Joy asked weakly.

He paused. “Do you, by chance, have any cold-pressed avocado oil?”

Monica stifled a laugh. The Bailiwick glared.

Joy shook her head. “Sorry.”

“Pity,” he sighed and closed the door.

* * *

“Honey, I'm home!” Dad fought to free his keys from the lock. Joy checked the clock. It was 6:55 a.m. and the caffeine was losing its edge.

“Hi, Dad!” Joy called.

“Hi, Mr. Malone!”

He paused. “Monica?” he sounded surprised as the girls came out of Joy's bedroom. “What are you doing here? It's Monday morning.” He checked his phone, just to make sure. “Yes. Says here, Monday morning. Seven a.m.” He crossed the hall, oblivious of Graus Claude standing in the bathroom, covered in towels. The Bailiwick's browridge lowered. Monica tried not to stare.

“I'm just leaving,” Monica said quickly. “You can pay me for babysitting later.”

“Ha ha,” Joy said.

“You know I love you.” Monica squeezed her purse against her body as she hugged the opposite wall, giving Graus Claude a wide berth. She smiled back at Joy's dad. “Welcome home, Mr. Malone.”

“Thank you,” He gave a tired smile. “You're welcome here anytime, obviously.”

Monica took out her keys. “You good?”

Joy nodded. “I'm good.”

“Good. Stay good.” Monica jingled her key chain. “I got you covered. See you later!” She waved as she ducked out the door.

“Thanks, Mon!” Joy called after her.

“Bye, Mon.” Dad said, closing the door. They were now alone with a half-naked Bailiwick in the house. Her father frowned, curious. “So why was she here, again?”

Joy shrugged, trying to lure her father out of the hallway and away from Graus Claude. “Girl talk. We were catching up—” she yawned and stretched her arms, elbows-out “—I couldn't sleep.”

Her father sighed. “Well, now you look like you could sleep for a week.”

Nodding, Joy scratched her shoulder. “Good idea.”

“Not so fast,” Dad said. “Don't you have work today? I just stopped home to change.”

“Ungh,” Joy groaned. “I'm supposed to be—” She trailed off at the look Graus Claude threw at her as he crossed the hall, shuffling quietly into Stef's room. She tore her gaze away from the steamed amphibian and quickly switched gears. “Ah. I'll have to check the schedule.”

“Get there early,” Dad advised. “Remember, Joy, if you can't be a ‘Yes' man—”

“—be indispensible. I know. I know.” She jerked a thumb over her shoulder. “I'll go log in right now and check.”

“Good idea,” her father said as he strode toward his bedroom. He stopped midway down the hall. He was standing in a puddle. “Did you a take a shower?”

Thou shalt not lie.
“Um, is there a problem with that?”

“Less attitude, please,” he warned. “No, nothing's wrong, but next time wear your slippers. You got water all over the floor.” He shook his dripping foot. “Clean it up before you head out.”

“Okay. Sorry. No problem.” She grabbed a rag from under the sink, one that no one would miss. If she was going to have to burn all the evidence that the Bailiwick had been there, she'd better try to salvage what towels they had left. She dropped the rag on the floor and smeared it around with her foot, glancing sideways through Stef's open door. Graus Claude had draped himself in one of Stef's bedsheets, toga-like, with one towel perched atop his head like a turban. He looked ridiculous and unapologetic. Joy picked up the wet rag and debated throwing it at him.

“Are you going to see Mark tonight?” her father called from his room.

“I hope so,” Joy said sadly, mopping up spots.

Dad poked his head out. “What? Did you two have a fight?”

“No,” Joy said, mentally adding,
Not yet.
She didn't want to think about it.

“Well, that's good,” he said. “It's the last week before school...” He glanced at her uneasily. “I mean, I know you two have had a lovely summer, but I don't want you losing focus your senior year.” He sighed at the look on her face. “Don't ‘Dad!' me. I think it's fair that I don't want your self-employed, financially independent, tattoo-artist boyfriend distracting you from your school studies, okay?”

“Dad!”

“What did I just say about the ‘Dad!' thing?” he said, fixing his tie. “It's bad enough knowing I've got Senioritis to deal with as a single parent. I don't need an added assault in tight pants messing with your grades. I thought I'd have to drag Stef through his last year to keep him on track!” He groaned at the memory. “And while I know you two aren't the same, you're more alike than you think. Believe me. I've lived through this once and had high hopes that this time would go smoother.” He tightened the knot of his pin-striped tie. “Things have been coming together around here and I don't want you getting sidetracked.”

“Sidetracked?” Joy said. Ever since she'd quit gymnastics and her dream of Olympic gold, she hadn't
had
a track. “From what?”

“Life,” he said, grabbing his briefcase. “
Your
life, specifically, which includes school, job, college, career, marriage, kids and Happily Ever After, in that order.”

Joy crossed her arms and stared at him from the hall. “Do I get to be happy now?”

Dad returned the couple of steps and chucked her under the chin. “Are you kidding? Happiness costs extra.” He gave her a kiss on the forehead and headed out the door. “Love you.”

Joy smirked. “Love you, too.”

The door closed. There was a pregnant pause.

“Your father is a wise man,” the Bailiwick said. “And Miss Reid, a good friend.”

“Yeah,” Joy said. “I know a lot of smart people.” In fact, she knew
a lot
of smart, loyal and crazy-strong people, which was exactly what she needed right now. Scooping up her purse, she dug out a pouch of vellum notes and matches and squeezed it in her hand. If she needed a bodyguard and, next to Ink, there was no one better.

“You know me,” she said, smiling. “No Stupid.”

SIX

“HOY! JOY MALONE!”

Joy pushed back the bedroom blinds and saw Filly kicking the edge of the ward by the gate, gold sparks erupting under the tip of her boot. Joy waved. The young Valkyrie waved back, her metal vambrace shining in the sun. For all that they'd parted during the greenhouse brawl, the blond warrior looked no worse for wear.

“What's the password?” Joy shouted across the courtyard.

“Asinine,” the blond warrior said drily. “Are you going to let me in or not?”

“Do you solemnly swear that you mean me no harm and will attempt neither to bind me, subdue me, punish me, render me unconscious or abscond with the whole or any part of my person from these premises without my express permission, by the Blind Eye of the All-Father?”

Filly licked at the blue spot below her lower lip. “You've got the Bailiwick there with you, eh?”

Joy shrugged, evasive. “One way to find out.”

Filly tipped back her chin and laughed, exposing her horse head pendant necklace and a new pink scar down her throat. “Very good! They'll make a politico of you yet if you're not careful.” She raised her fist in salute. “I do so swear it upon the Blind Eye of the All-Father.” She let her fist drop.

“Good enough for me.” Joy severed the loop Ink had left in his ward—the specific, conditional exceptions that allowed Joy to choose who might safely enter or leave. First Inq, then Graus Claude, now Filly. Joy nervously wondered if she shouldn't just let a whole brass band march through the front door. The Folk were looking for her now, and they couldn't be allowed to find out what the Bailiwick suspected. If she were really descended from Elementals, she'd be on everybody's hit list and if anyone could sniff out a secret, Joy would lay bets on Filly.

The armored Norsewoman twisted some errant strands of hair back into their braids as she waited for the ward to part. She kept a foot touching the gate, testing the edge, until the tiny sparks of light around her dissipated in a static haze. She strode forward as if without a care in the world, her short cape of finger bones rattling behind her as the gate clanged closed.

Joy left the window and ran to wait by the door, imagining her brash friend taking the stairs by twos. At the flippant knock, she opened the door and came face-to-face with a bright sword's edge. Joy stumbled back. Filly glared at her from behind the hilt.

“Don't let your guard down,” she said, deadly serious. “Are you a warrior or not?”

“Um,” Joy said, fixated on the blade between them. “Not.”

“We'll have to work on it, then, if you live that long.” Filly sheathed her sword and spread her empty hands. “Well, can I come in?”

Joy debated saying no, but she was the one who'd called the Valkyrie for help. No one besides Ink or Kurt was better suited to be her bodyguard. Joy stepped aside. “Welcome.”

Filly nodded, sweeping her gaze around the room, taking in all the likely exits, partial views, handy weapons and salient details. It was a professional once-over. “It does look like the place where we fought Aniseed's shadows in the dark,” she admitted. The illusion had been part of Aniseed's plan to capture Joy and bargain for Ink's
signatura
, but no one had bargained on the Valkyrie's interference. “But it doesn't
feel
the same. It feels like cardboard and custard. The
segulah
's spellwork felt like bees. Best take note of it so you can recognize the difference.” She turned a full circle. “Where's the frog?”

“In here.” Graus Claude's voice drifted around the corner of Stef's room. Filly followed Joy into the hall and burst out laughing. Graus Claude still wore the bedsheet and a moist towel over his head. The Bailiwick's wardrobe had been reduced to barely functional rags so he'd opted to burn them along with the towels. The bathroom still smelled of Lysol and smoke.

Graus Claude frowned as Filly doubled over in laughter, cheeks red, eyes tearing as she slammed an open palm against the door. He removed the towel and tugged the sheet discreetly into place with three of his four hands. His makeshift toga slipped farther off one shoulder. Filly wheezed as she struggled for air, snorting and slapping her thighs.

“If you are quite through,” the Bailiwick murmured. “There is important business to attend to.”

Filly wiped her tattooed eyes and nodded, still laughing, gleeful and uproarious as she collected herself. “Yes. Yes. Important, no doubt!” She laughed again and punched herself in the chest. “Oh, I am glad you summoned me, Joy Malone. I would not have wanted to miss this for the world!”

“Miss Malone requires an escort to the Wizard Vinh,” he said primly. “Someone who can guarantee her safety and possesses impeccable loyalty and
restraint.”
Graus Claude shifted his steely gaze. “I can only assume she chose wisely selecting you.”

Filly still looked merry-eyed as she crossed her arms and grinned. “Oh, aye,” she said, chipper as anything. “I can see her safely from here to wherever she might need be. But if it is to be a wizard's lair, then we'll have to hoof it. I cannot call down the skies to bring us there with a wizard's wards in place.”

“It isn't far,” Joy said.

“It rarely is until you start the journey, then you never know where you might end up,” Filly muttered, but then brightened. “Still, it will give you a chance to tell me all that has transpired since we last parted company. As I recall, you were last seen launching through a window, traveling by toad.” She chuckled again, her shoulders bouncing with mirth. “Where is Ink?”

“He is unfortunately unavailable at present,” said Graus Claude.

The horsewoman scowled. “You didn't shut him off again, did you?”

Joy gaped. “How did you know about that?”

“Hard to miss once,” Filly said. “Impossible to miss twice. When both Scribes fell, it took very little guesswork to make two and two four.” She nudged Joy with her elbow. “I am awfully good at riddles, after all!”

Joy sighed. Filly had been the first to figure out that she wasn't entirely human and that the mysterious mark on her back was her own developing
signatura
—a fact that neither Graus Claude, Inq nor Stef had shared with her, although they had guessed; each one of them had been guilty of withholding information as well as manipulating Joy by her True Name. For all her wild and wily antics, the young Valkyrie was very clever. Maybe Joy should have had her swear on Loki instead.

“Very well,” Graus Claude said with his usual brusque efficiency, the effect somewhat ruined by his ridiculous appearance. “Move swiftly and brook no delay until you are safely ensconced within the wizard's protections. Make the necessary inquiries and depart with all due speed—the less you are seen or your whereabouts known, the better off we shall all be.” He rocked on his haunches. The bed frame groaned in a poor parody of his throne back in the brownstone. “It is simply a matter of time before we are discovered and for once, time will not be bent in our favor. I will attempt to place any necessary plans into motion while you are away.” One clawed hand flowered open. “Give me your phone.”

“What?” Joy said, scandalized.

“Your phone,” the Bailiwick repeated. “I know for a fact that you have my number, and I do not wish to leave any further evidence of my having been here by delegating my instructions using your home phone.” He frowned, but continued politely. “I am attempting to maintain your thin illusion of familial normalcy here, Miss Malone. And I do so for both our benefits.” She still hesitated. Without her phone, she felt disconnected from the world. Naked and vulnerable. Graus Claude looked unimpressed. “The phone,” he growled. “Now.”

She dropped it in his hand. He'd sounded absolutely paternal.

“Grab your things and let's go,” Filly said, giving Joy a merry slap on the back. “Before he next sends you to bed without supper!”

* * *

Joy walked down the familiar path to the C&P, pausing to glance up at the streetlamp. The glass had been replaced since that night she'd been chased by the
bain sidhe
, before she'd taken an unexpected trip to Ireland and watched Ink's mischievous trick with the milk. Her smile at the memory faltered. Having Ink out there somewhere, thinking the worst of her, made her footsteps sound extra loud to her ears. Especially when Filly walked so silently beside her, eyes scanning the landscape, hand on her hilt.

“You sure you can't pop us any closer?” Joy said, squeezing the strap of her purse. “It'd be a lot less risky.”

“So you say,” Filly countered. “I wouldn't want to be on the receiving end of whatever your resident wizard uses as a deterrent for unexpected visitors. From what I can tell, wizard's magic loathes other magic. Best announce ourselves graciously and walk in on foot.” She flashed a smile and widened her blue eyes. “Besides, you have nothing to fear—I shall keep you safe while your lover dallies elsewhere!”

Joy groaned. “It's not the dallying that worries me.”

“Oh?” Even though her attention was on the walkway, Filly's voice curled with interest. As one of the Folk, she couldn't help being as curious as a cat. “I'd heard the name ‘Raina' became tiff-worthy only recently.”

Joy stopped, flushing. “Who told you that?”

Filly grinned. “The wind.”

“The wind ought to learn to keep its mouth shut,” Joy grumbled. Filly laughed and pushed her forward. Joy allowed herself to be dragged down the path, if only to keep moving. The trees looked harmless, the shrubs moved with the breeze, but everything
felt
malevolent—like eyes and ears were behind every leaf's shadow, watching her, studying her, biding their time. Graus Claude was right: she had to get to Vinh's quickly, get in, get out and get back home, safe behind wards. She hoped her last-minute call in to work begging for a recovery day from her trip wouldn't cost her her job. Of course, she hadn't managed to hold a job for more than a month since February, when she'd first met Ink. “It was...a misunderstanding,” she muttered, fishing for her scalpel. Holding it made her feel better. “Everything's fine.”

“Fine?”

“Fine.”

Filly shrugged. “Fine.”

“Better than fine—one might say,
excellent
,” Ladybird said as he stepped out into the path. The drug lord grinned wildly, doffing his plumed pirate hat. “I do so love being right.” Behind him a posse of creatures emerged from the ground, the trees, the folds of a flag; a few fell from dangling branches while others zipped out of thin air. Ladybird adjusted his brim. “Fetch her.”

Joy jerked back with a gasp.

Filly leaped forward with a battle cry.

The first fighters clashed together, exploding in a crash of spittle and spray. Filly punched one beaked face, hooked an imp around the neck and levered herself, delivering a solid kick to a hairy yeti chest; the sasquatch doubled over, pawing at its matted green fur. With a twist, Filly flipped the imp over her shoulder and used its wing as a shield, clamping the membrane together and trapping a clawed fist between bones, wrenching it swiftly with a sideways snap.

Ladybird grinned.

Two flying pixies, shag-haired and sooty, circled Joy, armed with wicked-looking pikes the size of fondue forks. A grizzly thing approached her with lazy, loping strides—a boarhound on two legs with bandoliers of daggers crisscrossing its blue-gray chest and knobby clubs hanging from the scrappy belt on its hips. It looked intelligent and dangerous as it snarled at her scalpel.

“Donne prathiea toun de mallabra,”
he said in a low growl. “Drop it, girl, or you might get hurt.” The hunter spread his scarred arms in an exaggerated gesture. “We've only come to escort you back to the Hall. The Council wishes to have words with you.”

She should have said something brave, but the words dried up on her tongue.

“Just talk,” the boarhound said. Both pixies leveled their weapons. Joy raised her scalpel and bent her knees.

There was the crunch of bone breaking, a high shriek and another “HA!” as Filly tore past, a blur of vambraces and finger bones. A horned black rabbit flopped onto the grass. A multitailed fox tumbled end over end, teeth gnashing and snapping. A cloak of mist with floating eyes settled over the melee like a blanket. Filly grabbed both its eyeballs and slammed them together. The thing wobbled and dissipated.

Joy squeezed the scalpel. Filly's bravery fueled her own.
“Duei nis da Counsallierai en dictie—”

The boarhound barked out a laugh. The pixies tittered. “You've got guts, girl, I'll give you that, but the Edict won't spare you this time.”

The pixies swarmed forward in a blur of wings, weapons pointed directly at her eyes. Joy inhaled sharply. They couldn't
blind
her—not now! Not when she was one of them! Or did they suspect her already? Did it show? Did they
know
? Joy gagged on a tight knot in her throat, imagining her tongue turned to stone.