Читать книгу Invisible - Dawn Metcalf - Страница 8

ONE

JOY STOPPED ON the sidewalk at the sound of creaking wood. It was a wintry sound, both ominous and familiar. Despite the July heat, she shivered. She was just leaving work, exhausted and perfumed in garlic, cooking oil and sweat. Joy glanced around the back lot behind Antoine’s Café, adjusted her black apron over her arm and walked a little faster.

Fishing inside her purse, Joy skipped over her keys and her phone and went straight for the scalpel she kept hidden in the side pocket. She stumbled on a crack in the cement and cursed her decision to wear chunky heels to work. Clomping down the concrete, her footsteps obscured the sound of whatever followed. A prickle at her neck brought back icy memories and a half-remembered twinge in one eye. Should she shuck off her shoes or was she being totally paranoid? After all, it could just be the wind.

Right.

Contrary to the four-leaf clover in her wallet, it would be just her luck to be harassed by one of the Twixt on her way home from work.

She crossed beneath the overpass, echoes of her shoes bouncing over themselves in her haste to leave the busy downtown area. The Folk were notorious busybodies, but they could also be dangerous to humans. Curious as cats, they’d been peeking out at her from between buildings or through broken windows or from under birds’ nests, wanting to catch a glimpse of either the ex-lehman who’d escaped her bonds to the Master Scribe or the infamous girl with the Sight who’d somehow managed to keep both her freedom and her eyes. Joy wasn’t sure why she’d suddenly become more interesting over the past month, but the strange, inhuman paparazzi were getting bolder.

Those who had first appeared had been harmless, if unnerving, and Graus Claude had said the attention would pass once the novelty wore off. Then, last week, two dryads had whispered warnings to stay out of their world. Three days ago, a short, furry-haired creature had said that she should watch her back. Yesterday, a sprite wearing a floppy red cap had stood on the corner, smiling serenely while picking his fingernails with a serrated knife. The Folk were growing more menacing by the day.

Another scrape. Closer this time.

Joy’s heart thudded in her ears. She’d been preparing for this.

When the shadow moved, Joy lifted the scalpel, a thin stroke of silver that identified her in the otherworld. Knees bent, she readied herself for what she might see.

An armored knight, the color of old blood, emerged from behind a large fir tree. He held a longsword at attention, sunlight streaming down its length. Joy stared at the blood-colored knight, frozen in a foggy trance of disbelief.

His foot hit the pavement, a gritty scratch of metal on stone. The sound snapped her awake.

“I’m under the Edict,” she said quickly, the words tumbling out of her mouth. “The Edict,” she said again with a bit more force. “As decreed by the Council of the Twixt.”

The knight stepped forward. Joy stepped back.

“Duei nis da Counsallierai en dictie uellaris emonim oun,” she tried again.

He took another step toward her.

She shook the blade in her hand. “I bear Ink’s scalpel...”

The knight lifted the massive sword above his head.

Somehow she knew that wouldn’t work.

The sword scythed through the air, carving a parting whoosh in its wake. Joy’s brain stalled as the armored knight lunged. She gripped the scalpel. Her voice cracked.

“Stop!”

Ignoring her, the knight swung down at a wide angle. Joy stumbled off the sidewalk. The moment felt slow-motion surreal; she could see the sword tip passing her cheek—it was nicked and spotted with brown.

Out of the corner of her eye, Joy saw a woman push a double stroller across the street.

Screw the shoes. Joy kicked off her clogs and threw her purse. And the apron. It billowed like a cape, catching the sword and tangling it. She ran barefoot on the grass, adrenaline crackling and popping under her heels in manic bursts as she vaulted the manicured hedge into the wilder wood beyond. A steady banging followed.

Joy pounded over the uneven surface, her feet slamming into sticks and pebbles as she dived between the trees. There was a golden heat to running that soared up her limbs, shooting lightning from her soles up her spine. She had the advantage of being light and fast, but the knight charged after her, chugging like a train. She could hear his panting breath behind the metal faceplate.

Joy dodged around a tree and headed deeper into Mother Nature, avoiding broken glass bottles and bright-colored trash. She wove through the woods, putting as many trees, stumps and bracken between herself and her pursuer as possible. She cut to the north, inhaling deeply, tasting pollen and pine.

Tripping over a root, she grunted as pain exploded in her big toe and shot up her leg. Joy pushed through the injury and kept running, leaving the yellow-hot spark of agony somewhere far behind. Later, she would deal with it. Right now, she needed speed.

She broke through a small clearing, a patch of sun and weeds. She felt like leaping over the ferns and punching out a series of handsprings, but that was muscle memory talking. Her brain still equated running with gymnastics, but after her past few months as part of the Twixt, she knew that running equaled evading certain death.

The knight barreled through the woods, snapping fallen branches and lumbering up the incline. Energy frothed inside her, a flush of heat tickling over her arms and neck, filling her with a lightness, a clarity in speed. There was a heady rush to running for her life through the green grass. Joy felt like laughing. Perhaps she’d finally cracked? How else could she explain getting attacked by a medieval knight on a Thursday evening?

Whipping her tiny blade sideways, she wished that she could slice through worlds like Ink and cursed, not for the first time, that she no longer bore his signatura so he could not feel her panic or hear her call his name through the wind. Her skin was clean of True Names given form, so if she screamed, there’d be no one to hear.

Joy ran.

The land dipped and broke. A shelf of ragged earth loomed above a shallow crevice where the ground fell away. Joy scrabbled over the old streambed, using the smooth rocks as stepping-stones, tearing the seam of her capris as she jumped the ridge—long legs splayed out in a perfect one-eighty—stuck the landing on the other side and kept going. The clang and sweep of metal plates crashed somewhere far below. Joy wished again for the flash of light, the spark of connection that had bound her to Ink, now severed. Gone.

She knew it wouldn’t work, but she couldn’t help it.

“Ink! Ink! Ink!” Joy chanted as she ran, willing him to hear her. The trees ahead began to thin, and she heard the distant roar of cars.

There was a sudden explosion accompanied by a shriek of birds. The force pushed her forward, and she shielded her eyes from several fat splinters that bit into her skin. Something slammed into her shoulder, spinning her around.

Ears ringing, Joy squinted at the dark red sword stuck halfway through a ruined tree. The trunk’s shredded innards burst out in a jagged fluff of destruction. Bits and pieces of pulp peppered her entire body and most of the surrounding green. Pitter-patters of falling debris joined the snap of shattered wood. Through the ringing in her head, she could still hear the determined clomp-clomp of armored boots.

She blinked. The world slowly tilted. There was a deep, resonant crack as the massive tree began to list, groans and tiny clicks ricocheting off the surrounding forest as the trunk came crashing down. A gust of wind smacked Joy full in the face, blasting clouds of dirt and mulch. The knight had cut down a tree by throwing his sword and was now crossing the riverbed, headed toward her. Her hands tingled as terror splashed through her veins.

Joy squeezed the scalpel and spat wood chips off her lips. She tried to believe what Ink had said, what Graus Claude had said, tried to remember Inq’s advice, but as the rust-crusted helmet cleared the ridge, all Joy could feel was the quiet knowledge that she was about to die in the woods in bare feet while holding a pathetic metal weapon no bigger than a pencil. She pointed the tip toward her attacker.

“Leave me alone!” she said.

The knight ignored her, reaching for the embedded sword, hand open for the hilt.

Joy shouted, “Stop!”

The ground spit up bits of leaf and stone as a line slithered through the earth like a whip just inches from the knight’s plated boot.

Joy stared. The knight paused, and his helmet turned slowly to Joy.

The moment curled like a question mark.

Joy almost shrugged. Almost.

What was that...?

Grabbing the sword hilt, the knight swung around sharply. Joy stumbled back. The sword cleaved and clanged against something invisible, throwing off sparks that died in the dirt.

Joy blinked. That was a ward!

The knight tried another pass, pushing through a cloud of dust that smelled of campfire smoke. Joy could almost feel the sword’s impact against the invisible shield. She smiled unsteadily, knowing that her friends must be nearby, even if she could not see them yet.

“Hey!” Joy shouted into the woods. “Over here!”

The knight drew his sword slowly in salute and charged—ten feet away, nine, eight.

Joy dived around the back of a tree and ducked. There was a punch of impact and a half-imagined grunt as the knight missed her head as she scrambled for the next bit of cover. He withdrew his sword with a snarl and pursued. Joy turned and ran faster, toes gripping the moss. She spun midstride, sweeping her tiny blade sideways—there was a grating shing as a piece of metal split and thunked against the ground.

The knight stumbled back. Joy sprinted up the next swell. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw that the lower faceplate had split in half, exposing a gray chin full of bristles, black gums and blue teeth.

In case she had any doubts that this was one of the Twixt.

The wash of fear came again, sparkling and brutal, pushing Joy up up up! through the next tangle of thorns. She bounced off a birch trunk and, misjudging the distance, tripped over a thick branch and skinned her knee. Joy wondered why she was running and not climbing. But what good would that do? The knight had made a tree explode!

As if the thought were a prescient tap on the shoulder, Joy turned to see the knight’s elbow rise, arm cocked, shoulder back, before he hauled off and threw. The sword zinged through the air toward her. She stupidly, helplessly, raised her arms.

A ball of fire and superheated steam burst against an invisible wall. Joy’s hair blew in the aftershock, and she felt moist heat coat her face. A figure dropped from a fissure in the sky, backlit by the wash of flame. He held a straight razor in one hand and her purse in the other; a silver chain swung heavily from a pocket at his hip. He glanced at her with his all-black eyes.

“Joy,” he said.

She coughed and wiped a splinter off her forearm.

“Hi.”

Ink tossed her purse to the forest floor. The fallen sword at his feet smoked and smoldered, dead leaves curling to ash beneath it. The knight barreled forward. The black-eyed Scribe moved, nimble and daring, drawing a complicated design in the air. Another ward gleamed into place. Ink spoke through the shimmer of gold, his voice carrying across the wood.

“I do not know you,” Ink said to the wounded knight. “But you shall not harm her. She is protected under the Edict.” His voice grew taut. “And she is protected by me.”

The armored thing howled, charged and, with a last-moment shift, ran full force into a tree, disappearing in a shiver of pine needles.

Silence.

Joy backed away from the nearest tree, expecting a fresh attack. Ink extended his arm protectively across her body, holding his razor steady against the quiet. Joy pressed close, scanning the forest.

“Where did he go?” she asked.

Ink glanced around the glade. Branches swayed overhead. Leaves rustled. Querulous birds peeped.

“I suspect ‘away,’” he said.

Joy nodded. “Away,” she repeated, breathing fast. “Away is good.”

Ink hadn’t dropped his weapon, so neither did she. The tip of her scalpel—previously his scalpel—shook in her grasp. It looked a lot less confident than his straight razor. She could barely feel it in her hand, her fingers tight and numb, but she could feel him: a solid, calm presence with the gentle scent of rain. She swallowed against the sawdust in her throat.

“Can we go?” she asked. “Away?”

Ink picked up the sword and pressed her hand to his chest. “Away is good,” he said as he sliced the air sideways.

They stepped through the breach with a sharp scent of limes.

* * *

Joy could feel Ink’s hands on her face, the first sensation that pierced the cottony blanket of shock. They were in her room, in her house, and everything had that double-take quality of being suddenly normal, which felt strange.

“Are you all right?” Ink asked.

She coughed, tasting wood on her tongue. “Never better.”

The straight razor was gone, probably back in his wallet, and Joy watched Ink pluck bits of tree out of her hair.

“I thought you said you were only receiving threats,” Ink said. “This was considerably more than a threat.”

“This is the first time someone’s attacked me,” Joy said, brushing dirt from her ruined pants. “There’ve been snide comments, a lot of staring and some ultimatums, but Graus Claude said to ignore it. I didn’t think anyone would actually do anything.” A sigh stuttered out of her mouth. She shook her head, feeling the tension in her shoulders slip toward angry embarrassment. “I thought the Council’s Edict was supposed to protect me.”

“It should,” Ink said and picked up the sword. The smoke curling off it was tinted with mist. He turned it over, not bothered in the least by its obvious weight. “Although this might be evidence to the contrary.” Joy studied Ink’s face. It was still hard to tell if he was being funny or not. He glanced over the blade at her. “Did you announce yourself?”

“Yes! I told him that I was under the Edict in English and the Old Tongue,” she said. “Graus Claude made me repeat it often enough. I could say the words in my sleep!” She dropped the purse that had somehow been clutched in her hand. Her apron was stuffed inside. She still had no shoes and her feet were filthy. Joy paced her room, feeling the adrenaline ebb, leaving her weak and shaky and altogether freaked out. She didn’t like it. Even with Ink’s wards protecting her house, she was supposed to be able to live her life free from harm—that was what the Council had promised after she’d helped them take down Aniseed.

She stopped pacing. “Is this Edict thing for real?” she asked. “Was that what triggered the ward?”

“No,” Ink said, examining the room. “That was me.”

That still didn’t explain what had happened before he’d arrived, when the armored knight had reached for his sword. Joy frowned. “How did you find me?”

Ink blinked his fathomless eyes and smiled.

“It is you who have Sir John Melton’s boon,” he said. Joy still had a tough time believing that her four-leaf clover actually worked.

“Good thing, too,” she said, rubbing her arms as if cold. “That was... Is there a stronger word for ‘terrifying’?” She shook her bangs from her eyes and paced in place. “So are we sure that the Edict’s actually working?” she asked. “I mean, if it’s not protecting me, then what about Dad? Or Stef? My brother’s coming home soon...” The idea of putting her family in danger made Joy physically sick.

“The Edict is in place,” Ink said. “I attended the Council session myself.” His voice kept its steel of certainty. “Your family is safe, Joy.”

Joy twisted her fingers in her shirt. “Well, if I’m so well protected, then what happened back there?”

Ink almost shrugged. Almost. The subtle cues he picked up from Joy were making him seem more and more human every day. He was learning. They both were.

“Nothing happened,” he said matter-of-factly. “Which is most likely what the Council would say if we brought it to their attention.” Ink held up a hand to forestall comment. “You were not actually injured,” he pointed out, his black eyes sweeping over Joy. “They would agree that you look well enough. Yes, it was more than a threat, but not much more.” Ink rolled a piece of wood pulp between his fingers. “Yet...this person knew about the Edict?” he asked quietly. “He knew who you were?”

Joy rubbed at the spots of mud on her ruined capris. “I said the words the Bailiwick taught me, and the guy heard me just fine,” she said. “I think I can safely say that he knew exactly who I was.” She rubbed harder as if she couldn’t stop. Ink crossed the room and took her hand in his.

“You are hurt,” he said simply and tapped his chest. “Here.” He tried to catch her eye to confirm it, but she looked away. Her brain still twitched with firefly sparks. Her heart still pounded—she’d been so scared!—but it seemed as if she was only now feeling it, fierce and intense. Joy shivered. Ink squeezed her hand—it was something he’d learned how to do.

“I did not see it before,” he confessed. “But I know that just because a thing cannot be seen does not mean it is not there.” His voice lilted, coaxing. Joy nodded and squeezed his hand back. Her face felt hot. Her hands felt cold. She was overly conscious of Ink’s worry feeding hers. He sighed. “I cannot take back what has happened, and I cannot undo it,” he said. “Would that I could.” He brushed the hair from her face, tucking it behind her ear, his fingers lingering there. She remembered that first touch. His voice was open, crisp and clear. “What can I do?”

She whispered, “Hold me.”

Ink brought her close, and Joy wrapped her arms around him, pulling him hard against her as if she could press his solid calm into herself. Her heart thudded against his chest, an answering echo rebounding against her skin. She took several deep breaths, and it was several heartbeats later before she realized that he was copying her every move: his hand was in her hair just as hers was in his; his touch on her back was exactly where her palm rested on him. She could tell by the subtle changes of his body and skin that he was moving his senses to accommodate her—his muscles grew more pliant, his skin warmed to the touch, the strength in his arms became more like flesh than like stone. Joy smiled at herself and at him.

“Thank you,” she said. “This is perfect.”

He rested his chin on her shoulder. “A hug means many things,” he said. “Over thirty-six, by my count.”

Joy chuckled. “You’re counting?”

“Yes,” he said.

Joy laughed aloud, watching his smile dimple. Ink was funniest when he didn’t realize it.

“You feel better,” he said.

Joy nodded. “I do.”

“Good,” he said. “Then I will go and see what ‘happened back there.’” He dropped his hands abruptly. Joy thought maybe they should work on his exits. She stepped back knowing that the wards he’d carved around her home would keep her safe, but she felt better having him there. Just in case.

Ink paused, inspecting her face. Perhaps he saw her concern? He was getting very good at reading her subtle cues.

“Do not worry,” Ink said and underlined the statement with a slice of his razor, unzipping a door through time and space. He placed a slow kiss on her bottom lip, soft and tender. He felt that. She did, too. “I will return soon.”

Joy nodded and was still nodding as he disappeared, realizing a second too late that he’d left the smoldering sword behind.

She yanked her bathrobe off its hook and threw it over the longsword, snatched her phone on her way to the kitchen and quickly closed the door behind her.

Just in case.

* * *

She texted Stef, asking about his ETA, then pinged Monica as she entered the kitchen and leaned her elbows on the breakfast bar.

Home at last, she typed. Shift over = FREEDOM!

It took her best friend only a second to reply, if that.

Lol! Celebrating? Happy dance?

Joy smiled. After standing on her feet all day, she hadn’t gone dancing in weeks. She’d almost forgotten that places like the Carousel existed. Almost. You free?

Expensive as always, but im worth it!!!

Joy laughed as she sat down on a stool.

“Hi, honey.” Her father waved from the den. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

“I’m a ninja,” Joy said as she typed back a series of smiley faces. “It’s all part of staff training. It’s why we wear black.”

Her father chuckled as he hauled himself off the couch with a groan. His new gym routine included heavy cardio and weighted squats. Despite the grumbling, he had lost almost thirty pounds. He looked good, if tired. “I didn’t know waitresses required the art of stealth.”

Joy smirked. “We’re sneaky that way.”

He tugged her ponytail as he passed her on the way to the counter. “Well, I’m glad you’re home safe,” he said. Joy felt a twinge of guilt as she hid her mud-and-wood-pulp-spattered pants beneath the counter. She concentrated on typing a reply to Monica.

Any chance u can come over? Im stuck at home.

“I wanted to talk with you about something,” her father said by the sink.

“Oh?” Joy said as she read: Can Gordon come 2? Or is this estrogen-only?

Monica and Joy spent time with their respective boyfriends, but also had a regular Girls’ Night since, as Monica insisted, it was always important to stand by your sisters. Monica always checked if it was a co-ed party first.

Joy typed: Gordon=good times! Will see u 2 when?

“I’m glad we’ve been having a great time together this summer,” he said as he scraped the last of his Lean Cuisine into the disposal. “That camping trip to the lake will be one for the record books.”

“Mmm-hmm.” Joy nodded, still typing.

“But, you know,” he said nervously, “I also want to spend some quality time with Shelley...” As she waited for a reply, Joy imagined her father’s girlfriend—Shelley wasn’t a bad person, but it was still a bit weird, his having a life without Mom.

Xcellent! Will your boy be there 2?

Joy sighed. After five months, Monica was still attempting to meet Joy’s mysterious boyfriend. Joy couldn’t blame her, but, besides being inhuman, Ink was invisible to those without the Sight. Still, she gave her BFF points for trying. She typed back, Ummmmmmmmm, no.

“...and I made sure we’ll have more family time with Stef at the end of August,” her father said gently. Joy realized that he’d been talking the whole time and she’d tuned him out. She looked up and smiled to prove she’d been listening. Sort of.

“Sure, Dad,” Joy said. Her phone buzzed in her hand. 1 hour? Joy hit a colon, a dash and an end parenthesis. Send. “No problem.”

Her father smiled, both pleased and relieved.

“Thanks, Joy,” he said, giving her shoulders a squeeze. “I appreciate it.” She blew a kiss at him while scrolling through texts, her attention glued to the screen. He sighed. “And I really appreciate that you agreed to pay for that new data plan upgrade,” he added. “Otherwise I would have to yank that thing out of your hands right now.”

Joy hugged her phone against her chest and glared at him. “Hey!”

He laughed. “Well, at least I got your attention. Though why you need unlimited worldwide calling is beyond me...” Joy thought about her latest pics from Tuan and Antony’s trip to Belize and said nothing. It was one of the few ways she kept in touch with the Cabana Boys. It made her feel like one of them, one of the group, included—it was something she hadn’t realized she’d been missing since quitting the gymnastics team nearly two years ago, and she was more than willing to pay for it.

“Okay.” Her dad kissed the top of her forehead. “I’m headed out.”

“Poker night?” she asked.

“No, just a few rounds of darts with some guys from Doolin’s.”

Joy whistled. “Look who’s Mr. Popular!”

“It starts by getting out of the house,” he said. “You really ought to try it someday.”

Joy mock frowned and crouched over her phone. “Outside bad! Dark. Scary. Inside good! TV. Food.”

Dad rolled his eyes. “Don’t wait up.”

“Bye!” She waved over her shoulder. “Have fun!”

“Emergency number’s on the fridge in case you decide to break another window...”

Would she ever live that down? Joy turned and shouted, “Bye, Dad!”

He grinned boyishly as he shut the door.

Joy shook her head and typed a final message to Monica.

Guys r weird.

Monica’s reply came in all caps:

AMEN, SISTER!!!

* * *

With an hour to burn, Joy decided to clean her room rather than surf online. It would be tougher to tease her brother for being the family slob if her room looked messy when he got home. After filling her trash bag and emptying the hamper, Joy dusted off her dresser and wiped down the shelf that held three printed invitations to various swanky parties in Zurich, Melbourne and Moscow (care of Nikolai, on tour); a heavy glass snow globe from Glacier Bay, Alaska (from Enrique’s latest adventure); a cashmere infinity scarf (from Luiz in Paris); and an odd collection of figurines—what Ilhami called “booby dolls”—from various cultures around the world. She had eight so far, wide-hipped, big-bellied and well-endowed, lined up in a row. Ilhami thought sending them to the “Cabana Girl” was hilarious. He had even scribbled eyes on one of them in Sharpie marker, which was probably sacrilegious, but Joy got the reference: knocked up by Indelible Ink.

As if on cue, Ink zipped into her room through the space next to her nightstand.

“What are you doing?”

Joy shrugged and put down the booby doll. “I’m cleaning,” she said into the mirror, which failed to catch Ink’s reflection behind her. “I was bored.”

“I see,” he said with a smile. “You know, if you are ever bored, you can always call Inq.”

Joy neatened her ponytail. “I’m not that bored.”

He laughed. “Probably wise,” he said. He draped her pink bathrobe across the bed and picked up the sword. He inspected the weapon closely, watching the light gleam off the nicked and pitted blade. “The Bailiwick often says to be wary of wishing for an interesting life,” he said casually. “And while I have been gone, I have discovered many interesting things.”

Joy twisted her fingers in her shirt. “Such as?”

Ink’s eyes flicked to her. “I went back to the edge of the Glen where we fought,” he said. “And you were right—I do not think this was an idle threat.”

Joy crossed her arms against a sudden prickly chill. “So do you think that one of the Folk was really trying to kill me?”

“I do not know.” Ink’s boyish face grew serious. “To know that, we must bring this—” he hefted the sword “—to Graus Claude.”

Joy scraped her bare feet against the carpet. “‘We?’”

“Of course.” Ink grinned and held up her discarded clogs in his left hand. “Clearly, I can’t leave you alone for a minute.”

“Ha ha.” Joy took her lost shoes and slipped them on. “Monica and Gordon are on their way here,” she said. “To keep me company.” She almost added, I wish you could meet them. Almost. But didn’t. It was impossible, dangerous and probably stupid to expose her friends to her other life in the Twixt. And Monica and Joy’s motto had always been No Stupid.

“It will only be a moment,” Ink reminded her.

“If that,” she said, smiling. “I remember.” And took his hand.

A flick and a swish of citrus-scented breeze and Joy stepped from one world into the next.