Invincible (23 page)

“Do you know what this is about?” she asked.

He rested the lip of the bottle against his chin. “I can guess. I can hope. For her sake, anyway. Who knows?” He put down the beer and touched the condensation with his finger. It ran down like tears, streaking the glass. “It only makes what I was going to say harder.”

Joy felt her insides clench. She missed the sound of her thumping heart. Ink cocked his head to one side, curious. “Oh?” she said.

Her father examined his fingernails as they began twisting around his knobby knuckles. “Well,” he said. “I wanted to talk to you about how things were going. With Shelley.” He squeezed his palms together and nodded to no one in particular. “Things are going...well. Really well. And I know it's only been a short while but, well, it feels like longer.” His nods turned to shakes of his chin. “
A lot
longer,” he chuckled. “It's been a long time since someone's really cared about what I was doing, what I was thinking—really cared about
me
.” His eyes caught hers with a slight panic. “I don't mean you—you and Stef are my rocks. You're my kids and I love you, but...you're my
kids
. There's a big difference between, well, being adults and being kids.” He tried a smile. “And I know, you're growing up, but you'll still always be my kids.” He picked up the bottle but plunked it down, untouched. “We're all growing up, growing older, growing old—at least I know I am, and that's okay. It's
good
to grow old with people who care about you. I consider myself pretty lucky that way.” He was babbling now and he knew it. It was kind of awkward, but also nice. “Anyway. I wanted you to know that things are good. Seriously good.” He nodded again. “Things are getting serious...and that's good.”

Joy took a moment to sift through the babble and digest the gist. “So...things are getting serious,” she repeated.

Dad nodded, not looking up. “Yep.”

“With Shelley, you mean.”

He kept nodding, tapping his bottle nervously on the tabletop. “Yep.”

“Oh,” Joy said slowly. “That's good. I mean, great.” She tried smiling. It felt weird. She wasn't used to talking about feelings with her dad, but he seemed happy and that was good. She glanced at Ink.
He's here, like a secret.
He smiled, one dimple. She felt herself falling into his eyes, unable to look away. “Things are getting serious with Ink, too.”

Two dimples. They danced.

Her father lifted his beer bottle with a ghost of a smile, a ghost of a frown. “Not
that
serious.”

Joy shrugged, smoothing her hands over the kitchen table, reminding her of hands, ears, fingers, lips and knowing Ink remembered it, too. “Pretty serious.”

Dad took a long swig and placed the bottle down carefully, eyes narrowing. In that moment he reminded her uncomfortably of Graus Claude.

“If you're being serious about getting serious, then we need to have a serious talk.”

Ink raised his eyebrows. Joy swallowed. The conversation had taken a precarious turn. The idea of her “serious” with Ink being the same as Dad's “serious” with Shelley was seriously disturbing.

“Um...do we have to do it now?”

Dad shook his head quickly. “No.”

Joy breathed, relieved. “Okay.”

Ink looked disappointed.

“O-kay,” her father said. “So now that we're done being serious, have you eaten yet?”

“I'm...meeting Ink for dinner.” She made a note to add grabbing a bite at the C&P as she pointed back over her shoulder. “I just came home to change.”

“Figures.” Her dad laughed. “Ditched again for a younger man.”

Joy stopped. She wasn't sure whether the joke was funny or not—it hit that awkward note between being clever and sad—and she forgot about herself for the moment, about Stef and Ink and Graus Claude and the Tide. She hesitated on the brink between sister and daughter, family and Folk.

“Stay,” Ink said quietly.

Joy frowned at him, confused. Ink stepped back, hovering in the hallway. Her father took another sip of his beer.

“Stay here, with your father, where it is safe,” Ink said again. “The ward is still intact on the windowsill and you cannot enter Faeland to search for your brother—not yet. I will make inquiries and return shortly.” His logic urged her to consider it, to slow down, to wait. He took another step, leaving Joy with her dad. “We will find Stef and offer his
signatura
as proof, but we can only succeed if we are prepared and I will not go unless I know you are safe.” His coaxing smile tipped the scales. He took another step back into the shadows. “I will only be gone for a moment.”

Joy whispered, “If that.”

Her father glanced up. “What?”

Joy shook her head. “Nothing,” she said. Ink waved his arm in a swooping arc and disappeared, gone. She sat down. “What if I stuck around and we watched a movie, instead?” she said, forcing a smile. “We could order in.”

Her father looked up at her, his gaze softening. “You know,” he said, “I'd like that.”

“Okay,” she said, taking a deep breath. She trusted Ink.
Patience. Preparation. Priorities.
“Done.”

* * *

They ate in companionable silence, watching one of the MGM Classics that Monica had returned with gold star stickers on the spines of her favorites. Joy won the coin toss with
Late for Dinner
versus Dad's
Rolling Thunder
. She was loath to admit that the pacing left a lot to be desired. An action flick might have kept her mind off worrying about Stef.

Ink sat invisibly on the floor, mesmerized.

He'd returned with some strategic plans well under way and a message from Mr. Vinh to come by the C&P in the morning. In the meantime, she'd have to wait. Like Inigo Montoya from
The Princess Bride
, she hated waiting. She checked the DVD set, but Rob Reiner's 2006 masterpiece was too recent to be considered a “classic.”

Joy texted Monica behind her hip.

Ink loves your movie pick.

Which one?

Late for Dinner.

4 stars,
Monica texted back.
SOOOO SWEET! G
cried.

Srsly?
Joy typed.
Dad says Somewhere In Time is better & Always. Star casts. Seen em?

YOUR DAD LIKES CHICK FLIX?????

Joy laughed, which gave her away.

“Put down the phone and watch the movie with your old man.”

“Yes, Dad,” Joy said, typing a final,
gtg.

She put down the phone and settled against the pillows, her leg resting gently against Ink's arm. She could feel his stillness and also his nearness, and the awareness that her father was unaware made it almost naughty. She draped her arm off the edge of the couch, her fingertips brushing his hair.

There was a
click
against glass. Ink tensed. Joy sat up. It happened again. First at the kitchen window. Then in the den. Ink stood up and checked the glyphs on the windows. Nothing should be able to get through the wards. Ink unsheathed his straight razor and began to circuit the house. Her nerves spiked, her skin prickling. She kept her eyes on the television screen and tried to ignore the alarm bells in her head.

It could be a twig. It could be the wind. It could be anything.

Click. Click. Click-Click-Click.

The patter of tiny sounds made her dad turn around.

“Were you planning on sneaking out with Mark tonight?” he asked.

Joy could afford to be completely honest. “No.”

“Huh,” Dad turned back to the TV, ignoring the last
click.
“Because that's how I used to signal girls to come sneak out of the house and meet me around back. Throw a few pebbles at the window and wait outside.”

Joy opened her mouth and tried to look shocked. “You rebel, you!”

He snorted. “You inherited your ninja skills from me.”

Click.

Dad kept his eyes on the screen. “You might want to see who it is.”

Joy
really
didn't want to—imagining the hairy, peeing sprite or the monstrous Kodama's tongue—but Ink was still here and they were safe. She hauled herself off the couch and went to the window. It was hard to see anything in the wan light. She squinted into the darkness, trying to make out shapes in the shadows. Joy tried to angle herself to peer into the corner where the elm grew by her father's bedroom, but she was on the wrong side of the house.

Click-Click-Click!

Joy jerked as a fine hail of pebbles struck the window. She glared into the darkness. Two reflective green discs stared back. She held her breath. They blinked and narrowed, turning into slits of disapproval. A tiny fire flared, the end of a match, and Avery's pale face and hair lit with gold; shadows carved deep, skeletal hollows into his eyes and cheeks. He tilted his head to the side like an owl and flicked his gaze to the window and back. She shook her head. He glanced again, angrily, around the corner, past the kitchen window to her brother's room...the one with the gaping hole in the wall. She nodded and used Inq's favorite fallback excuse.

“I'm going to use the bathroom,” she said.

“Mmm-hmm,” her father muttered, not believing it for a minute. “You want me to pause it?”

“No. I'll be quick.”

“That's funny,” he said, turning up the volume. “My girl thinks she's both sneaky
and
funny. I'm so proud.”

Joy shot a wry grin over her shoulder. “Ha ha,” she said. “Just give me the recap.” She kept an eye on the back of her father's head as she opened the door to the bathroom, but retreated into Stef's room instead. She closed the door and turned around. The wall was still a shattered mess, but the glyph on the windowsill remained intact. Outside, Avery perched on a high branch, level with the second floor and she could tell by the slight shiver of the trailing feathers of his cloak that he'd just landed there, bobbing and swaying in the breeze.

“What is it?” she hissed.

“I must speak with you,” he said. “Let me in.”

“No,” she said. “You can tell me whatever it is from right there.”

He frowned. She could see it in the purple shadows. “That would be unwise.”

“So would breaking the ward to let you in,” she pointed out. “You can see what happened the last time.”

His cloak settled about him, almost as if his shoulders had slumped. “You still do not trust me.” He said it as fact.

Joy felt unaccountably guilty. The truth was, she didn't, which was smart, and she did, which was dangerous. Despite all that he'd done to help her with Graus Claude and the golems and the Welcome Gala, she could not forget that he was still a member of the Tide and—last she knew—Sol Leander's right-hand aide, although perhaps his plotting with Maia had changed all that. She didn't know. But the way he was always watching over her and rushing to her rescue made it feel like he was trying to be Ink, which made her feel worse.

Joy hedged. “
Should
I trust you?”

“Yes.”

“Well, I don't,” she said. A twinge lit in her gut. “Not entirely, anyway.” The discomfort subsided. “It's hard to trust anyone these days.”

“It must be somewhat difficult being the Destroyer of Worlds,” he said.

Joy froze, her body gone cold. “Where did you hear that?”

“Let me in.”

“No.” Joy backed up a step. She touched the doorknob.

“Joy,” he said, sounding both reasonable and fed up. “I am not your enemy.”

“So you keep saying,” she agreed. “And the more you say it, the more I doubt it.”

“With good reason,” Ink said, shearing his way into Stef's room. “While he may not be your enemy, his intentions are not quite those of a friend.”

Avery paused, taken aback by the sudden audience. He glanced between Ink and Joy. “True,” he admitted. “But not for lack of trying.”

Ink said nothing. Avery swayed on the branch. The air was heavy with unsaid things.

Joy whispered through the hole in the wall. “Look, call me paranoid, but I'm not keen on lifting the wards right now.”

“You are not paranoid,” Avery said reasonably. “Everyone really is out to get you.” Joy coughed on a surprised laugh. Ink lifted his blade. “But not I,” he said. “Not this time.” He cast his eyes to the moon. “Now may I come in?”

Ink frowned. “No.”

Avery ignored him, speaking to Joy. “You
must
trust me.”

“Oh yeah?” she said. “Prove it.”

Avery hesitated. “How?”

“Give me your
signatura
.”

Avery stilled. Even the leaves on the branch he sat on stopped rustling. His voice hardened—his face a mask of insult and fear. “You're asking too much.”

Joy smiled like a fox. “Actually, I'm not. If you want to come in, Ink will have to write it into the ward. He has access to the
signatura
of everyone who has used the Scribes' services, but since you say you haven't claimed anyone, I imagine he doesn't have yours.” Joy looked to Ink for confirmation. He nodded. Good guess. She turned back with a shrug. “You want in, we need your True Name.”

She watched emotions flutter over his face like the feathers of his voluminous cloak. He knew that she was the Destroyer of Worlds and the Tide claimed that she was the Twixt's greatest enemy—the most dangerous girl in the world. Putting the power of True Names into sigils had been done to protect the Folk from humans and safeguard their truest selves. For her to ask such a thing was ludicrous, and she knew that, and he knew she knew that, so it was a showy sort of bluff. Still, he hesitated. Of course, Joy knew the answer was “no” and was confident that that would end the conversation. Joy opened her mouth to ask him to just tell her whatever it was, but her mouth hung open as he unlaced his collar, pulling the neck aside, exposing where the flesh grew feathers. There was a swooping symbol written into his skin at the knob of his wing. His
signatura
. His True Name.