Invincible (29 page)

All eyes shifted to Stef. He shook his head. “No.”

“You have to,” Joy said. “You're like me—we're the same. It's part of us, part of our family.” She knew he hated this, knew he hated them, but so much depended on his accepting this part of himself, not just for him but for them all. “You have to accept your True Name—” She glanced at Filly, who looked stern and unforgiving. Joy stammered under her glare. “—t-to be safe, to keep anyone from controlling you.”

“I can't—”

“You
can
,” Joy said. “And you have to. And if you can do it before the King and Queen, then they will have their proof.”

Her breath churned inside her body, hollow without a heartbeat. It all came down to this.

Stef stood up, the golden chain dangled down his shirt. “I know what I am, what we are, and so when I say I can't, you know that I
can't
.” He was her older brother, the person she trusted, looked up to, her entire life, and she couldn't doubt him, even in this. Stef turned to address the King and Queen. “Meaning no disrespect to Your Majesties. You know I have given my word to remain here, casting no magic, until the task set before my sister is completed, and you have accepted my word, knowing that here, I, too, cannot lie.” He turned to Joy. “As a wizard, I have already taken a True Name—we call it something else, but it serves the same purpose—to protect ourselves and our powers from being manipulated by others of the craft. If that nymph is...who we think she is, then it all makes sense. If humans who have the Sight or magic, or those who are marked by Folk were Folk to begin with, then our magic obeys the same rules. Humans have just learned to protect themselves differently—” He gestured to Joy. “I would have shown you how, if you had told me. But you didn't know.” Stef sounded tired, disappointed, as if this was one of his final secrets. “I wish I had told you everything from the beginning. If I had, I could have kept you safe.”

Joy's throat tightened, her eyes watering. “So...you can't have a
signatura
?”

“No,” he said. “I don't need one.”

And what was unsaid was,
And neither did you.
The realization hurt, but she'd made her choices, her own mistakes, and her decisions—even the wrong ones—had made her who she was and, like the King and Queen, there was no going back...unless she broke the rules.

“You could take another oath,” she said.

Stef shook his head. “In a paradox, the older spell—”

“—wins out.” Joy finished. She knew that all too well, and so did all of the Twixt.

Her brother shook his head. “I'm sorry, Joy.”

“I know,” Joy said quietly before turning to the royal couple. “Then I can offer you no proof.”

The King settled back on his throne. “Then you are dismissed,” he said formally. “Until we meet again.”

“And you will keep my brother safe?” Joy asked.

“I gave my word that I would stay,” Stef said, settling back down in his seat next to Dmitri. “Willingly. Because I trust you.” He smiled at her. It was humbling and scary how much he meant it and how much it meant for her to hear it. Stef pointed at her. “You can do this.”

Joy nodded, holding back tears. “I know I can.”

“Good,” the Queen said. “Perhaps next time, you will prove your success.”

“Well, you're not making it any easier,” Dmitri spoke up. All heads turned. The satyr leaned back in his chair, wry and unapologetic. “She can't keep popping in here with the Bailiwick under wraps and the Twixt in a twist. She's already hedging the odds as is.” Dmitri knew what was at stake on the other side of the stairs and Joy was grateful for it. “One whiff of this and she'll be hunted down by the very Folk you want her to save.” He tossed a peach between his hands, sliding his thumb over the fuzzy flesh. “You want her to win? Give her some proof of your own that'll help grease the wheels.”

“Wise words, Forest born,” the Queen said, amused. “And I believe I have something that will suit.” She reached up to her coronet and twisted a single, pale jewel that had no color and yet hinted at all of them. It fell into her hand as she flowed off the dais with inhuman grace, her fingers playing silent music as she bent over Joy. Her breath smelled of honeysuckle and wine. She pinched the small stone and drew out a fine gold thread from between her fingers, looping it around Joy's neck. The small stone rested against Joy's skin, tingly and cool.

“Wear this and they will know of me,” the Queen intoned. “And I will know of you.” Joy wasn't sure how she felt about the gift, but the Queen bent closer to whisper by Joy's ear. “I can watch over you, but I cannot interfere. But know this—there is a traitor amongst your company. Treachery taints the air around you like old perfume. Heed my words and be 'ware.”

Joy stared at the Queen's impossibly beautiful face as she slid back to sit beside her King. Joy touched the stone with the tips of her fingers. It felt larger than it looked. She cast a nervous glance at Filly, who had heard everything. The Valkyrie's ever-present grin was gone, turning her chipper face stony and grave.

Wordlessly, the King gestured out the tent. The ward flashed and dissipated in a shower of colored sparks, raining from the ceiling and cascading down the walls. A burst of sounds and smells that had been kept at bay now overwhelmed them, as if to make up for their absence. The flaps peeled away, exposing a straight path to the doorway, lined with armed guards.

They were being sent home.

“Find the answer,” the King urged, his words crisp and clear as any of Ink's whispers. “Find our proof, or none of us shall ever Return.”

TWENTY-FIVE

“SO,” GRAUS CLAUDE SAID
after Joy finished reporting her latest failure. “You are the Destroyer of Worlds.” A flash of indignation flickered and died behind his eyes. “A changeling of prophecy, an Elemental in disguise, one who must obey the rules and also break them in order to undo the mistakes of our past. An enigma, a paradox, a near-impossible conflagration of contradiction and circumstance.” He grumbled and nodded. “Indeed,” he concluded. “I cannot imagine anyone suiting it better.”

“Should I be flattered?” Joy asked from one of the curving benches.

“Are you?” he asked.

“No.”

“You should be,” the Bailiwick said. “The Folk understand power in terms of love or fear, and you have demonstrated a knack for eliciting both. Suffice to say, your mission now is to find the proof that the King and Queen require before this secret is discovered and the Folk rally together around a common purpose to kill you.”

Joy twisted her fingers into knots. That wasn't the secret she was most worried about.

“But if the answer isn't love or fear, then what is it?” Joy said. “I thought showing them how Stef and Dmitri could love one another despite everything would be proof enough, but it wasn't. Then I tried the fear of being controlled, which I wanted to prove was no longer necessary, because the system of
signaturae
works. But not only can't a wizard accept a True Name, but the magic wouldn't even work in Faeland. That's Folk magic, not human magic.” Her brain added,
Aniseed's magic
, but she didn't say it aloud. “I can't think of a way to convince them that it's safe to come back, that humans won't try to control them again!” Joy said. “If I can find proof, then I can save them, and if I save them, I save all of us, everyone.”

I will
not
be the Destroyer of Worlds!

He shook his great head, a defeated slump weighing heavily on his deformed spine. Ink said nothing, attempting to sharpen his ruined straight razor, his obsidian blade having shattered into candy-sharp shards. Filly stared at Joy as if she didn't recognize her, examining her as if from a great distance, trying to make out her face from far away. Joy wasn't sure if she could ever close that distance or if, given the Valkyrie's expression, she would survive the experience. Joy might not become an Elemental, but the potential was enough to change her—in Filly's eyes—and there was nothing she could do to fix that now.

“I can do this,” Joy said, echoing Stef's words. “I will figure it out. Trust me.”

Graus Claude stared across the water at the elaborate tiles and carved walls. “If you cannot, then no one can, Miss Malone,” he said. “But I do not know if I should thank you for it.”

His fear was almost palpable, like the way he avoided her eyes.

There is a traitor amongst your company.

Fear trickled down her limbs.
Graus Claude?

No. If the Bailiwick betrayed her, Joy didn't stand a chance. She depended on him, on his access to the doorway, on his contacts, his resources—yet all this time, he'd been hiding from her, avoiding her, ever since he'd left her home after his rescue from Under the Hill. An icy thought stabbed through her—what if he'd struck a bargain with the Council? What if he'd stayed with her under pretense, as a spy? What if this was all a ruse? What if he'd traded his knowledge of her for clemency? Protection? What if his despair was really guilt?

In fact, that was how he'd been acting—guilty. It hung on his shoulders.

Treachery taints the air around you like old perfume.

No.

Frowning, Joy stood up, her hands balled into fists. She whispered at his back, “Then don't bother, because you cannot lie.”

The touch of Ink's hand urged her away. She'd been dismissed. Joy turned toward the stairwell, Idmona's boots making soft scrapes across the floor. Ink walked backward, behind her, covering her exit, shielding her back from her friends, her allies, those whom she trusted the most, those closest to her missing heart.

Joy stopped. Touching the jewel at her throat, she turned back. “Do you know what this is?”

Her question floated through the silence like fog over the key-shaped pool.

“Yes. I know it,” Graus Claude confessed.

After a pause, Joy asked, “Are you going to tell me?”

Graus Claude considered the question as the water slapped gently against the tiles.

“No.”

Joy sighed, feeling the chasm between them growing wider, darker, deeper, but all she could do was go forward, climb the steps back to the daylight and the human world; the storefront, the garbage-strewn streets of San Francisco's Chinatown and the lantern-strewn alley where she'd slip through a flap of nothing toward home. She cast one long look back into the depths of the Bailiwick's sanctum, his prison, his fear.

Filly watched them go from her post by the door. Arms crossed, eye swollen, face a mask of determination—to do what, Joy didn't know, but she wasn't eager to find out. She didn't know what to say to the blond warrior as they passed. Filly, for her part, didn't even wave goodbye.

The lack of a brash
Victory!
felt more like
Be damned!

* * *

They appeared in the stairwell to her condo. Joy wiped away tears with shaking fingers. The confidence she'd gained from Stef's belief in her had shriveled under Filly's grim stare and silent dismissal. Ink offered his hand and she threaded her fingers through his.

“What if it's him?” Joy said. “Graus Claude?”

“I cannot believe—”

Joy wrung their hands together. “Then who else?”

“Well, aren't you just the cutest couple?” Inq gushed, pushing away from the wall outside Joy's front door. She tapped one high-heeled boot against the slightly mildewed carpet and toyed with a long strand of black pearls. “I would've waited inside, but you've got company.”

“Dad?” Joy hadn't yet thought up an excuse for Stef's trashed room. She'd had a lot more pressing things to think about. Her brain stalled.

“Yes, and a lady friend, but that's not important,” Inq said. “It looks like I interrupted something serious.”

“It seems we may have a traitor in our midst,” Ink said. “More than one warning has been issued and more than one coincidence has become suspect.”

Inq's mouth became a hard line. “Any idea who?”

Joy sighed. “I think it's the Bailiwick.”

“The Bailiwick?” Inq said. “Well, I hope for your sake that you're wrong, but you ought to get inside before we go looking for any boogeymen under the bed.”

Joy hesitated. “There such things as boogeymen?”

Inq patted her arm. “Don't be silly,” she said. “They're not really called that.” She grinned. “Anyway, I need to borrow my brother for a quick trip and wouldn't dream of kidnapping him until you're safe behind wards.”

Ink frowned. Inq might have been waiting for Ink to become sentient for hundreds of years, but she hadn't quite gotten the idea that this meant he had a life of his own. Still, Joy knew Ink felt guilty for not telling her about the off switch. He owed her big-time.

“You are very considerate,” Ink said with measured politeness.

Inq crinkled her nose playfully. “Aren't I just?”

“Joy—”

“Don't worry,” Inq said. “She'll be fine.” She hooked an arm through Ink's elbow. “A little recon trip—nothing major. Be back in a jiffy. Oh, and you might want to brush your teeth before you say hi.” She winked. “Ta!”

“Stay inside the wards,” Ink said as Inq raised her hand. “It will only take a m—”

And they were gone.

For all Inq's lighthearted quips, Joy suspected something was wrong. It pricked her nerves as she fished around for a mint, but only found a pack of gum. The taste of morning-mouth-plus-spearmint reminded her that she hadn't had breakfast or, more importantly, her terrible tea. Shelley might have brought something over, but given Dad's diet, Joy doubted it would be strong enough to blot out the yuck. She opened the door and quickly shut it behind her, watching the ward settle comfortingly into place.

“Joy,” her father said from behind her.

“Hi, honey.”

Joy whirled around, eyes wide.

“Mom?”

Her mother smiled at her from the kitchen table. “Welcome home.”

* * *

Joy missed the beginning of the conversation. The blood rushing in her ears had drowned out all sounds; her head felt cottony and wrong. She sipped her lemon water and forgot how it got there. She wondered if this was some illusion but, in case it wasn't, decided not to start waving around her scalpel as that might be hard to explain.

For now, she just stared.

“So...?” Joy couldn't remember what they were talking about. She had kissed her mother, hugged her and sat down. She could still smell the vanilla flowers of her mother's perfume.

“Your father said you'd be home eventually,” her mother said, straightening her skirt. “We've just been catching up.”

Dad looked pained, but okay. Things were strange, but civil. How long had they been waiting for her? How long had she abandoned her father to face her mother alone? Joy should have been here. She should have rescued Stef. She should have convinced the King and Queen to Return. She should have been able to fix everything, but she kept falling short across the board.

She got up to make some of Vinh's vile tea. She needed something to snap her out of this weird alternate reality where her mother was in the same room as her father at the kitchen table, eating cheese and crackers like some TV picture of normalcy.

“Well...” Mom smiled, politely. “Now that we're all here, I wanted to discuss something with both of you. I'm only sorry that I missed Stefan before he left. I didn't think he'd be headed back to campus so soon.” She shrugged, as if it were simply a matter of bad timing. She didn't know that he was being held for ransom by the King and Queen of the Twixt.

“I've been waiting for her to tell me her news.” Dad tried sounding chipper, but it came out strained. “But you know that I've been saving the rack for a special occasion.”

“Oh, Jack,” her mother said softly. “I wanted Joy to be home. Especially after—after last time.” A flicker of doubt, of shame, cracked her sunbaked facade, and Joy knew that whatever was coming was going to be more than she could handle.

She took a drink.

“Gah!” Joy said, scraping her tongue across her teeth. The flavor was impossibly worse each time. Her parents stared at her outburst. Joy's taste buds writhed in disgust. “I need pie,” she managed. “You want pie? Cake? How about cake? I can make cake.” Joy didn't know where the words were coming from, but she threw them up like bricks. She circled the counter, pulling drawers open blindly, rattling bowls and baking pans.

Her father sighed, “Joy—”

“I don't want cake,” her mother said. “Or pie. Please, listen—”

“No,
you
listen!” Joy said, brandishing a whisk in one hand. “You can't just show up here and talk to Dad and have something important to say without Stef being here because
I've been there
and you
can't do that
!” The tears that came now might have been from before or might be fresh and new, special for the occasion. “He should
be here
!” Joy shouted. It meant more than they could know. “You can't just
tell
us something important and have him not
be here
,” she fumed. “We're
family
! That's just
mean
, Mom. That's
cruel
.”

Her mother's face flushed red—Joy had inherited her tell from her mom, and it didn't look good on either of them. “Joy,” she said flatly. “I told your father I would be coming. I thought he'd told you both, and I've crossed an entire continent in order to do this right.” She glanced at her ex-husband and her daughter. “For once, I'm trying to do it right. Okay?”

“Then say it,” Mr. Malone said softly, road-weary and kind. He was stronger now, older, wiser—more generous right now than Joy thought she'd ever be. “Say what you need to say.” The unsaid might have been,
and then go
, but he'd never say it aloud.

Her mother straightened her blouse, her lips trembling between a smile and a frown. “I'm getting married,” she said. “Doug asked me to marry him and I said yes. I wanted you to know, and I want to have you there.”

Joy was glad for the countertop, a physical barrier between them. She didn't trust herself to be as calm and forgiving as her father right then. She watched him lean across the table and open his hand to her mother. She placed her hand in his; neither of them wore rings but the imprint was still visible, even after two years apart.