Invincible (5 page)

“Great! So I'm safe as long as I stay here, but now you want me
to go?” Joy said with an angry, hysterical tremble.

“To remain here is to remain caged,” Graus Claude said. Having
only recently escaped from his imprisonment, the Bailiwick was uniquely
qualified to speak with authority on the subject. Joy bit the inside of her
cheek, face flushed. “I sympathize with your distress, yet you fail to
appreciate what your paramour has done for you—no one else in the Twixt suspects
your true nature, and he has bound me by my oath. Otherwise, be assured, I would
feel obligated to kill you myself,
which I shall
not
,” he hastened to add at Joy's look of horror. “I understand all too
well that circumstances concerning your person are hardly ever what they seem
and that, as you have noted on previous occasions, you often embody a rather
exceptional exception to the rules.” He pressed sincerity into his words. “I
have set aside many luxuries and amenities in my time in order to retain my
personal integrity. To shelter you is to damn myself utterly, but look—” he
glanced around at the walls of Stef's bedroom “—it is you who have given me
shelter, as well as my freedom, both from the spell of forgetting as well as the
Council's justice Under the Hill.” He raised a single manicured claw.
“Therefore, no matter what else may be said, you have proven yourself a trusted
friend and that fact, more than anything, countermands any theoretical debate.”
He lowered his hands to rest in his lap, a Zen Buddha on a lotus of cotton
towels. “I have never met an Elemental, so I must admit that my knowledge is
based on hearsay and secondhand myth, but I know
you
, perhaps better than almost anyone else in my world. I ask that you
trust me, as you once asked me to trust you.” He paused, his speech closing with
finality. “I will help you, Joy Malone.”

She ran up and hugged him, collapsing against his squashy body,
and his many arms wrapped around her like an afghan. “Thank you,” she whispered.
He sighed a bass rumble in his throat and gave an
oof
of effort as she let go.

Joy winced. “You're hurt.”

“I am well aware of it,” he muttered, releasing her slowly with
each of his hands.

“But how can I convince Maia when I can't convince Ink?” Joy
said, looking at the lightening sky. “And I can't leave you here. What about
Stef? My Dad—?”

“Calm yourself,” the Bailiwick said. “You know your father's
whereabouts, and your brother is in the company of the satyr lad. Both your
family and your friends are still protected under the Edict as long as no one
else discovers what we suspect. Your secret must remain safe.”

Joy avoided looking at him as she thought,
Which one?
Joy had a number of secrets that would likely get her
killed. Graus Claude knew at least two of them, but there was still one more
that he did not—
the Red Knight
—and Joy doubted that
he'd still be helping her if he knew that she could erase Folk out of existence.
She was the Twixt's worst nightmare, the Tide's proof of human evil.

“As for Mistress Inq,” the Bailiwick continued, “she will
remain incapacitated for some time, given what we know of Master Ink, and he
will wisely be avoiding you until we come up with a credible solution.” Graus
Claude tapped the side of the bed. It lacked the satisfying
click-click-click
of thick nails against his mahogany desk. “He
should avoid all contact with the Folk, especially those on the Council. I
suspect they are already overly eager to extract news of you and I.” He nodded
to himself. “Let us pray that the Scribe's bravado and chivalry do not eclipse
his common sense. If he's smart, he'll busy himself by working in the field. He
accrued an impressive backlog of assignments while he lay unconscious those few
days.”

Joy frowned. “
You're
the one who
knocked him unconscious.”

Graus Claude looked pained. “Needs must, Miss Malone,” he said.
“To be fair, he was going for my throat.”

And it had all started with Joy accusing Graus Claude of being
a traitor to the Twixt. She decided to drop the subject. “So what do you want me
to do?”

“It would be wisest to remain within the wards,” he said.
“However, when have we limited ourselves to pursuing only the wisest course?”
His browridge quirked. “Instead, I propose you visit Councilex Maia with all due
haste and secrecy—thus requiring that you go without either Master Ink, Mistress
Inq, young Filly, myself or the like—then report back here and we shall endeavor
to concoct a well-researched strategy of next steps.”

“But how am I supposed to do that without Ink?”

Graus Claude grinned with his many teeth. “Magic, Miss Malone.
Observe.” He lifted his four hands before the door-length mirror and twisted
each one just so—the image of Stef's empty bed and bare wall shifted slightly, a
warp in the aluminum that rippled like a tickle of a pond. The giant amphibian
eased himself forward, hesitant to touch the glass, but his fingers disappeared
as he rummaged around inside the quicksilver before extruding a familiar-looking
velvet bag.

“Ah!” he said as the mirror solidified into a single sheet. He
untied the strings and rolled a set of familiar chalky-yellow knucklebones into
one of his left palms.

“How—?” Joy stared at the mirror, then at Graus Claude and the
bag.

“The bottom of the stained glass box is mirrored,” he
explained. “In case of such an emergency.”

Joy juggled realities in her head. “I thought you said you
weren't a spellcaster.”

“I'm not,” he said, inspecting each die with a jewel cutter's
eye. “I used Water magic. Mirrors are reflections, which is an inherent property
of the thing itself and thus under our domain. That is not a
spell
. That is magic intrinsic to our House.” He
sniffed austerely. “There is some advantage to being the High Water Seat, after
all.”

Joy gaped at him. “But then couldn't you have escaped from
Under the Hill yourself?”

His icy glare was damning. “Do you truly think that I would
have been delivered in such a state if they had lent me a mirror?” He sounded
aghast. “Besides, they not only knew my skills and limitations, but how best to
humiliate me. All my meals and my toilette were performed in the dark so as to
enhance my discomfort in subtler ways than the Council's usual base methods of
inquiry.” He growled. “We learned some things from humans, after all.”

He massaged the bone dice between his palms, warming them. “Now
then, we will send you to Maia's back door, which is used by me as well as the
other members of the Council, so should be both accessible and vacant given
their current pursuit, namely you. First, request sanctuary. Once granted, ask
that she swear by the King and Queen and her True Name that she will not cause
you harm by word or deed or intent to hinder or hamper your efforts nor aid any
other against you. Now repeat that back to me.” It took Joy three times to get
it right, but it was the best she could do without a Pearl of Wisdom. She still
had one in her handbag, collected after Hasp had broken her double-stranded
necklace of magic cheat sheets. She'd promised to grant a boon to whoever
brought her every single pearl and didn't want to owe a promise she couldn't
keep, so had kept one herself. She'd learned
something
from Graus Claude, after all.

After her third attempt, the Bailiwick nodded, satisfied. “I
will use these to open a gate,” he said. “When you are ready to return, call
your house phone, let it ring twice, then disconnect. That will be my signal to
reopen the gate.”

Joy tried to remember how the knucklebones worked. “Don't you
need a laser beam? And coordinates?”

The Bailiwick shrugged, fingers fussing with the sheets and the
dice. “The photon effect isn't strictly necessary,” he admitted. “Consider it a
precondition for the appropriate sense of drama. However, one always needs
coordinates, or else you might end up anywhere in creation. Fortunately, as I've
explained, this is a property of Water and once one of the Water Folk has
slipstreamed, there remains an echo of a trail, like a rivulet tracing a path
through stone, weathering a course through which it can easily flow once again.”
He pointed a clawed finger at her. “You have traveled to Maia's before, as Kurt
explained to me upon my escape, so the coordinates are already available in
you.”

“But I'm not Water Folk,” Joy said, twisting her fingers. “I'm
Earth.”

“I am well aware, Miss Malone,” Graus Claude said, “Hence ‘in
you' is less a turn of phrase and more a literal fact.” He tapped the side of
his head near his eardrum. “The
eelet
inside your
inner ear is one of the Siren's royal breeds, if Dennis Thomas was to be
believed. This would make it one of the Water Folk's creatures and since it has
traveled this route previously while anchored to your skull, it should be able
to carry you back along the route as well.”

Joy blinked. “You want me to be dragged through the Twixt by a
worm in my ear?”

Graus Claude grinned. “You must admit, no one would think of
it.” He didn't laugh. Neither did she. The Bailiwick arched himself forward, the
bed groaning in protest. He enunciated his words to give them the proper weight
and severity. “The longer we dally, the greater the chances of our being
discovered. Master Ink, as well as the Council, demands that we take swift and
decisive action before that time.” Joy hesitated, losing the feeling in her
fingertips. The great frog's eyes softened. His nostrils flared a final sigh.
“Trust me, Miss Malone.”

She took a deep breath and licked her lips. “I trust you.”

He tossed the handful of dice, which rolled across the floor
and landed in a rough circle.

“Go,” he said.

She stepped forward with none of the appropriate drama and,
between one step and the next, disappeared.

FOUR

JOY STUMBLED INTO
the dark, hands bouncing off a wall. Her ear popped. She clapped a hand to it and hoped that the
eelet
was still attached, but without Graus Claude swearing under his breath in Water Tongue, it was impossible to tell.

Joy swore in fluent, fluid English.

She touched the wall again. The soft warmth was familiar; the golden glow of one smooth, unbroken sheet of polished bird's-eye maple. Joy wasn't certain if this was the front door or the back door, but the darkness beyond the soft glow of the wood convinced her that she didn't want to linger on the doorstep any longer than she had to. She stood on a ledge that circled the building—or tree root or trunk or whatever—and she had the sense that she was either very far down or very high up, and to fall off that ledge would be a terrible thing, either way.

She slid her fingers over the shiny surface, feeling for a seam or a button or a knob—anything to indicate a way inside. Finally she decided to knock with her fist.

“Hello?” she said, and was scared silent by the way her voice traveled in the shadows, as if her words had gained wings, fluttering into the black. She knocked again. And again.

The door opened. Councilex Maia stared up at her, blinking owlishly.

“I request sanctuary,” Joy gasped.

The squat, mushroom-y woman stretched herself to Joy's height and beyond, looming taffy-like above her head, squinting down through eyes that were barely slits, her rubbery frown smeared over her chin in a scowl. Joy cringed on the threshold of the Court of Earth.

Maia deflated like a balloon, blobbing back into a wobbly shape. “I imagine ye do,” she said, and stepped back. “I 'ereby grant you sanctuary, Joy Malone.” The pale, round woman shuffled to one side and gestured into the den. “Care for a cuppa?”

Joy walked into the high-ceilinged house full of draping plants, carved furniture and glowing, bulb-like lamps. She nearly collapsed into one of the squashy moss-colored chairs, but held herself firm. “I need to ask you something first.”

“More'n one something, I'd wager,” Maia said with none of her gummy smiles. She was serious-looking even as she kicked the length of her dark hair out of her way and plucked one of the wilting flowers from the wreath on her head. She sniffed it once and ate it. “We've been combing the realms for the likes of you t' throw you before the Council on yer knees. Done us a service and an insult and a favor all at once, reminding us of our King 'n' Queen, an' not a soul knows what t' do about it. But Folks figure it'd be good t' catch ye first an' ask questions later.”

“I don't blame them,” Joy said, still feeling as if she were treading on eggshells made of razor blades. “I made a mess of things, but I want to fix it...if they'll let me.” Neither Joy nor Maia needed to say the name
Sol Leander
, but it hung in the air like rotten perfume. “Still, first things first.” She looked up at the shelves full of flowers and vines and vases and boxes with Maia's
signatura
painted or carved onto every locked surface, its curling teardrop shape surrounding them both. “I need you to swear by the King and Queen and your own True Name that you will not cause me harm by word or deed or intent, nor hinder or hamper my efforts, nor aid any other against me.”

Maia pursed her lips. “You sprang the Bailiwick,” she said matter-of-factly. “Or've spoken wi' him recently. That's his words in your mouth.”

Joy didn't dare answer. “Do you swear it?”

The Earth Seat gave her the fish-eye. “Or else...what?”

“Or else...” Joy said as a furry creature waddled in pushing a tea tray, its frilly apron askew. Joy shrugged, pinching her eyes against an oncoming headache. “I don't know,” she confessed, falling into a chair. The cushions coughed up a
whump
of dust bunnies. “I have no idea. I came here because the Return is important. Because I don't know what else to do, but I'm trying to stay safe long enough to make things right.” She glanced at the squat woman in her cupped armchair. “I came to you because you are Earth and you might be the only one that can help me.”

The furry creature served Maia a cup of tea and burbled as she scratched its fuzzy ears. “An' where's your boy bodyguard, then?”

“Like I said,” Joy muttered, “I'm trying to stay safe.”

“Ach, is that right?” Maia took a sip and settled back in her own chair, perching the warm cup on her belly and wriggling her chubby toes. “All right, I do so swear upon our recently rediscovered King an' Queen an' on my own True Name at that.” She slapped the top of her armrest. “So be it.” She took another contemplative sip as Joy melted into her chair with relief.

Maia's fingers traced the woodwork as her servant snuffled about. “Ye didn't need such a fearsome oath to bind me for sake of that old frog, nor for the gala, neither,” she said. “I wager this is somethin' else—somethin' bigger?” Her dark eyes sparkled and her stretchy smile split sideways. Maia's eagerness reminded Joy of Filly, who was always excited at the prospect of gossip or mayhem.

“Perhaps,” Joy said, watching the furry creature dust the drawers.

“One moment.” Maia gave a few quick grunts in the back of her throat, and the animal obediently dropped on all fours and waddled out the door. Maia rubbed her nose. “Was due for a day off, anyways. An' now we're alone wi'out extra ears.” She clicked her tongue and winked. “Now talk an' we'll see what's what.”

Joy hoped that Graus Claude knew what he was doing. She sat up straight. “What do you know about Elementals?”

A long string of syllables tumbled out of Maia's mouth like a crumbling avalanche. She poured a flask of bright amber liquid into her cup. Joy was glad that her
eelet
only translated Water Tongue. The Councilex took a long drink and started pouring another.

“I'd say 'twas nonsense, but I suspect we know that ain't so.” She eyed Joy with a squint. “I'd say 'twas impossible, but that'd be my head in the sand. An' I'd say it'd be a miracle or a curse or an omen, but who can say that wi'out a soothsayer, an' I'll be damned if I'd let one get a right sniff o' this!” She drank again and smacked her lips, a rosy glow warming the tip of her nose. She shook her head and blinked back tears. “I can't say it ain't so, though I dearly wish t'...” Her voice whispered in her country dialect, the
a
drawing out like a bovine
o
. “But I
can't
!”

Because she knew it was true.

“I was hoping we were wrong,” Joy said.

“Still could be,” Maia said, wiping her nose and draining her cup. “Ye haven't changed yet. The frog might still be righ' that yer too dilute t' manifest, an' that may buy you time.”

Joy seized on the hope. “So it might never happen?”

“Aye, but I doubt many Folk'll be content to dwell in the land of ‘might.'” Maia said. “More like they'd end ye quick 'afore somethin' bad happens.” She drummed her fingers in caterpillar waves. “Well, y'have until ye form a chrysalis. After that, s'all over.” Maia pushed herself to her feet, which plopped on the floor with the sound of raw dough. She waddled through the room, bending and stretching, checking this shelf and that. Joy watched her with a queasy wariness. Maia could unlock any object that bore her
signatura
and who knows what she might have hiding within easy reach?

“A chrysalis?” Joy mumbled after her.

“An Elemental is born of the elements, ye ken? It's an instinct tha' grows inside you t' burrow deep within the earth, pull the soil around you 'til yer encased in rock. The protective layer's like a suit o' armor an' allows the metamorphosis t' happen.” She twisted around to stare at Joy, squeezing an eye in her direction like a zit. “Yer flesh melds with the Earth, yer bones melt and yer insides change t' match the outside. The chrysalis becomes the part o' yer body attached t' the world.” She nodded to herself as she took her usual shape. “I hunted Earth Elementals back in the Old Days, being of Earth m'self. I had t' watch their habits, foller their patterns, learn their ways—s'only way t' beat 'em.” She shot Joy a sideways glance. “I'd know how t' kill you if ye hadn't bound me. Smart thing, that.” She waved her hands as if drying them. “Well, so, if we can keep ye from bein' bound in stone, there might be time enough t' let it run its course. Ye can die a mortal death, a natural lifetime before anything 'appens.” She tugged her lips. “Maybe.”

“I've been encased in rock before,” Joy said. “And nothing...like that happened.” The words squeezed out of her mouth. She couldn't say “nothing happened” because something
had
happened when she'd been captured by mud golems while camping with her father and brother at Lake James. She'd been wrapped in a tomb of stone, asphyxiating in the dark, when she'd realized that she could breathe through her toes. They'd burrowed into the earth, touching something awesome and ancient and cold with fury. She'd tapped into that power and foreign fury and blown the golem-cage to pieces. Stef thought it had been Filly, who had come to rescue her, and Joy hadn't corrected him. She'd never told anyone what had really happened, remembering the rush of anger and the taste of old, old ice.

And it had happened again in the Atrium.

“Ye've felt it, haven't you?” Maia said shrewdly.

The answer was easy but flavored with something dark, shameful. “Yes.”

“Ach, it's a heady wine, power like that,” Maia said. “They were of the Wild, y'understand, drunk on life, with the power to birth and destroy at will, to smash down the world an' drink it back up, crush it all to dust an' shape it into life again. Aye, that's what it means t' be Earth.” She eyed Joy with a calculated wariness. “Anything else changed, then?”

Joy hesitated, which spoke volumes in the quiet. “I...lost my heart.”

“Not to the Scribe?” Maia said casually. “Oh! Ye mean literal-like?”

“My heart stopped beating.” Joy said the impossible words and, because she spoke them aloud, she knew it was true. It trembled on her tongue. “I don't have a heartbeat anymore! I don't know how it happened, but it's gone.” She rubbed her eyes and felt a pinch in her nose. “At first, I thought it was Briarhook who'd done something, but now...I think it's this.”

“Oh, aye,” Maia said, sounding unconcerned. “Makes sense. An Elemental is part o' the earth, the skin an' bones of the world. What need you for heart and blood and such? You'll be feelin' the beat o' the planet, the pulse o' the Earth, the shift of land and lava and salt. You can eat an' drink an' breathe through the soil. Yer becomin' part of the world—the great Maker, the All-Mother—what need you of a mortal heart?”

“But I
want
my heart!” Joy said. “I need it to stay human, to be mortal, to be
me
.”

Maia toasted her with an empty cup. “Well, good. Not so far gone, then. Still, like as not, Folk'll not take th' news well, so best not share it lengthwise. If the Scribe suspects, he's not said a word, nor will he if'n what you say's true, an' ye've got the Bailiwick and I in yer confidence. That's no small thing. But the Council...” She circled the chairs and tapped Joy on the back with a wormy finger. “Ye wear your True Name on your flesh—you'd be better off if ye had more friends than foes at yer back, I warrant.” She stuck out a fat lower lip. “Might have an idea 'bout that,” she said slowly. “Know someone who knows somethin' about such things as this. Not many would spare you a word, mind you—ye left the gala in quite a state, but mark me, they won't forget it soon!”

Joy twisted her fingers in her lap. “Sorry about the hair comb.”

“Why?” Maia sounded genuinely puzzled. “Tha's what it was for—t' keep ye breathing.” Her smile stretched from ear to ear. “Yer
mine
an' some Folk need be reminded that Earth is nothin' t' take lightly. We're this world's hearth and home. We might be portly an' matronly, offerin' up a warm cup, a hot meal an' a playful bed, but let them not forget that we birth mountains and swallow rivers, bury forests and shatter lands—Earth can be terrible as well as terribly kind, but both words're rooted in terror an' awe.” She winked. “Aye, yer one o' mine an' I'm proud t' have you so long as ye keep yer skin intact.” Her voice left no doubt that there was an unsaid,
Or else.
Councilex Maia blinked and the threat was gone, leaving a portly, kindly matron with an empty cup in her hand.

“Never expected the bit wi' the lamps, o' course.” She sniffed and tossed the mug over her shoulder. It hit the floor and rolled thickly against the rug. “But that's one o' the joys in life—the unexpected!” Her face brightened. “Aye! I bets I know
one
who knows 'bout fending off the change, but ye should let me make the call. If you tried it, like as not you'd be turned in to the Council, an' not a thing I could do 'bout it 'afore you're thrown six ways to the wind.” The stumpy woman eyed her, lips pursed, looking smug. “What say you?”