Invincible (6 page)

Something in Maia's eyes made her leery, but Joy found she couldn't think of one reason to say no. “Okay,” Joy said. “Arrange a meeting. I—” She tried to say “I trust you,” but found she couldn't do it. Embarrassed, she swallowed back her polite lie. Maia pretended not to notice.

“Thank you,” Joy said instead.

“Aye,” Maia said. “You'll be thanking me plenty before this is over.” She patted Joy's arm. “Now ye better get goin' t' yer safe house right quick.”

Joy nodded and picked up her phone, dialing her home number, letting it ring twice and hanging up. It was mere moments before there was a sound like a low gong emanating from the wall. Maia toddled over and opened the door. A hum of energy spun on the threshold, a Spirograph in space. That was her ride. Joy stood up quickly and bowed.

“Thank you, Councilex Maia, for all of your help.”

Maia patted Joy on her doorstep. “I envy you, girl,” she said softly, outlined in the ward's ghostly light. “Yer on the lip o' something grand, no mistake, but I wouldn't trade places wi' you for all the world.” Her gaze burned as she whispered, “Not for the
world
.”

* * *

“A cautionary tale, a shred of hope and an arranged meeting with a mysterious benefactor,” Graus Claude concluded. “Hardly conclusive, but it certainly could have been worse.” He surveyed Stef's bedroom sourly. His stomach grumbled. “Much worse.”

In Joy's absence, Graus Claude had managed to find a tarp, a large bucket and sponge from under the sink, and was currently squatting in the middle of the blue plastic, patting his exposed skin to keep it moist. Their conversation was punctuated with soft, delicate squishes and the pitter-patter of droplets hitting the tarp-covered floor. Joy tried to ignore it. Graus Claude's eyes dared her to comment.

“At least we know that Councilex Maia cannot work against you in this matter, given that she swore her oath,” Graus Claude said as two hands wrung out the sponge. “She is honorable...in her own way.”

Joy might have said that the same could be said about him, but not within earshot.

“So, what? We're back where we started? Sitting around waiting?” Joy glared out at the sky. It had been almost no time at all.

“No, Miss Malone. We have an ally of sorts, a possible expert in your area of inquiry and proof that even without my vast resources at my disposal I remain a force to be reckoned with.” His smile was guileless and proud. “However, I do not believe that Maia has the breadth of experience and understanding of the possible ramifications as I do. Foresight is a skill that comes from large quantities of data that have been meticulously studied for trends over hundreds of years—hence why my investment portfolios often prove so lucrative.” Joy was glad that some of her earnings had been included in one of those portfolios back when she had been working for the Bailiwick. She'd never asked to see what amount Enrique had left her in his will, but had turned it over to Graus Claude at the first opportunity, knowing he would manage it until her twenty-first birthday. Engaging the Bailiwick as her broker was the most grown-up thing she'd ever done, and neither of her parents knew about it. “Yet between Maia's confirmation of the Council's position and the King's declaration, I fear that we are not where we began, but far worse off.”

Joy stilled. “What do you mean?”

“The Elementals were beings of chaos, you understand, creatures of the Wild that were true to their most primal nature and disavowed the limitations of rules and obligations.” The Bailiwick squeezed out another sluice of water, wringing the sponge between two of his hands. “The King and Queen removed them from the world, safeguarding both our people and yours. They spoke the Twixt into being and so it was.” He hesitated, a guarded look hooding his eyes. “Similarly, the King and Queen declared that once freed of Elementals, the world would know peace.”

Joy waited for the rest of the sentence, but there was only silence. “That doesn't sound so bad,” she hazarded.

“Yes, but you see, whatever they spoke into being became the rules under which we survived, absolute and inviolate, as I've previously described. Therefore, if there were no Elementals, we would be safe. Ergo, if the opposite were true...” He sighed, a deep rumble of regret. “Then I am afraid that the reverse would also be true, in accordance with the rules.” His icy eyes flicked up to look at her from beneath his prominent ridge. “If a true Elemental returned to our world, then the Folk and the humans would no longer be safe. There would be war between us, and there would be no hope of Return.” His voice crumbled her pride to dust. “If you are a descendant of Elementals, then you would thus qualify as the Destroyer of Worlds.”

Joy stared at him, ice racing through her veins. “No,” she whispered. “No, that can't be...” And yet the words echoed Maia's. The implications sank in. “But I'm not!”

“Not yet,” Graus Claude agreed. “And that is why it is imperative that we bring the King and Queen back to ensure that it shall not be.” His four hands slapped his long, banded thighs. “Your initial theory of how to best reverse the change is, in fact, our best option—to convince the King and Queen to Return and undo their proclamation and your state of being is our best hope. In fact, I would wager that you may be the only one who can do it, as there are few who possess the knowledge of what may be to come, and I cannot accompany you through the door. No one else save Maia and Master Ink know the extent of these implications as omens of a next Age, and they have both been neatly bound.” The Bailiwick ran a clawed hand across the length of his chin. “I admit I am greatly impressed by his ability to have accurately assessed the situation—another coup to my credit, I suppose.”

“The next Age?” Joy echoed. It sounded like something Aniseed's clone might say in her thin, wretched voice.

“Time is a long, winding river road,” he said. “The Folk have come to know its tides and swells, its tributaries, its swamps and switchback turns. Years have a shape to them, a pattern, an era, and each of our eras have been marked by an Age. Perhaps it is time for the Age of Man to finally be at an end. Perhaps the Golden Age that Aniseed promised has begun?” Joy froze at his words. His eye ridge quirked. “But not yet, I think. And I would not welcome it any more than you.”

She exhaled in a rush, adrenaline skittering down her limbs. She shuffled back and forth on her heels, unable to pace, taking half steps and turning back, unsure where to go or what to do. She felt caged, trapped. Her fingers wrung nothing but air.

“So what now?” she squeaked.

“It would behoove us to consider that the best course of action may be to ‘lie low' until Kurt or Maia or one of your other associates makes contact. It has not been long enough for us to accrue formal charges to speak before the Council—my preemptive freedom from incarceration notwithstanding—but they will no doubt be very interested to speak with you,” he said archly. “Your voluntary cooperation will likely be considered optional.”

“Great. So we're just supposed to sit and wait, praying my father doesn't bump into you in the meantime?”

The Bailiwick squeezed the sponge over his head. Water coursed down his jowls and off the crest of his chin. “Indeed, that would be best for both of our sakes,” he said. “However, I suspect you and I both chafe at the idea of ‘doing nothing' and, given the severity of our situation and the instability of our positions reminiscent of our preparations for your gala, I believe you already know what course of action I would advise.”

Joy stopped pacing. “Yeah,” she said, remembering. A slow smile spread across her lips. “We cheat.”

FIVE

JOY CHECKED THE
peephole before opening the door and gratefully accepted a large latte from her best friend.

“You are a wonderful human being!” Joy said, and sipped the edge of drizzled foam.

“It's true,” Monica agreed. “And I know for a fact that you can't lie.”

Joy grinned. “Thanks for coming.” She shut the door and locked it with the bolt, the chain and set the alarm.

“Always,” Monica said breezily. “Although perhaps four o'clock on Monday morning isn't my finest hour. I'll be expecting a call from Gordon, 'cuz I kind of left him hanging and he was
not
happy, but sisters before misters.” She licked her whipped cream. “I figured this was an emergency, but I didn't know what to bring besides coffee and this—” She took the ox bone letter opener out of her purse. Joy had borrowed Monica's gift from her aunt Meredith in order to sever the Amanya spell at its source: Graus Claude.

Joy gulped. “Why did you bring that?”

Monica frowned. “It's the only thing that I know works in this Twix world of yours.”

Joy laughed. “It's the Twixt, like ‘betwixt' this world and another one. Twix is a candy bar.”

Monica smiled. “Mmm. Just like my caramel mochaccino.”

Joy shut the cover on the alarm. “Did you get in okay? Did you see anyone?”

“Normal people are sleeping. Although there are some crazy joggers around at this hour...”

“I meant did you
See
anyone?” She raised her eyebrows meaningfully.

“Oh,” Monica said with sudden understanding. “No. I mean, not since I saw you and your boy leave the baseball field yesterday. I even looked on my way home,” she confessed. “In the park, in the garden and in the cemetery on East. I admit I still think you could be pulling my leg.” She wagged the letter opener at Joy. “I also saw that funky arrow thing on my face—
not
an attractive feature.” Joy felt a curl of guilt twist her gut. Now that Monica had the Sight, she could also see the
signatura
embedded in the scar that marked her as being under Sol Leander's auspice. It was Joy's fault that Monica had been wounded by the Red Knight and thereby claimed by the Tide's representative. Sol Leander was the guardian of victims of unprovoked attacks. “Last I heard, you were headed to a big to-do in an invisible Ferrari.” Monica took a long look at Joy. “Please tell me you didn't wear
that
to some fairy-tale ball.”

Joy plucked at her T-shirt and shorts, her toes waggling in mismatched socks. “No,” she said. “I changed when I got home. You would have approved of my ball gown, trust me.”

“Pics or it didn't happen.”

Joy shrugged. “Sorry. No flash photography.” The Folk didn't have reflections, so they didn't show up in mirrors or cameras. Joy waved around the empty kitchen. “Dad's at Shelley's, Stef's gone and my date's not here. Consider this the after-party.”

“Swanky,” Monica said. “So how did it go?”

“The word
pitchforks
comes to mind.”

“That good, huh?” Monica winced. “Ouch.”

“Yeah. It's a long story.” Joy swallowed more warm, sweet caffeine. The throbbing in her temples could have been the beat of her heart if she'd had one anymore. Her smile faltered.
One conniption fit at a time
, she reminded herself. First, survive impending doom. Then, stop changing into something inhuman. For dessert, get the King and Queen to come back from Heaven and save both the worlds.
Oh yeah. Piece of cake.

Monica pointed toward Joy's room with the ox bone dagger. “Well, I freed up the morning to hang out with my bestie and left a message for Gordon to ping me later so we could rearrange plans, so in the meanwhile we can
OH JESUS
!” Monica rankled like a cat hit with a boot, spying Graus Claude squatting in front of Stef's old TV. “DOWN!” she screamed. “GET DOWN!” She grabbed a pen off Stef's nightstand and made a shaky cross with the letter opener.

“Whoa! Whoa! Whoa!” Joy jumped in front of Monica, hoping to shield her friend from Graus Claude's response. The Bailiwick didn't take kindly to disrespect, and surprise could be mistaken for an insult. Joy cringed, expecting a bellow or a stern lecture as she waved her arms in front of Monica's eyes. It took Joy a moment to realize that the Bailiwick had prostrated himself obligingly against the floor, all four arms spread-eagled in meek submission. She was obscenely grateful that he was willing to play along. She'd forgotten to tell him that she'd given her best friend the Sight.

“It's okay,” she said aloud, to herself and Monica and Graus Claude. “Everybody calm down.”

“What
is
it?!” Monica shouted.

“
It
is wondering if anyone bothers to dust beneath the furniture,” Graus Claude said. “The filth is appalling.” He sneezed. The explosive shudder shook his massive body and flopped his burly arms. His head swiveled to glare at the two of them in the doorway. Monica's breath hitched at the sight of his baleful, blue eyes. “Am I permitted to get up without further incident?”

His ire was like cold syrup. Joy nodded. Monica, too.

“Yeah,” her friend said weakly. “Yeah. Sure.”

The Bailiwick very slowly got to his feet, unfolding his impressive height like a magician's trick. He straightened out his stout limbs and the long, winding chain of his spine, settling himself into his usual, impressive hunch—his scoliosis hump stood seven feet at the shoulder. His head retained its palsy shake as two hands straightened what was left of his suit shirt and the other two tugged at the four stained and crumpled cuffs. His gaze never left Monica, exuding his usual impression that he was a grand and noble amphibian, the infamous Bailiwick, comptroller between worlds, and no one to trifle with.

A few droplets of sponge water pattered against the tarp.

Monica stood rigid, terrified. Joy sighed. This was not the best first impression in the world.

“Monica, this is my mentor and friend, the Bailiwick, Graus Claude,” she said smoothly. “Graus Claude, may I present my best friend, Monica Reid.”

The icy blue glare never wavered. “Miss Malone has spoken highly of your friendship.”

“Y-yeah,” Monica stammered. “Thanks. She's the best.” Monica grabbed Joy's biceps. “Will you please excuse us for a moment?” She dragged Joy back into the hall. Graus Claude watched them go, intense as a cat.

“Indeed,” he rumbled as they fled into Joy's room. Joy just managed to get inside the door as Monica slammed it shut.

“HolyMaryMotherofGod,” Monica spat. “You never said there was something in here!”

Joy winced. She hadn't. “To be fair, I never told him that you could see him, either,” she said as she glanced back at her door. “He's got to be pretty freaked out.”

“
He's
freaked out?” Monica squeaked. “I nearly swallowed my tongue back there!” She dropped the pen and the letter opener on the desk and fussed with her hair. She'd gotten extensions, long, dark waves like chocolate curls. Her hands trembled.

“I'm sorry,” Joy said. “Really. I'd hoped to introduce you under better circumstances.” Although she had to admit, any circumstances would have been better than these. “I thought you two would really get along.”

“I'm taken, thanks,” Monica said with a hint of her usual smarm. Some of the umber color was coming back to her cheeks. “What
is
it?”

“A giant frog, I think,” Joy said. “Maybe a toad? I confuse the two.”

“I mean is it...” Monica sat on the edge of the computer desk. “Is it a
demon
?”

“What? No! He's the Bailiwick,” Joy said. “And he is one of the most powerful people in the Twixt. He's a member of the ruling Council—or, at least, he was before his arrest—or maybe that doesn't matter now that the King and Queen are about to Return...
if
they agree to Return...which I now seriously doubt.” She dropped onto her bed and curled a pillow into her lap. “I'm not sure it would be a good thing, anyway, having them Return, considering they've got an angry army at their back ready to attack the human world.” Joy buried her face in the pillow, muffling her words. “I seriously screwed up.”

“Yeah? I get that,” Monica said, her voice slipping into Peer Counselor mode. “Do you want to tell me about it?”

Joy rested her chin on her pillow, her face wet.
“Yes.”

* * *

“...and when we got out, we left Stef behind with Dmitri; Kurt, Graus Claude's bodyguard, was looking for Inq; Filly and Avery were fighting our way out and we barely made it to the car in time before Raina, Luiz and Ilhami had to shoot down some cloaking magic to cover our exit.” Joy was almost all talked-out, dimly realizing that Monica probably couldn't follow half of what she was saying, but it was good to say it out loud, anyway. She rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand. It was almost six in the morning. “For all I know, Briarhook led the mob straight to us.” She wrung her pillow in her fists. “We may have bargained for him to find and free the Bailiwick, but we never said anything about helping us escape Under the Hill.” Joy blinked up at the ceiling. “Or maybe we did. Kurt did the negotiations, and he's pretty thorough. Maybe I'm just being paranoid.”

“Being paranoid doesn't mean that everybody's not out to get you,” Monica said wryly. “And, in your case, both sides of this thing sound like they might be itching to do just that.” Her best friend gave a deep sigh that ended in a yawn. “I tell you, Joy, you don't do things by halves.”

Joy rubbed her face. “Yeah. When I screw up, I go all out.” She blinked up at the ceiling and pressed her hands to her stomach. Lying on her bed made her think about how little time had passed since her family's camping weekend, since the gala and the jailbreak and opening the door into Faeland, the last glimpse of a charging army and Ink's bitter leaving. Time did funny things when you were zipping between the real world, Folk Heaven and the Twixt. “Just keep your voice down,” she said quietly. “I don't want Kermit the Hutt knowing every gruesome detail.”

“Miss Malone,” Graus Claude's powerful voice called down the hall. Both girls sat up straight. “I find it laboriously inconvenient to maneuver down your narrow hallway, so might I request an audience that does not require shouting?” There was a pause as Joy and Monica stared at one another, exchanging silent questions with their eyebrows. Monica pointed a suggestive thumb out the window. Joy mimed hanging herself by a noose. “And honesty forces me to add that your walls are paper thin,” he grumbled. “I can hear the both of you breathing.”

Joy covered her face in her hands. Monica let out a sigh. Together they stood up and crossed the hall with all the enthusiasm of visiting the principal's office. Joy peered around the doorjamb; Monica peeked over her shoulder, keeping the ox bone blade in one fist. Graus Claude sat in a lotus position, a picture of calm serenity, until he saw them staring. A tic twitched at his eye.

“I gather that we are now all up-to-date on current events?” His deep bass voice rumbled. Joy flinched. A grin softened the corners of his lips. “Very good,” he said. “Our alliances are our strength.” He pointed a claw at Monica. “You will stay here and keep Miss Malone company until such time as we can find a suitable escort for her future travels.” Monica planted her fists on her hips. She'd obviously been planning to stick by Joy anyway; she just didn't want to be
ordered
to do it. She turned to Joy, ignoring the enormous frog.

“And your boy, Ink, isn't here, why?”

Joy groaned. “Until I can convince him that I'm not going to Hulk out and turn into an Elemental, he thinks it isn't safe to be near me, or vice versa.”

Monica smirked. “Yeah, Gordon says he feels that way every twenty-eight days.”

“Ha!”

“Ladies,
please
,” Graus Claude gurgled, clearly pained by the topic of women's hygiene. “If we theorize that the change is slowed due to your distant, diluted heritage, then perhaps human magic might succeed where Folk magic would not?”

“You mean like wizard magic?” Joy said.

“I have heard such magics cannot cancel out one another, but they can adjust results to suit.”

“Ooo! Like the fairy godmothers in Sleeping Beauty?” Monica asked.

Graus Claude looked at her levelly. “Quite,” he said, over-enunciating the
t
.

“Well, Stef's not here, but his master's nearby.” Joy tried to ignore Monica's
'Scuse me?
face.

“Yes. But you should not seek out the Wizard Vinh until we can locate a capable bodyguard.” He turned his face toward the window, ignoring Monica's insulted
“Hey!”