Insidious Read online

  “I have a scalpel,” Joy said. She wasn’t thrilled at the idea of having a spell placed on it even if she liked having a way to prove the traitor’s guilt and get the Council to believe her as quickly as possible. She had no idea what would happen if she used the scalpel for something other than erasing marks, but remembered quite vividly the gaping, black wounds on Inq’s body and Ink’s throat as she sliced them closed, as well as the horrible moment when she’d erased the Red Knight. She didn’t know if she could use it for severing a memory spell, but there were some things she wished that she could forget.

  Hai shook his head. “Sorry, that won’t work,” he said. “It needs to be a ritual blade, bone or stone, preferably. Those work better than metal or glass, but no plastic or artificial composites—they’ll melt under pressure.” He tore off the note and handed it to her. “Fortunately, you can find anything on eBay.”

  Joy took the paper, mind whirling. “Thanks,” she said. “But I think I got it. I’ll be back a little later.” She swiped her phone on as she backed out of the store, pushing her way out into the sunshine, warm on her back. The call connected after the very first ring.

  “Feeling better?” Monica chirped.

  “It’s been a day,” Joy said. “Listen, mind if I borrow your letter opener?”

  * * *

  Joy came home at five-fifteen with a large Fiji water and an ensorcelled bone blade. Monica had met her at Starbucks for iced coffees and a kind ear after she’d told her friend that Ink had left her bedroom with another girl’s name on his lips. Monica had raged in sisterly sympathy and had handed over Aunt Meredith’s gift with barely a raised eyebrow. Joy hadn’t even bothered making up lame excuses and simply promised to give it back soon. It said a lot about their friendship. That was what best friends were for: a safe shoulder, a strong cup of coffee and random sharp, pointy objects.

  Joy was taking a drink and fishing for her keys as she rounded the stairwell. Given her purse was full of magic, including a scalpel, a dowsing rod, a pouch full of vellum and an ox-bone letter opener, she shouldn’t have been too surprised to find her boyfriend zipping through a hole in space outside her door, but it shocked her enough that she splashed bottled water down her front.

  Her hips shot back and water dripped off her shirt onto the carpet. She swallowed enough air to choke, forcing funny, sneezing sounds through her nose. Ink looked apologetic and moved toward her.

  “Joy,” he said. “I am sorry.”

  She swallowed again, coughed twice more and shook excess moisture off her arm. “For this or for last night’s disappearing act?” she asked.

  Ink dropped his chin. “Raina said that I handled that poorly.”

  Joy glared at him. “Raina said that, huh?” She unlocked the front door and pushed it open with a shove. “Did she say anything else?”

  Ink followed behind her, guileless and frank. “She said that I should apologize and not do it again,” he said. “Leave you alone suddenly, that is, not get undressed in your room. She thought that showed promise.”

  Joy stopped and turned sharply, rendered temporarily mute. She gaped at him. He blinked innocently. Joy shook her head and dropped her things on the table.

  “I seriously do not believe you,” she said.

  Ink frowned, confused. “You know I cannot lie.”

  “That’s not what I meant!” Joy said and stopped, squeezing her eyes shut for a moment. When she opened them again, Ink was watching her, looking more and more bewildered.

  “I should not have left,” he said, hazarding a guess.

  “No, you should not have left,” Joy spat back. “But that isn’t the point.”

  Ink cocked his head. “It isn’t?”

  Joy flung her hands up. “No, it isn’t!” she shouted. “It’s about Raina!”

  “Raina?” Ink repeated. “What does Raina have to do with it?”

  Joy put her hands on her hips. “You tell me!”

  Ink’s eyebrows moved, and his lips parted, trying on different expressions as he watched her pace the length of the kitchen. He slid his fingers along his wallet chain, jiggling the links between his fingers.

  “I am uncertain what to say,” Ink confessed. “You are upset and I wish I knew why so that I could help—” his voice faltered at the glare she gave him “—you stop looking at me like that.”

  Joy stopped and crossed her arms, steeling herself. “Just tell me this, so I know—so it’s all out there, okay?” She licked her lips and steadied her breathing. “Are you sleeping with Raina?”

  “What?” Ink said. “No.”

  It wasn’t enough. Not knowing the slippery language of the Twixt. “I mean intercourse.”

  Ink stammered, thrown. “Inter—what?”

  “Are you having sex with her?” Joy asked, point-blank.

  There was a sudden silence. Then Ink smiled, one dimple. Joy could have hit him just for that, but he was all the way across the room. He shook his head very slightly, daring to look amused. “No.”

  “Are you—” she struggled to find another euphemism for not-quite-having-sex-but-doing-something-else “—exploring with Raina? Or anyone else, in any way...physical?” she said, trying to make her anger and worries and fears sound less stupid as she said them aloud, but she was quickly losing steam as he stepped closer, a second dimple appearing and his eyes growing deep. He stood within inches. Her head filled with the scent of rain.

  “Well?” she said. “Are you?”

  “No,” he said softly. “The only exploring I wish to do is with you.” His gaze lowered and lifted, both shy and delighted.

  Joy felt her cheeks warm. She wobbled and backed against a chair. “Oh.”

  He smiled. “So,” he said, head tilted just so. “While I would like to offer to make amends and convince you of my sincerity, Inq sent me with a request to bring you to the Bailiwick’s office.” His hand hovered, decidedly not-touching a curl of hair by her eye. She could almost feel him there. Almost. He looked at her with a smile still tugging his lips. “She said it was at your behest.”

  Joy tingled, her feelings flipping over. This was it! Inq would tell him everything and it would be out in the open. She’d have the dowsing rod, the name of the spell, and they could undo every bad thing that had happened, including her changing into some inhuman something-or-Other Than. She’d deal with this Raina thing later. Relief hit her like another cold shower.

  Joy launched past Ink and grabbed her purse, tucking the curl behind her ear. “Yes,” she said. “Right. I did. Let’s go!”

  Ink calmly stepped beside her as she bounced in place. She could hardly stand still. He didn’t know it yet, but Joy had managed the impossible. Ink would finally know who he was, where he came from—he would even meet his mother!—and, together, they would set her and everyone else free.

  Ink opened his hand to her, still smiling, still innocent, but growing bolder.

  “Perhaps later?” he said.

  Joy curled her hand into his.

  “Perhaps.”

  Ink smiled, both dimples, and sliced them through space with a scent of limes.

  NINE

  JOY FELT BETTER standing outside the brownstone, properly waiting to be let in. She bumped into the decorative bamboo as they waited for Kurt, excited and nervous, still reeling from her talk with Ink and the leftover angst about Raina. The secret was now bubbling inside her, giddy and impatient, ready to burst out.

  The stone step reminded Joy of the damp stairway inside Graus Claude and the princess who was waiting for this reunion. Joy wondered how Inq was going to explain it to him. Not my problem. She gave Ink a quick kiss on the cheek.

  “What was that for?” he said.

  “For you,” she said. “For luck.”

  Ink tucked his hand into his pocket. “What
about the four-leaf clover?”

  Joy smirked at him. “That’s mine.”

  Kurt answered the door, and they filed inside.

  The cream-colored foyer was empty. No one was waiting for an audience with the comptroller of the Twixt, so the three of them walked straight to the back office down the sconce-lit hall of antique oil portraits and gilded mirrors. Joy avoided looking at Kurt, but that was because he was avoiding looking at her and was better at it. She tried not to think too hard about the last time they’d been here together—that had been awkward, to say the least. She wondered how she was going to manage to look Graus Claude in the eye without thinking about what lay under his tongue.

  And Kurt had had to do that every day.

  She privately hoped that the Bailiwick would already be frozen, mouth open and eyes glassy, and Inq would be there, all brass and vinegar, waiting for them with a ready explanation, but Joy and Ink walked into the office to find Graus Claude grinning in his massive chair, a long velvet case spread across his desk.

  “Splendid,” he rumbled. “Do come in. I have something to show you.”

  Joy tried to catch Kurt’s eye as he closed the door, but failed. She looked around the office, uncertain. She didn’t see Inq anywhere.

  Joy sat down on one of the chairs, and Ink took the one next to her, still smiling in anticipation. She was too distracted to keep up the pretense. Ink noticed. One dimple disappeared.

  “Miss Malone,” Graus Claude spoke, and her attention snapped to him. He smiled with sharks’ teeth, his icy blue eyes alight. “These are for you.” He slid the box toward her with great aplomb. Joy took it and slid her fingertips over the black velvet fuzz before opening it. Inside was an incredibly long string of pearls fastened with a sparkling clasp of yellow stones.

  “They are stunning,” Ink observed. He’d become adept at compliments while preparing for dinner with Joy’s family. She dimly remembered that the word stunning was reserved for beautiful-things-for-women. They’d made a spreadsheet.

  “Aren’t they?” Graus Claude said, sounding pleased. “Well, go on, pick it up.” Joy felt the smooth golden pearls slide over her fingers as she lifted the heavy necklace. “Each one is flawless, matched for color and luster, particularly fine specimens for our purposes, don’t you agree?” The great toad puffed up his chest. “I pride myself on using only the best materials.”

  “I’m—” Joy shook her head, still trying to redirect her thoughts from Inq’s absence to the fortune hanging heavy in her hands. “It’s beautiful. You made this?”

  “Indeed,” he said, pushing to stand, two of his hands on the chair and two reaching out to thread the pearls between them. “I made it for you—for your gala affair,” his voice purred in its deep-bellied bass. “Try it on.”

  Joy stood and bowed, feeling the necklace pass over her ponytail and drop cool and hard along the back of her neck. The pearls slid against her skin as she stood, almost instantly warming to the touch. The decorative pin let the pearls slide between the clasps, adjusting the length. Graus Claude snapped it delicately closed at her waist and lifted himself to his full height to admire the effect. His eyes glinted beneath his browridge.

  “Let’s try them out,” he said. Joy touched the pearls, confused. The Bailiwick smiled wickedly. “If I were representing the Hur Barruk, how would you greet me?”

  Joy’s head filled with a cool, white fog, a whisper without words. “I’d stomp my right foot and hold my palms out flat,” she said while demonstrating. The answer had appeared in her mind without warning. The great toad smiled, wide and flinty.

  “Very good,” he said. “And if one of the Hollow asks for your hand?”

  Joy felt the pearls’ wisdom. “I would say, ‘Only if you lend me your breath.’” She glanced at Ink, who raised his eyebrows.

  “Excellent.” Graus Claude beamed. “I imagine that will help smooth things along nicely.” He chuckled, a distant thunder in his chest. “I have imbued each pearl with a bit of knowledge. Strung together, they should provide an adequate conduit of information that can be transmitted by the eelet into your inner ear via bone conduction.” He tapped one of his claws against the necklace and gave a self-congratulatory chuckle. “Pearls are a particular specialty of mine.” He gently tugged the strand into place. “Unfortunately, I could not knot them properly, else it would interrupt the necessary conduit. Also, know that this can only advise you with introductions and not prolonged interactions, so it would be best if you kept your conversations brief. It is a temporary solution, at best, but one which could well save your skin.” He pursed his lips, pinching them with one hand as the other three sat on his hips. “Your dress is another matter worth consideration. Gold is traditional. White is passé. Would you prefer a more modern design or a formal ball gown?” He scratched his olive brow. “While Sol Leander dismissed a masque for the evening, it might behoove you to have a thematic ensemble, as is tradition. I would think the more commonly accepted customs we invoke in our favor, the better.”

  Joy was still toying with the length of pearls in her hand, a fortune in semiprecious cheat sheets. “I have no idea,” she said. “But I trust your sense of style.”

  “You flatter me, Miss Malone,” he said. “Do you have any opinion regarding your attire? I am not familiar with current social dance fashions.”

  Joy shrugged. “I went to the Girl Scouts’ Daddy-Daughter Dance when I was nine,” she said. “Otherwise, I wear club gear.”

  Graus Claude paused. “You do not know how to dance?”

  “I know how to dance!” Joy said defensively.

  “The waltz? The contra? The pavane?”

  Joy frowned. “I’ve heard of a waltz.”

  Graus Claude rolled his eyes heavenward. “By the Swells...” he sighed. “Perhaps a second strand is in order.”

  “And I?” Ink spoke up.

  “You?” Graus Claude said, surprised. “What about you?”

  “I should learn, as well,” Ink said. “I will be her escort, after all.”

  The Bailiwick clapped his hands together in sets of twos. “Ah. Indeed. Another knot in the noose,” he said. “No matter. Cuff links will suit admirably.” One finger per hand pointed to each of them. “Black,” he said at Ink. “Gold,” he said at Joy. “Transformation, metamorphosis—damselfly, I should think. Hunter, sharp-edged—heron,” he declared finally. Joy and Ink exchanged glances.

  “Don’t herons eat frogs?” Joy asked.

  “Don’t be impertinent,” Graus Claude warned. “I will not be the one on the hunt, nor, I wager, will I be the prey. Not directly, in any case. In any event, you may leave the details in my capable hands—” he gestured magnanimously “—or, more specifically, my tailor’s.”

  Joy kept her grin. “I hear you have an excellent tailor.”

  Graus Claude’s browridge quirked. Ink blushed. Joy was surprised that it was a true blush, a shade of delicate pink. How did he do that?

  “I do,” the Bailiwick said firmly. “She is without peer.”

  Ink smoothed his hands down the front of his shirt and stood up. Joy removed the pearls and slid them into the velvet box, still waiting for Inq to appear. She arranged the strands into straight lines, stalling for time.

  “Thank you, Bailiwick, for your generosity and attention to detail,” Ink said. “We are both very grateful.”

  “Well, it is not the least I can do, but it is a pittance compared to maintaining appearances and my charge’s good graces.” He inclined his great head to her. “It will be my honor and privilege to welcome you both properly into our society and disappoint those colleagues who might underestimate us,” he said. “Would that I could spare you from it longer, but a deservedly smug victory will have to suffice.” The gargantuan amphibian looked positively delighted at the prospect. Joy was getting more nervous, her insides flut
tering like the proposed damselflies. Where is she?

  “Now,” Graus Claude said, taking his seat once again, “if there is nothing else, I will bid you good day.”

  Ink moved to go, but Joy hesitated, still waiting for some sign of Inq. She glanced at Kurt opening the doors. He looked at her knowingly, daring her to...what? Put the pieces together? Ink said that Inq had asked him to bring her, but Inq wasn’t here. They were alone with Graus Claude. No, the Bailiwick.

  Joy stiffened.

  Oh, no. She wouldn’t... Joy thought. She wouldn’t dare!

  But Joy knew that Inq certainly would.

  She’d typed it herself, that stupid ultimatum: Tell Inq that “when” is now & I want to be there or I’m telling him first.

  Checkmate.

  Joy spun around quickly, her voice cracking in panic. “I demand entrance to the Bailiwick!”

  Graus Claude slowed, solidifying in place, his eyes misting over as his mouth opened wider, his tongue curling back upon itself and revealing the set of stone steps going down. Ink stared at the transformation with something like terror, one of his razors already in hand.

  Joy came from around the desk, her footsteps unnaturally loud on the floor.

  “It’s okay,” she said, taking Ink’s hand. “I want to show you something.”

  * * *

  Ink stepped into the grove, wide-eyed and alert. Joy trailed behind him, feeling a familiar mix of nervousness, excitement and dread. She wanted to tell him to put away his straight razor, but didn’t—he’d find out soon enough that there was no reason to fear. Still, the butterflies in her stomach had turned into bees.

  He stepped into the stillness of the unnatural forest, his eyes skipping over the bubbling brook, the knotted trees and the waving meadow grasses. Joy watched him puzzling out the details, trying to make them fit. She tried to be patient and not so nervous, but the place prickled her skin.

  “What is this?” he breathed.

  “It is the Bailiwick,” Joy said. “A pocket universe inside of the Twixt.” She moved to touch him but hesitated; his every move was as tense as a spooked cat.