Insidious Read online

  “Enrique was the finest among us,” Raina said. “A true treasure.”

  Joy felt a frown, but didn’t let it show. Us? Joy could see that Raina was human, her Sight able to pierce things like glamours and the veil. Was Raina being figurative? Or was she like Mr. Vinh, someone with a foot in both worlds? Joy glanced between Ink and Inq, trying to guess. How much does this woman know?

  Inq smiled and smoothed a hand over Raina’s hair. “He was a handsome boy with the shiniest toys and was a lion in bed, and I will miss him greatly.” Raina gave Inq’s hand a squeeze, eyes full of sympathy.

  “I’ll see you after the reception,” Raina said, and she slipped her arm smoothly into the crook of Ink’s elbow. Joy stared at it. Then stared at them. They made a striking couple. “Mind walking me to my car?” she asked, steering him down the aisle. Raina smiled warmly over her shoulder. “It was nice meeting you, Joy.”

  And together, she and Ink walked out of the room.

  Joy stared numbly—dumbly—after them.

  What just happened?

  “I need to talk to you,” Inq said, taking Joy’s hand and tugging her closer to the urn. The smell of lilies was overwhelming. Joy’s brain was trying to keep up.

  “But...” Joy tried to catch a glimpse of where Ink had gone—with Raina—outside, rewinding time in her mind, sifting through facts like Ink, Enrique, death, numbered hugs, black hair, white lilies and hooked elbows. She struggled to find the puzzle piece that made everything fit, the missing key to making this moment make sense. It wasn’t working.

  Joy sneezed.

  “Hello? Earth to Joy?”

  Grabbing another tissue, she turned to Inq. “What is it?”

  Inq lowered her voice. “I want you to kill someone.”

  THREE

  IT TOOK A moment for the words to sink in. Joy ran through them a second time just to make sure she’d heard Inq correctly.

  “Um, I don’t think you can talk about killing someone at a funeral,” Joy said, checking discreetly for witnesses. “I’m pretty sure there’s some rule against it.”

  Inq sighed. “Look, this sad, sorry ritual has reminded me that we haven’t got much time together,” she said. “I’d forgotten how short human lives can be, and if I’m going to use your help, then we’ve got to act fast.”

  Joy gently but firmly removed her arm from Inq’s grip. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  Inq grinned slyly. “Yes, well, you do and you don’t. That’s why you’re perfect for the job.” She plucked a flower from the arrangement and twirled it slowly in her hands. “I know what you can do, and you know I know what you can do—so don’t disappoint me by being difficult.” She handed the lily to Joy, its stiff petals curled over her palm. “Even without your armor, you’re still a wildflower with bite.”

  “Yeah, but I don’t...” Joy’s mouth turned dry, her tongue fat and swollen, the next words solidified, lodged in her throat. She couldn’t say I don’t kill people! because that wasn’t true, and Joy, being part-Folk, could not tell a lie. The fact was, she had done more than kill someone—she had erased one of the Folk completely out of existence. And Inq had seen her do it. It was a secret Inq had agreed to keep “just between us girls.”

  “I’ll explain later,” Inq said at normal volume. “Still so much to do! And so little time—isn’t that the theme of the day?” She scooped up the urn in both hands. “See you at the funeral!” she cooed as she skipped down the stairs.

  “You mean the reception,” Joy said dully.

  Inq waved a hand dismissively over her head. “Oh, don’t be silly,” she said as she strolled down the center aisle. She patted Ink’s arm as she passed through the doors. “See you both later!” She snagged a thin wrap from the coatroom and strutted to the waiting limousine parked out front.

  Ink approached, fingers absently sliding along his wallet chain.

  “Joy?” he said. “What happened?”

  She looked at him blankly. She couldn’t say, exactly, what had happened. Had she just been blackmailed into being Inq’s assassin? Joy couldn’t figure out how to tell him what Inq had said because it didn’t make sense, but she couldn’t lie. She hadn’t told him what had really happened to the Red Knight, and she couldn’t bring herself to ask him who Raina was or why he’d gone with her or what Ilhami was talking about or what Inq was up to this time—it all felt strangely surreal, like an illusion. She shook her head. Only Aniseed could be so cruel.

  Joy remembered being trapped in an illusion of her kitchen by the ancient dryad as bait for Ink. Aniseed’s hatred for humans had fueled her plans for worldwide genocide and an imagined “Golden Age.” Joy had been the one to stop her, erasing Aniseed’s signatura and the poison within it. She shuddered at the memory of the eight-petaled star of eyes on her skin. Joy was glad that Aniseed was dead.

  She leaned over and put her arms around Ink.

  “Can I have another number sixteen, please?”

  He slipped his arms around her and they stood together, Ink rocking Joy gently against his chest. She blinked a few times as her breath fluttered. She felt as if she were running in circles while standing still.

  “Are you ready to leave?” he asked.

  “Yes,” she mumbled gratefully into his shirt.

  He stroked his fingers through her hair and whispered, “Come with me.”

  Taking her hand, he led her into the tiny coatroom and shut the door behind them. Joy’s eyebrows shot up.

  “This is hardly appropriate,” she said, wondering if funerals brought out the weirdness in Scribes. Maybe immortals didn’t do well when faced with death? Both he and Inq were acting very strange.

  Ink smirked as he twirled his straight razor in one hand, looking much as he had when he’d first tossed a jug of milk into the air, slipped thousands of miles away, then stepped through the breach to catch it a mere moment later. It was a mischievous, slightly naughty little-boy grin.

  “Follow me,” he said. Slashing a quick line, he peeled away the edge of the world halfway through a set of empty hangers and the floor. A wild darkness shot with colored light pulsed beyond the rift.

  Joy hesitated. “I thought we were going to the reception.”

  “That is for humans,” he said mysteriously. “Not for us.”

  Joy didn’t know what to say to that, so she took his hand, warm and smooth, and stepped through the void, stumbling into the sudden dark. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust. She stepped onto the lip of rough stone and looked all the way down.

  Then Joy understood.

  Below the rocky ledge was a cavern full of bonfires. Shadows of wild, frenetic dancers moved to tribal music throbbing with heavy percussion and rattles and horns. Folk were laughing, drinking, spinning, eating, dancing. They gathered in groups of threes and fives tucked into natural nooks and along the edges of the crowd. Knotted roots covered the sloping walls like tapestries in reverse, the veins of different minerals shimmering in the light of many fires; pinks and grays and greens and blues with flecks of mica winking in the bedrock like stars. Things resembling balloon-animal, crystal chandeliers hung suspended in the air, made up of individual twists and tubes of glowing glass. There were whispers of melodies and rhythms that seemed familiar mixed with earthy, primal songs and high-pitched undulating cries. There was no smoke, but the smell of roasting meat, rich and bubbling and basted in wine, filled the subterranean fête. There were tables of food absolutely everywhere, and the noise fizzed like champagne bubbles, effervescent and overflowing.

  Joy looked down at the carnival in the stone basin. “Where are we?”

  “Under the Hill near the Wild,” Ink said. “That is where Enrique said he wanted his ashes buried.”

  “As well as the North Pole, Sri Lanka, Maui, Budapest, Mount Everest, Taiwan, Rio, Portug
al and the dark side of the moon,” Inq said, sidling up to the pair in distinctly less than her funeral attire—in fact, it didn’t look like she was wearing much more than body paint. “I’ve just gotten back from honoring his wishes, with a short delay on that last one because there isn’t another space flight scheduled at present, but I’ve got time.” She looked over the two of them, frowning with a pout of her lower lip. She smelled of wine and dusty roses. “Why haven’t you changed?”

  “We just got here,” Ink explained.

  “No excuses!” Inq said and yanked off Ink’s coat. “This is Enrique’s celebration, so start celebrating!” She threw the suit jacket away. It hit the wall. “Less clothes, more music! Honor the spirit! Enrique loved to dance!” She spun and ran down the incline, jumping off the jagged ledge. Joy’s heart lodged in her throat as she watched Inq fall, but the hands of many strangers rose up to meet her; a hearty cheer of triumph erupted as they caught her body in its trust-fall landing. Together, they lowered her to the ground. Inq broke away, laughing, and ran to join a circle of dancers stomping and clapping and throwing handfuls of powder into the air. When the dust hit the bonfires, the flames changed color and spat out twirling, whistling sparks.

  Ink stepped closer. Joy felt him on her skin.

  “Is she okay?” Joy asked.

  “Do not worry about Inq,” Ink said, undoing the top buttons of his shirt. “Everyone grieves differently.”

  “Uh, yeah.” Joy gaped at the spectacle. “This is...?”

  “Enrique’s funeral,” Ink said. “The way the Folk celebrate it.”

  Joy shook her head in wonder. “Wow. It’s...”

  “Bacchanalian?” Ink said.

  “No. It’s beautiful,” Joy said. There wasn’t a sad face in the crowd. It was bold and boisterous, lively and wild—just like Enrique. “It’s perfect.”

  “The Folk do not ritualize death as humans do,” he said, leading her down the incline at a much safer stroll. Joy removed her heels, and Ink carried her shoes. “Being immortal means that death is possible but not inevitable. So we celebrate a life well lived. Enrique certainly did.” Ink gestured to the revel. “Now those who knew him gather together to honor that and remember. We grieve the body, but honor the spirit.”

  Joy smiled. It felt a lot better than tears. “So, what do we do now?”

  Ink lifted two glasses from a table and handed one to her. “We eat, we drink, we dance, we talk, we tell stories, we reminisce.” He stepped toward her and looked up at the swirls of crystal colors and light. The spots of brilliance reflected bright sparkles in his eyes. “We remember.” He smiled at her. “We celebrate life.”

  “To Enrique!” someone shouted from deep in the hall.

  “To Enrique!” the gathered crowds screamed as many whooped and drank.

  “To Enrique!” Inq shouted giddily. “And the Imminent Return!”

  “To the Imminent Return!”

  Joy lifted her glass along with the rest. “What’s the Imminent Return?” she asked.

  “It is an old toast,” Ink said. “To friends long forgotten but still in our hearts.”

  Joy clinked her glass against Ink’s. The liquid inside swirled. She paused.

  “Can I drink this?” she asked.

  Ink considered the wine. “Why not?”

  She twirled the stem, watching the liquid hug the sides of the glass. “I’ve read stories where if a human eats or drinks something from Fairyland, then they can never go back.” The deep purple liquid smelled of cherries, oak and fire. “Or maybe it was the underworld? Something with pomegranates? I forget.”

  Ink cocked his head. “This isn’t Faeland,” he said. “And you are not human.”

  “Good point,” Joy said and sipped her drink. It barely had a taste, more like a vapor of old forests and honey that filled her head and slid down her spine. She hadn’t realized she’d swallowed, it was so smooth. It burned, slow and sensuous, inside her. Joy put the glass down carefully. “Aaaaaand that’s enough for me.”

  Ink placed his glass next to hers and curled his arms around her middle, his chest pressed against her back, his chin resting on her shoulder.

  “What would you like to do?” he asked. “Dance? Sing? Sculpt?”

  “Sculpt?” Joy asked, and Ink pointed. Like a weird reception line, there were Folk picking soft, translucent balls out of a tall basket, which glowed like a kiln. Each person molded whatever was in their hands, fashioning the clay with fingers and claws, small tools or stones spread out on the floor, crafting shapes lovingly, delicately, or banging them hard against the wall. As the Folk worked, the stuff began to glow from within, growing brighter the more they tinkered with it until the shapes became too bright to see, illuminating faces like miniature suns, hardening into crystal.

  “What are they?” she asked.

  “Memories,” Ink said. “Emotions. Wishes. Watch.”

  Joy hushed as a thin man with dragonfly wings lifted the glowing crystal over his head and opened his hand slowly, letting it go. Joy followed his gaze as his creation floated gently upward while a small, shaggy thing with flaring nostrils snuffled around his ankles and whipped its finished crystal angrily at the sky. Both lights eventually slowed as they rose the great distance to the high ceiling and slid into place among the other luminous shapes that hovered in midair. That was when Joy realized that the chandelier was actually a mass of memories—the collective thoughts about Enrique by those who knew him best. It made her heart swell.

  “The memory crystal holds on to those thoughts, those memories, like dreams under glass,” Ink said. “We can visit them anytime to free our thoughts and remember so that our loved ones will never be forgotten.”

  “That’s beautiful,” she murmured.

  “That is immortality.”

  She turned and faced him. A powerful heat sparked between them, trickling up the soles of her feet, wrapping around her knees and thrumming in her teeth. She tapped her fingers on the drum of his chest as her body swayed in Ink’s arms. The music and magic were a warm glow in her veins.

  “I want to dance,” she said.

  It was ridiculous, but it was true. When she felt so much more than her body could hold, she wanted to move—to run and trick and flip and kick. She was kinetic, kinesthetic. It was as necessary to her as breathing, like living, like flying. The shiver up her legs was an urge, a push. The energy in the room was stronger than the wine. She wanted to leave everything that had happened at the dreary human funeral behind. Ink looked at her, eyes sparkling, as if he understood perfectly.

  “Come,” Ink said, taking her hand and leading her across the room, weaving expertly between Folk who unconsciously moved out of his way. He could always part a crowd with ease. Joy followed, feeling the heat of bodies and bonfires burning all around her. The music hummed in her rib cage, an anticipating crackle under her toes. She wanted to dive into this like Inq into the crowd, swim above it, through it; she wanted to feel that freedom Enrique had loved during all of his adventures all over the world.

  He’d said that she was an ordinary girl who’d been given an extraordinary life. She’d known that, intellectually, but this was where she felt it for the first time—what it meant to be part of this world, paired with someone who loved her.

  Blackmail and jealousy and damp tissues could wait. This was about Enrique, and they were going to dance!

  Joy squeezed Ink’s hand as they wove between circles and dodged couples shouting over the music. Someone bumped into her, smearing her black dress in blue paint.

  “Perdóneme,” the figure said and then stopped dead. “Joy?”

  “Luiz?” Joy almost laughed. She would never have recognized the young lehman. He was painted in bright colors from his wavy hair to his toes, save for what looked like a loincloth and a spattered necklace of metal beads. H
e was dripping with sweat; rainbow rivulets ran down his chest. He flashed his butter-melt smile and gestured at her dress.

  “I’d hug you,” he said, “but it’d only make things worse.”

  “I’ll risk it,” she said, and he squeezed her in his strong arms, swirling her around and laughing—but it was laughter that she understood; it was mortal and tight, and there were tears behind it. Humans grieved differently than Folk. Luiz was drunk with glee and sorrow. He let her go, peeling himself away in primary splotches. She laughed at herself smeared in red, blue and gold. He gestured to the whole of the room.

  “Do you like it?” Luiz said, waving all around. “Enrique loved things like Burning Man and Carnival. Honor the spirit, right? Well, trust me, he would’ve loved this!” He turned to Ink, arms wide. “May I?”

  “Number four?” Ink said with a shrug. “Of course.”

  Luiz swept forward and picked up Ink, twirling and laughing with him just the same, smearing his pristine dress shirt a mottled tie-dye of yellow and purple and a shocking lime green. Luiz dropped him, and Ink staggered back, a rainbow riot. Joy laughed so hard, she cried.

  Ink grinned with deep dimples as Luiz patted his back.

  “Ditch the shirt,” Luiz advised and glanced at Joy. “And the shoes. Let’s dance!”

  He grabbed Joy’s hand as she grabbed Ink’s, and they swung into the circle of rhythmic dancers swirling around the flames. Stomping feet became clapping hands, and whirling contras slid into hand-off marches, grasping forearms, passing partners, smearing paint on arms and cheeks. Beads were looped around strangers’ necks, shells clattered, rattles shook, feathers blurred and fur rippled as trinkets passed from hand to hand to hand. Ink threw his stained shirt into the flames to a collective cheer. Joy kept her dress on, inviting teasing and laughter. Soon she was festooned in ribbons and crystals and mad swirls of paint. Ink matched her, bare-chested, wearing smeared handprints and a lei of teeth. Both of them laughed, running and twirling, spinning and leaping, and it wasn’t long before Joy was lost to the music, her body vibrating with heartbeat and the thunder of sound.