Dawn Metcalf

Invisible


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and a hooting shout. Joy blinked. She’d collected quite an audience. She stood up shyly as she lifted out of her performance trance, doing a little bow and a wave for the kids in the corner condo.

      Monica and Gordon clapped wildly from their spot in the grass.

      “WOO!” Monica hollered, spinning fists over her head.

      “Wow!” said Gordon. “That was incredible.”

      Stef ran over, eyes wide, mouth open, caught somewhere between awe and concern.

      “What was that?” he said and patted her arms as if checking to be sure she was all still there. She breathed deeply, bright and beaming, and wiped at the grass sticking on her palms.

      “That was awesome!” she said.

      “That was insane,” Stef snapped. “Are you kidding me? You could have broken your neck! This is soft ground with loose grass and way too small...” He shook his head and helped wipe off green bits with a rag. “Seriously, Joy, what were you thinking?”

      She picked bits of weeds off her tank top. “I wasn’t thinking,” she admitted.

      “Yeah, got that.” Now that the shock was over, her brother sounded angry. “I thought you said you haven’t hit the mats in over a year,” he said, turning her around to wipe her back. “I’ve never seen you that crisp. Not in ten years—maybe ever. You looked Elite. I have no idea how you got that air...” He stopped as she shook out the end of her ponytail. She turned around curiously. His eyes had gone flat, his mouth a tight, thin line. She hadn’t realized she’d made him so upset.

      “Sorry,” she said.

      His eyes flicked up to her eyes. He held her shoulder hard, either steadying her or ready to shake some sense into her. “Are you okay, Joy?” he asked suddenly. “Do you feel okay?”

      “Yeah,” Joy said, confused and suddenly every inch his little sister. “Just winded. Adrenaline crash imminent, but otherwise, I’m fine.”

      Stef’s face was pale. The rag fell from his hand. He bent to pick it up and his voice was strained and strangely subdued. “You should go inside and eat something.”

      At the mention of food, her whole body tingled. “Good idea,” she said and examined his face. “Are you okay?”

      Stef looked alarmed by the question.

      Monica slammed into her back, throwing her dark arms around Joy’s neck.

      “You were amazing!” she gushed. “A one-woman show!”

      “That was seriously awesome,” Gordon said. “I never knew you could trick.”

      “Eleven years of gymnastics,” Joy murmured, still looking at Stef, who was busying himself with the wax. She felt like she was seven years old, the day after the talent show, ashamed and self-conscious for showing off at school. “I’m going inside to grab an apple,” she said. “Anyone want anything?”

      “How about another towel?” Gordon suggested as he sprayed Monica’s toes. With a squeal and a shout, they were at it again. Stef shook his head.

      Feeling oddly chastened, Joy nodded and left.

      She rubbed her hands together as she took the stairs, the tight tingling in her fingers and a slight woozy sensation telling her she’d burned too much too fast and needed to refuel. Of course, she should have expected the glucose drop after her wild little stunt in the yard—no warm-up, no practice and on inadequate turf—Stef was right, she’d been stupid. And her and Monica’s motto was No Stupid. She could have easily slid into the pavement or hit the fence or landed on her head. She still nursed the injury of two broken toes from that time she’d blown an aerial, and that was back when she was in top form, with her coach in the gym and all the safeties in place. Today, she had just been...reckless. Maybe she could blame it on summer? Ever since she’d been barefoot outside, she’d been itching to really move. She’d barely enjoyed any sun since she’d started working at Antoine’s. The long days had become all about earning money, which sucked, but now there was a promise of obtaining a glamour: the carrot at the end of a very long stick.

      She hopped onto the landing and let herself into the condo, entering the security code and thinking maybe she’d invite Monica and Gordon to go out dancing and blow off some steam. Neil had said that there was some party going on at the beach. She hadn’t considered going because she didn’t want him to think that he was asking her out.

      That was the trouble with having an invisible boyfriend; it was hard to appear to be a couple when the guy in question never appeared.

      Joy grabbed one of the oranges out of the bowl on the counter, but it was gushy to the touch. She put it back, opting for a couple of bananas and a stack of whole wheat crackers. She checked the fridge for some cheese, making a mental note to add sharp cheddar to Stef’s growing grocery list. As she shut the fridge, Joy caught a glimmer on the very edge of her Sight.

      It wasn’t the flash of splintered light that she’d experienced when Ink first cut her eye, but it brought the same chilly wariness that she could feel in her lungs, edgy and tight.

      She kept her hand on the fridge, replaying her footsteps in her head: Had she accidentally stepped over a ward? Dialed a combination? Triggered a key? She swore at herself for being lazy; she couldn’t forget how easy it was to become someone else’s plaything, someone else’s prey. In the Twixt, Folk were cats and humans were mice.

      But she was no mouse.

      Joy cautiously let go of the handle and tried to locate the source of the spark. It had the same sort of shimmer that she associated with the Twixt. If she could catch sight of it again, she’d probably know for certain—she, like Ink and Inq, could see signaturae, unlike the rest of humans and Folk—but there shouldn’t be anything here inside Ink’s wards. He’d checked them so carefully. No one could be inside the house!

      She retraced her steps, drifting past the counter, opening the fridge, carefully peeking around the corner while keeping her eye on the kitchen window to catch any reflections. Joy wondered how she’d ever felt safe with her head stuck in the fridge. She closed the door and saw it again.

      It was reflected in the stainless steel, milky and indistinct.

      Joy looked behind her—nothing. Even with the Sight, there was only her ordinary kitchen with her ordinary snacks on the ordinary countertop. She edged closer to the refrigerator; the sunlight from the kitchen window was bright on her shoulder, warming her skin through the air and glass. Maybe that was it? A flash of sunlight on skin?

      Not likely.

      As she turned, she saw it again: a flash reflection. Her whole body tingled. It was something on her.

      Joy remembered when she’d been first marked by Ink, when he’d attempted to obey the law of the Twixt and blind a human with the Sight, but he had missed, accidentally scratching her cornea instead. The wink of light that had speared her eye hadn’t been the wound; it had been his signatura drawn directly on her eye. She remembered the sort of Flash! Flash! she’d had when seeing things in the Twixt for the first time: horrible monsters and fabulous creatures and the glowing shapes of signaturae on skin. This was the same sort of flickery brightness, the same sort of echo of light.

      Her stomach dropped with an odd twist of shame and nervous dread. She ran to the bathroom and switched on the light. Removing her shirt, she sat on the sink with her back to the mirror and, twisting awkwardly, tried to see what it was.

      There was a ghostly smear stuck to her skin.

      Joy reached her hand over her shoulder and tried to touch it, but it was too far down her spine. She tried reaching behind her back, but it was too high, out of reach, like an impossible itch. She pulled the skin at her shoulder and saw it move. There was definitely something there. Joy squinted, but it was cloudy and vague, unlike the clear designs of True Names. It wasn’t the black of Ink’s marks or the pale watermarks of Inq’s reverse-henna tattoos, but Joy recognized what it was