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THE BAILIWICK’S GRAND brownstone was both impeccable and impressive. Its stone steps were swept clean, the ironwork polished and the miniature evergreens flanking the door had been replaced with urns of hardy bamboo. The stalks rattled in the wind as Ink rapped the brass knocker twice.
Kurt answered the door in his crisp black suit with white mandarin collar. Joy was overly conscious of her dusty clothes, but she’d arrived in worse states before. The butler stepped aside, making just enough room for Ink and Joy to enter past the bulge of his gun under his jacket. Today, Joy took comfort in Kurt being cautious.
She was about to say hi but then noticed that they were not alone. A strange woman sat in one of the foyer’s wingback chairs, her fist pulling a hooded cloak tightly around her face. She looked nervous, her yellow-gold eyes wide. A strange sort of squiggle ran along the edge of her jaw. She tucked her feet under her chair, politely allowing Joy to pass, but kept staring at the sword in Ink’s hand. Joy quickly sat in the second wingback chair, noticing that it no longer matched its twin—it had a different, though complementary, floral pattern, and the crystal bowl of eggs was notably missing. Joy wondered if she’d been the cause of both changes to the décor.
Ink offered Kurt his calling card, but the butler held up a gloved hand and beckoned them to follow. Ink withdrew the card and nodded to Joy. She gave an apologetic smile to the shrouded woman, who’d clearly been waiting there first, and hurried down the sconce-lit hall after them.
Kurt knocked on the great double doors before throwing them wide. The windows were open, flooding the office with light, and a fresh breeze tickled the gauzy inner curtains. Twin basins of lotus flowers lent a watery scent to the air, and jewel-winged dragonflies hovered over the fat lily pads. Natural light spilled into the room, reflecting off the emerald-green lamp and the crystal bowl of roe, now resting on the Bailiwick’s enormous mahogany desk. The Bailiwick himself stood up from his chair like a giant amphibious king before his court.
“Master Ink, Miss Malone, welcome.” All four of the great toad’s hands bade them enter. Two smoothed the edge of his tailored, pinstripe suit jacket, erasing an offending crease, while two more gestured to the chairs before him. “Please, sit.”
Kurt backed out of the room, but as he closed the doors, Joy caught a quick smile and a nod, which made her feel better. His stiff, formal demeanor as butler and bodyguard felt unfamiliar to her now. She’d last seen him on a beach in Mykonos, dunking Invisible Inq in the surf.
Graus Claude settled into his high-backed chair, the great wooden throne groaning under his monstrous bulk. “I have directed Kurt to grant you two immediate audience when I am available,” the Bailiwick said. “Given your recent propensity for dramatic and often untidy entrances, I thought it might be prudent.”
Ink settled into a chair. “Should that be considered a ‘dubious’ honor?”
Graus Claude smiled, his ice-blue eyes sparkling. “Quite.” One warty olive hand plucked up a fountain pen while a second clicked the wireless mouse and the third and fourth delicately steepled their fingertips together. “Now, then, to what do I owe the pleasure of this nearly pristine visitation?” Joy wiped her hands against her pants and tried not to think about her muddy shoes. “Might I presume that it has something to do with that sword?”
“Perhaps,” Ink said. “I would like to know if the Edict is still in place. The one protecting Joy?”
Whatever Graus Claude might have expected, it wasn’t that. His eye ridge rose, exposing widened icy blue eyes. “Of course. Why do you ask?” he said. “Even if we had held you to your declaration that you were no longer formally involved with Miss Malone, the Council’s decision was based on her service to the Twixt and not dependent on her status as your lehman.” His eyes flicked to Joy. “Although there has been no precedent to rescind an offer due to a change in status since the role of a chosen human consort has always been a permanent one.” Graus Claude’s voice purred. “Yet ‘permanence’ does not seem to apply when it comes to you, Miss Malone.”
Joy twitched, oddly chastised by his stare. Ink placed the sword on the great toad’s desk with a mellow thunk.
“Joy was attacked this afternoon by one of the Folk bearing this,” he said.
Graus Claude picked up the sword and examined it with all his hands. “It is an elemental blade,” he said. “It’s old. Poorly kept. Recently discharged...” The Bailiwick’s nostrils flared and he glanced at Joy. “Are you certain this wasn’t simply a threat, Miss Malone? I warned you that there might be those seeking to test your mettle and that you must not rise to the bait. A human provoking one of the Folk has the onus of fault.” His ice-blue eyes blinked. “Do not let them taunt you into ill-advised action.”
“He didn’t taunt me,” Joy said. “This armored guy showed up after work and tried to kill me. When I ran into the woods, he threw that—” she pointed at the sword “—into a tree and blew it to pieces.”
Graus Claude sniffed the blade. “Hmm. Definitely not a mere threat,” he murmured and placed the sword gently back onto his desk. “This was an uncommon weapon forged once upon an age, clearly fallen into disuse, but I cannot imagine how any might attempt to use it to circumvent the Edict. The protective safeguards would be enacted almost instantly.”
“That ward was you?” Joy asked. “I thought that was Ink.”
“Not I, Miss Malone,” the noble toad said. “But rather the Council. I am merely one of its members, the comptroller between worlds, hence my title as the Bailiwick of the Twixt.”
Joy picked a flake of bark off the desk where it had fallen from the sword. “Well, I don’t know why you think that some Council ruling is enough to keep me and my family safe,” she said. “People break laws all the time.”
“People do. Humans do. The Folk, however, do not,” Graus Claude said. “We aren’t subject to laws the way you are to yours. Human laws are collaborative suggestions that can be bent or broken, but our rules are absolute. Rules of magic dictate how our world works, irrevocably. It is part of the Twixt—we cannot change our true nature any more than our True Names.” Graus Claude spread his hands across the desk. “What the Council decrees are not mere words, Miss Malone. They are laws like sunlight and gravity. They are.”
“And yet they say that I am safe from the Folk,” Joy said. “But I’m not.”
“Let’s not be overly dramatic.” Graus Claude’s voice rumbled deep in his chest. “You are safe and sound. You’ve simply been frightened, and for that I apologize on behalf of the Folk. As you know, subtlety is not always a valued trait amongst my people, and they delight in pushing interpretation to their advantage.”
“No, you don’t understand—if Ink hadn’t shown up...” Joy trailed off, realizing that she still had no idea how Ink had found her in the middle of the woods. She glanced at him. It was hard to tell if he was avoiding her eyes or not.
Had she managed to call him without his signatura on her skin? Could that happen? Once she’d removed the mark of his True Name, Joy had severed the bond between them, much as she had cut the bonds that linked Aniseed to the millions she’d planned to kill with her magic-borne disease. Afterward, Ink had refused to redraw his mark, insisting that she was better off free, an unclaimed human, despite her asking. They’d decided to base their relationship
