years hadn’t been easy for anyone, but they’d made it through as a family—albeit a different one from the original. A lot had changed, but they still loved each other, and that was something.
Shelley turned in her chair, sniffing.
“Did we leave the stove on?” she asked. “I smell something burning.” She got up and walked over to the oven.
Joy could smell it, too—a whiff of smoke like a burnt matchstick. She recognized the odor: vellum and ash. Filly. It must have come from the pouch the young Valkyrie used to send Joy messages. Now Joy knew something was wrong. Ink did, too; his body tightened, tense and alert. Joy put down her fork, trying to think up some excuse to grab her purse and go check.
That was when she saw the face in the window.
She almost screamed but bit her lips together. It was a tiny face, different from the monstrous Kodama that had scared her that first time. The small, winged creature pressed its bulbous nose against the glass, hair and beard a wild halo of tangles. It waved to get their attention. Joy couldn’t move, but she couldn’t look away. Ink casually traced the silver chain at his hip to the wallet in his back pocket where he kept his blades. Joy held her breath as Shelley walked right past the creature on her way back to the table. It watched her pass, its wild eyes bulging with curiosity. Stef’s face was carefully neutral, his fingers white-knuckled on his knife. Joy wasn’t sure what any of them could do with Dad and Shelley present.
The creature pointed emphatically at them.
Under the table, Ink pointed to himself and raised his eyebrows like a question.
The tiny creature shook its head and pointed again, tapping the glass.
Shelley glanced at the window. “Do you hear pecking?”
“It’s the birds,” Mr. Malone said without turning around. “There’s one of them trying to build a nest in the window box. I keep meaning to install a mesh lid.”
Joy lifted her napkin to hide her hand and pointed at herself. The little creature nodded, wagging its tail. Joy dabbed her lips. Great. Now what?
The winged Folk hooked its tiny toes into the sill, licked one of its long fingers and drew a word reversed on the glass. Its saliva was brown and sticky-looking, the letters gooey and smeared.
It made a big show of licking its finger again, a dribble of drool stuck to the hairs on its chin.
Joy felt light-headed. This was how it had all started: strange messages left on her window and phone for a mysterious someone called “Ink.” She glanced at him across the table. He kept his eyes down and nodded as if in thought. It was enough confirmation for the little creature, who flipped backward, wings unfolding, and hovered in the air. Stef rolled up his sleeve, and Joy wondered if he was going to draw wizards’ symbols on his forearms with the butter knife. She shook her head. Her brother glared at her and picked up his unused spoon.
“You need to wash it off,” Stef said, shoving it at her, pointedly not looking at the window. Joy swallowed. He was right—even if Dad and Shelley didn’t have the Sight, there was a chance they’d see the words written on the glass in ooze.
“Stef—” Mr. Malone said tiredly.
“No, he’s right,” Joy said, grabbing the spoon and standing up. “It was my turn to do the dishes. My bad.” She hurried over to the sink, blocking the view of the kitchen window with her body. She turned on the water and scrubbed the spoon, mouthing to the creature, Wash it off! She made a scrubbing motion with the sponge and lifted the water nozzle. The little face scrunched up in confusion. Joy pointed at the letters. Wash. It. Off, she overemphasized with her lips.
The creature suddenly smiled and nodded, its big eyes glinting merrily through its bristly mane.
Joy gave it a wave of thanks and returned to her seat, handing back the spoon to her brother. “There,” she said. “Better?”
There was a drizzling, trickling sound like rain against the window. Joy peeked over her shoulder. The incriminating words dribbled down the glass as the little creature flew around, peeing on them. Stef changed his snort into a cough, and Joy pushed her plate aside, having suddenly lost her appetite.
Ink looked at Joy’s father. “More potatoes?”
Mr. Malone shook his head and patted his stomach. “Portion control,” he said. “Don’t tempt me.”
Shelley shook her head. Stef did, too. “Pass.”
Ink lowered the bowl slowly. He touched his chest, rubbing the dip at his breastbone, the space above his heart where he now felt things like love and pain and fear. He looked disoriented, confused.
Joy touched his arm, “You okay?”
Ink didn’t say anything. He turned around in his chair and stared at the door.
Someone knocked.
Joy went cold.
“That’s odd,” Mr. Malone said, standing up. “Who could that be?”
Joy couldn’t decide whether to stop him or not, wondering if he’d even see anything should he look through the peephole. Stef and Joy exchanged glances. Joy reached for Ink’s hand. Stef picked up a steak knife and the salt.
Mr. Malone opened the door...and there was Invisible Inq.
The resemblance between the two Scribes was unmistakable. Even wearing their glamours, they both had the same spiky black hair, the same long, lean bodies and the same youthful faces with liquid eyes that wobbled when wet. Mr. Malone didn’t need to ask who she was, but it was eerie having her stand there so still.
“I’m sorry,” she said, and Joy was startled to hear that she really sounded sorry—no snark, no sly wit, no smoky insincerity. Inq glanced at the table. “Sorry to interrupt. I see you’re having dinner. With my brother—” she looked at Ink, eyes pleading “—I need to talk to him. And Joy.”
“It must be a twin thing,” Shelley whispered.
“Come in,” said Mr. Malone. “Would you like to sit down?”
Ink stood up. “What is it?” he said, but everyone heard What’s wrong?
A smile warred with a frown on Inq’s face as if she couldn’t quite decide which was which. Her eyes swam, pools of fathomless black.
“It’s Enrique,” she said.
And Joy knew even before Inq could say the words.
WANDERING THROUGH THE funeral parlor, Joy examined the photos on display—Enrique
