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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, Portugal 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
