Insidious. Dawn Metcalf
she said. “No dithering.”
“I’m serious, Joy. Stef’s already packed.”
“Of course he’s already packed. He’s going back to college next week.” Joy’s flippant comment fell flat in her lap. She hadn’t fully realized the truth until she’d said it aloud. Only a few more days with Stef, and then it was back to just her and Dad. And Shelley. Joy liked her father’s girlfriend, but her dad had been spending a lot more time out with Shelley and less time around the house—which was good—but with Stef gone, the condo would fast become dark and lonely again with Joy home all by herself. She didn’t want a repeat of the Year of Hell, the one following her parents’ divorce when her father had become a smelly zombie hermit and she’d quit the gymnastics team to match. She poked a bit of banana into the milk with her spoon. It had been nice having her big brother home—cold showers aside—and it had been handy to have him save her life with wizard’s magic once in a while. She mumbled into her cereal bowl, “I’ll be ready, don’t worry.”
“Being a father, I worry,” he said. “Being the father of two teenagers, I’ve learned to take precautions.” He wiped his mouth and balled up the napkin. “Be fully packed by 5:00 a.m. Friday, or I’m taking your phone for two weeks. Got it?”
He was pulling out the big guns. Joy swallowed. “Got it.”
“Okay, then. I’m off to work,” he said. “When do you have to punch in?”
“Nine o’clock.”
“Don’t be late.” Joy rolled her eyes. Her father prided himself on being punctual, reliable, loyal and hardworking—to be in all ways indispensable. It was the one thing he’d held on to throughout the rough years, and it had finally paid off. He’d gotten a promotion, which came with a decent raise and had done worlds for his confidence. Her father slipped on his jacket and grabbed his new leather briefcase. “And see if you can’t get Stef out of bed before you leave. He’s been staying up nights and sleeping half the day.”
“Sounds like college,” she said around her last spoonful of cereal.
“Sounds like lazy,” her father said and paused at the door. He was staring at her feet. “Wait—no mismatched socks?”
Joy shrugged. “It’s against the dress code.”
He frowned a mock-sad-clown face. “Is the big, bad capitalistic corporation squishing the individuality out of my baby girl?”
She grinned over her spoon. “I wear mismatched earrings.”
He pumped his fist. “Stick it to the Man, sweetheart! I’ll see you tonight.”
“I’m meeting Monica after work,” she reminded him.
“Okay, but tonight’s Stef’s special smorgasbord send-off. Don’t forget.” He checked his watch. “Got to go.”
Joy waved as he closed the door, then washed her bowl in the sink and watched as he hopped into his Accord and drove away. She inspected the kitchen window for monsters or message pee and did a double-take when she saw the white sports car drive around the corner. Joy leaned over the sink, trying to follow it with her eyes, trying to convince herself that she’d imagined it—it couldn’t be!—but hope caught in her throat. She almost dropped the bowl when it pulled up to the gate: a white Ferrari 458.
There was a buzz from the intercom. Stef groaned in protest. Joy ran over to the call box and hit the button.
“Yes?”
“Joy?”
She didn’t recognize the male voice, husky with sleep. Could it be...?
“Yes? Who is this?”
He’s alive!
“It’s Ilhami.” Joy’s heart stuttered. Not Enrique—just his car. She started breathing again, but the air felt too thin. She almost missed the next words. “You left something behind last night.”
Disappointment colored her voice. “I did?”
“Yes,” Ilhami said. “I brought it over. Want to come down and get it?”
She hesitated, her finger on Call. “Hang on,” she said. Joy released the button, checked the call box for glyphs and dug inside her purse. Grabbing her scalpel, Joy opened the door and marched outside into the moist August heat.
She kept her hand on the blade as she walked down the stairs. She couldn’t remember leaving anything behind at the funeral or the celebration. Her senses were on orange alert. She remembered Inq’s bizarre request, and she didn’t trust Ilhami. Enrique had once called the young Turkish artist a “tortured genius,” but Joy hadn’t forgotten what had happened in East New York, fleeing the cops at high speed and making an enemy of Ilhami’s drug dealer, Ladybird. She’d had to pay three drops of blood for a dose of Ladybird’s powerful Sunset Dust in order to take down the Red Knight. Joy had no idea why Ladybird had wanted her blood and was fairly certain she didn’t want to find out. So the question now was whether Ilhami was up to something, obeying orders from Inq or Ladybird, or if he was being used as bait to flush her out of her house and its protective wards. Either way, between Ink’s scalpel and Inq’s gift—a little push glyph on her palm—Joy wasn’t going anywhere unprepared.
When she crossed the parking lot, she saw Ilhami leaning casually against the gleaming Ferrari parked on the grass. His head was freshly buzzed to a millimeter fuzz, his tattooed arms bare in a muscleman shirt, and his thumbs tucked into the belt loops of his jeans. He gave an easy smile.
“‘Morning, Cabana Girl,” he said.
“Good morning,” she said warily. “I didn’t see you at the celebration last night.”
“Oh, I was there.” He smirked. “I hooked up with some pixie chick with a wicked sense of gravity. Talk about a head-rush!” Joy rolled her eyes. Ilhami shrugged. “What? Honor the spirit. Enrique loved hooking up!”
“Anyway...?” she prompted. “What did I forget? Is it bigger than a bread box?”
“I’d say so,” he tapped the car door and threw her something. She caught it, heavy in her hand. Keys. He winked slyly. “It’s all yours.”
Joy gaped. “What?”
Ilhami wiped an imaginary speck of dust off the hood with his thumb. “Enrique wanted you to have it,” he said. “He felt bad about you losing your wheels. Said you needed your own way to get around. I had it detailed and everything. Nik may be pretty, but he smells like beans.”
Joy looked at the keys, the car and her second-floor kitchen window, praying that nobody could see her. This was the last thing she’d expected.
“I can’t have a car like that!” she said under her breath. “Seriously. I’m a senior in high school. People would ask questions...people like my dad! I can’t say I got it from some nice older gentleman who died and left me his car.” Joy shook the keys in her fist. “Cuz that sounds really, really bad!”
“Whatever. I haven’t even told you about the special features, yet,” Ilhami said, opening the driver’s door, dropping into the seat and pointing at the dash. “You already saw how the slip-drive works. I changed the GPS coordinates to this spot so you can park it without blocking the driveway. It’s got a short-range auto-drive feature—like Cruise Control for Dummies—treated windows, voice-activated phone, glyphs on the safeties and securities, and a warded buffer field.” He tapped the door again. “Enrique hated getting it dinged. It’s not like he could take it into the shop. Oh, and press the blue button on the fob.”
Curious, Joy did. The car disappeared. Ilhami smiled from the half-open door suspended in nothing.
“Cloaked parking feature,” he said. “Very slick.”
Joy shook her head. “You have got