Insidious. Dawn Metcalf
that this wasn’t one of those times when someone was actively trying to kill her?
Joy stepped into the foyer as the Bentley rolled away in a hush of white-rimmed tires. She followed Kurt as he walked through the cream-colored foyer, down the long hallway toward the great double doors of the Bailiwick’s office.
“Any hint of what I’m in for?” Joy whispered.
Kurt said nothing, only knocked upon the ironwood doors and then opened them both at once. He was in butler mode—silent, efficient, precise, unhelpful. Joy sighed and walked inside.
“Ah, Miss Malone.” Graus Claude got up from his enormous, thronelike chair and stood behind the great mahogany desk. The grandiose amphibian stood eight feet at the shoulder, his hunchback somewhat lessened under a tailored pinstripe suit with extra-wide lapels. All four of his arms ended in crisp cuffs folded back from his manicured claws, and his smile was full of sharp teeth. “Please, have a seat.” He gestured to one of the chairs facing him with two of his hands; the third clicked the wireless mouse and the fourth flipped open a pocket watch on a chain. “We have a lot to go over in a regretfully brief time, so I shall begin my duties as your sponsor in the Twixt with all due haste.” The gentleman toad’s icy blue gaze swept over her. “I would advise you take notes,” he said. “Starting now.”
“Right,” Joy said, flipping her tablet and attaching the keyboard. She placed it on the edge of the desk and clicked open a new document.
“Now then,” the Bailiwick said, lumbering out from behind the desk. “Since you have already accepted your True Name, there is no need to go into a detailed synopsis. Your unique sigil will protect you from undo harm and direct spell manipulation, save from those to whom you give it willingly.” He paused, giving weight to his words. “This is something I do not recommend.” Joy underlined the sentence in her document as he continued. “However, my research indicates that your case falls neatly between two known categories—that of a changeling and that of a halfling.” He threaded two clawed hands together while the others gestured as he spoke. “A changeling is a Folk child, disguised as a human child, who is switched shortly after birth for the human mother to raise out of infancy—” He paused at Joy’s look of horror. “This practice rarely occurs anymore.”
Joy rolled her eyes. “Why? Did somebody finally figure out that it was wrong?”
Graus Claude’s head stilled as his eyes narrowed. “There has not been a birth in the Twixt for over a thousand years. It is considered a sensitive subject.”
Joy blinked. “Oh.”
The Bailiwick smoothed the gold watch chain against his side. “As I was saying,” he continued, “halflings, on the other hand, are the product of a Folk-human pairing.” His palsied shake returned as he circled the stone basin of floating lily pads. “While, technically, you would not be a halfling—I might estimate closer to a two-to-the-sixth-power-ling—if we theorize that those with the Sight are descendants of mixed heritage, then this category would most aptly suit your situation. In fact, it serves our purposes nicely as halflings traditionally make their way back to the Twixt by their own means, like hatchling turtles making their way home to sea.” He gave a solemn nod. “We can use this to explain your unusually dramatic and unanticipated arrival Under the Hill.”
Joy finished typing and looked up at Graus Claude’s expectant expression.
“Okay,” she said. “Great.”
“O-kay,” Graus Claude rumbled and took a deep, bellows breath. “As you know, the Folk are few and thus bloodshed is highly discouraged.” She all but felt the Bailiwick’s stare touch her shoulder, the place where her Grimson’s mark burned. Inq had put it there after Joy had killed the Red Knight; her act of self-defense was only considered acceptable because the assassin had broken the Edict. “Indeed, this is one of the reasons that the Scribes were created—to take on the risks inherent in marking humans claimed by the Folk without putting any of our own people in danger.”
“But Ink and Inq are your people,” Joy said, turning in her chair. She rankled at bigotry in either world. “They are part of the Twixt, too.”
Graus Claude shifted his elephantine feet. His shoes were topped in immaculate peach spats. “Technically, Master Ink and Mistress Inq are not Folk, per se,” the Bailiwick said. “They are homunculi, constructed instruments that attained consciousness over time. While they are, indeed, part of the Twixt, they are not, strictly speaking, part of the Folk. They were made, not born.”
“So it’s okay to put them at risk,” Joy said hotly. “Sort of like stealing babies?”
The Bailiwick sighed. “Miss Malone, this is not an ethical debate. Please, try to stay on topic.” Joy chewed the inside of her cheek and typed The Council Sucks!!! in bold font. Graus Claude either didn’t see it or chose to ignore it as he ambled past. “This paucity of numbers has created a symbiotic network among the Folk, a web of alliances, threats and favors that have ensured the collective safety and status of practically everyone within the Twixt. That network must now adapt to include you.” He paused by her chair as if to emphasize the point. Joy felt a warm breath puff her hair. She kept typing. “The Folk must find a place for you and will attempt to weave you into their matrices like so many spiders spinning their webs. They will wish to sway you to their favor, bow to their behest, absorb your resources into their positions of power—in essence, the Folk will jockey to claim you under their influence.” He brushed away a line of imaginary dust. “This will be cloaked in etiquette at best and intrigue at worst. My charge is to educate you on the finer points of protocol and proper behavior so that you may forge your own alliances wisely and not place yourself in any undo danger by giving offense.”
“Danger?” Joy said, looking up from the keys. “What danger? I thought you said that the Folk can’t off one another.”
“Well, certainly they can—” he said with a casual flip of one hand. “The Red Knight was an excellent case in point. By triggering fresh incarnations after the Council’s initial binding spell was cast, the new Knight was not included under the Edict and therefore was unaffected by the rule, free to hunt without recrimination. In essence, the spell did not call him by his True Name, and therefore, he was not bound to obey it. A neat little loophole you closed up nicely.” The Bailiwick tapped the basin’s edge. “But do not make the same mistake that many mortals do—just because you cannot be killed outright does not mean that you cannot die due to injury, foolishness or being maneuvered into a less-than-desirable position.” He smiled, all teeth. “It is one of the finer diversions of a prolonged existence, the subtle art of abiding by the rules that govern our world whilst applying a deft hand to their creative interpretation.” He raised one manicured claw. “If you were to change an enemy into a tree or a fly or bury them a thousand feet underground, then, technically, you would not have killed them, but it can make life considerably inconvenient for the offender, not to mention quite brief.” Joy stared at the giant toad’s beatific smile. He noticed her expression and lowered his head to hers. “Therefore, the most prudent thing to do is not to offend.” They locked eyes for a long moment. Graus Claude tapped her screen. “Write that down.”
She did.
For the next several hours, she dutifully typed everything that the Bailiwick dictated about the Council, its representatives, the Hall and Under the Hill, the Glen—the First Forest, which was how the town of Glendale got its name—as well as outlining several key Houses and Courts that divided the Folk into categories based on their origins or common alliances. Some of them were familiar, like Water, Earth, Forest and Aether, others had strange names like the Middle Kingdom, the Fortunate Isles or the Silver Ley Axis, but whenever she tried asking about them, she was immediately shushed and ordered to keep typing.
“When you are greeted by your given name, you must respond with grace, with thanks and in kind,” he said. “If you do not know a person’s given name, then they have you at a disadvantage and have asserted themselves into the superior position. This can be counteracted if you know their proper title, address or that of their superiors...” Graus