He pointed to himself. “Older brother,” he said. “It’s part of the job. With great power comes great scrutiny.”
“Stef.” Their father’s voice came from across the kitchen. “Are you harassing our guest?”
Joy said, “Yes!” just as Stef said “No!”
Mr. Malone shook his head. His girlfriend, Shelley, chuckled while untying her apron. “Let’s all sit down,” she said soothingly. “Dinner’s ready.”
Stef stepped aside. Joy marched Ink in.
We can do this, she thought. No problem. It’s not war, it’s not life-and-death—it’s just dinner with my family. And my boyfriend. My inhuman, immortal, usually invisible boyfriend. She patted Ink’s arm. Okay, remember: one conniption fit at a time.
“Have a seat.” Joy’s father waved at the table. “Glad you could make it, Mark.” Mr. Malone refused to call Ink by his nickname, which was funny since “Mark Carver” was his human alias—everyone in the Twixt called him “Indelible Ink.” His True Name was written as an unpronounceable symbol, a signatura. Names were powerful things in the Twixt, and the Folk had learned to take precautions against human entrapment.
“I’m glad to be here,” Ink said, careful to use contractions. Joy had coached him that he sounded more human that way. Joy guided Ink to the chair next to hers. It was the one she’d been sitting in when he’d first traced her ear, exploring the tiniest details of what it meant to be human...and accidentally learning what it felt like to fall in love.
She saw him remember. Two dimples appeared, and Joy felt her cheeks warm as she smiled.
Stef sat down and began heaping chicken and green beans onto his plate. Joy grabbed the platter out of his hands.
“Guests first,” Joy said through clenched teeth.
“That’s right, Stef,” Mr. Malone said as he offered Ink a large bowl of roasted red potatoes. “You know the rules.”
Picking up the salad, Stef scooped out big chunks of feta and black olives. “Whatever happened to ‘you snooze, you lose’?”
“Some rules are meant to be broken,” Mr. Malone said. “Like free Wi-Fi privileges while you’re home if you don’t start acting more civil. Got it?”
Stef stared at his plate and nodded. “Got it.”
Mr. Malone sighed. “Sorry, Mark,” her dad said, reaching for the salad. “The unofficial family motto is what got this family through puberty. These two grew up eating everything in sight.”
Shelley leaned forward with a stage whisper. “My advice? Watch your fingers.”
Ink clutched the bowl closer, eying Joy and Stef warily.
Joy swallowed. “Ha-ha,” she said. “Just a joke. Very funny.” Given the variety of monsters who lived in the Twixt, Joy could well imagine that some of them ate fingers. She served a portion of chicken to Ink and kept the platter moving. Ink slowly relaxed, loosening his grip on the potatoes. She nudged his knee and rolled her eyes toward her dad.
“Joy has been talking about the big trip this weekend,” Ink said, reciting his opening line like a pro. “How long will you be gone?”
Mr. Malone grinned. “Three days,” he said and clapped a hand on Stef’s shoulder. “One last camping weekend before this one goes back to college.”
Stef didn’t respond as he chewed, but Joy suspected it was less about his bottomless appetite and more about avoiding talking directly to Ink.
“Will you be visiting Stef on campus?” Shelley asked Joy.
Joy exchanged a look with her brother. Both frowned. “No. Why?”
“Oh, well, I didn’t know if U Penn was on your list,” Shelley said as she stacked three cucumber slices on her fork. “I asked your father, and he said he didn’t know your plans.”
“Plans?” Joy said.
“It’s your senior year,” Mr. Malone said. “I know we sent off a bunch of college applications, but I haven’t heard anything since.”
Joy was speechless. College applications had been the last thing on her mind. After Mom had left, she had quit gymnastics and joined Dad’s swan dive into a sea of depression, axing her dreams of becoming an Olympian, which was all she’d ever wanted since age six. She’d become a numb, moping black hole. Shaking it off had been largely thanks to her best friend, Monica, a night dancing at their favorite club and unexpectedly getting stabbed in the eye. A lot had happened since January. She’d forgotten all about college.
“Um...”
“I know it’s been a tough year,” her dad said. “And I didn’t want to push, but you really need to start thinking about what you want to do next fall.” He saw her squirm in her seat and gave a slight nod, acknowledging Ink. “We can talk about it more during the trip.”
Joy untwisted her fingers from the edge of her shirt. “Yeah. Okay.”
“And what do you do, Mark?” Shelley asked Ink. Joy had told her father that Ink was a kind of exclusive tattoo artist...it had not gone over well.
“I mark people,” Ink said.
Joy almost snarfed her lemon water. She grabbed her napkin, and Ink looked mischievously pleased as he continued, “I like to say I get paid to draw on people’s skin.” Joy marveled at the single dimple tucked into his half smile like a smirk. “It’s not exactly glamorous,” he said. “But I never want for work.”
Joy pressed her napkin to her mouth, trying not to laugh. He’d told the truth! “Not exactly glamorous”—but it had more than paid for his glamour! The wizard’s spell had been insanely expensive, but it was the only way her friends and family could see Ink without the Sight. He wore the magical projection like a suit, a perfect picture of himself, but with human-looking eyes and a tattoo of Joy’s signatura on his left arm.
“But that’s not a long-term thing, right?” Stef said, looking smug. “What do you want to do when you grow up?”
Joy picked up the serving spoon, debating its heft.
Shelley paused over the dressing. “I thought only the chicken was getting grilled tonight,” she said and winked at Joy. Joy sent her a smile of thanks. At least Shelley had her back.
“You’re just lucky I didn’t invite Monica,” Dad said. “She would’ve brought the thumbscrews.”
Ink glanced at Joy. “Thumbscrews?”
“He’s kidding,” Joy said, patting Ink’s hand. “Seriously. Kidding.”
Ink’s eyebrows twitched under his long, black bangs. “‘Seriously kidding’?”
Stef and Dad exchanged glances. Joy’s heart beat double-time and she waved at Ink to forget about it. She’d try to explain later. If they made it through this dinner alive.
“So, Ink, where do you live?” Stef said with a wicked, knowing grin.
Joy drained her drink and slammed down her cup. “Anyone need more water?”
“You sit. I’ll get it.” Her father got up, snagged the empty pitcher and went to the fridge, filling the room with gurgles and the crack of the ice maker.
Shelley looked at the glares across the table and sighed. “I’ll cut some more lemons,” she said and joined Mr. Malone where they could talk quietly by the sink.
“Have some more ice water,” Joy whispered to her brother. “Then take the hint and chill out!”
“I’m testing a theory,” Stef whispered back, pointing a fork at Ink. “I