Indelible Quotes

“I was born with the Sight, Ink," she said, voice trembling. "So tell me, why were you the first person I'd ever seen from the Twixt?"

They stared at each other. His answer slipped through his lips.

"Because I saw you," he confessed. "And I couldn't look away.”
― Dawn Metcalf, Indelible

“Do you trust me?"
She could still hear him, through flesh and noise.
"I love you!" she shouted.
It wasn't the answer he'd expected or the she'd expected to give. It was the wrong time, the wrong thing to say, but her answer lit a fire in his eyes.”
― Dawn Metcalf, Indelible

“I am only an idea, a requirement breathed to life-an instrument. A tool.”
― Dawn Metcalf, Indelible

“Lehman?" Joy said. The word sounded familiar. "What does that mean?"
Inq shrugged as she considered the overhead lights. "A human who has been chosen by one of our kind. Confidante, contact, significant ... "
"Slave," Ink said dully.
"What?" Joy snapped.
"Or lover," Inq added. "It loses something in translation.”
― Dawn Metcalf, Indelible

“He was reading her like Braille.”
― Dawn Metcalf, Indelible

“When I take you with me, it feels like no time has passed,” he said. “But it all moves forward. Always forward.” Ink studied her fingers. “I am trying to be present in these moments. To be here with you.” He turned his fathomless eyes to Joy. “I am aware now how swiftly it passes, and so I am left attempting to do the impossible—I am trying to hold on to time.”
― Dawn Metcalf, Indelible

“For all the horror, the brand was beautiful. A single line drew layers of sharp petals and etched one jaded leaf. Joy twisted her shoulder and traced the brand with her finger, feeling the dead skin ridge, the tightness of sunburn without the sting. She touched it tentatively and then with a growing confidence. She’d gone through something horrible and emerged with this. Through every insane, upsetting and embarrassing thing she’d been through—her mother, her father, her brother, Ink, Hasp, Briarhook, the police—all of it had built up inside her, but nothing ever showed. Nothing ever looked different despite the fact that it was different, she felt different, and all the therapist talk was about going back to being the same even though she knew she would never be the same again. How could she? Some things were permanent— indelible—and could not be changed back.

This change was permanent; it showed inside and out. ”
― Dawn Metcalf, Indelible

“Joy sat idly by the feet of a giant blond man who had beaten seven others in an ugly bar fight. He’d pushed himself drunkenly out a small bathroom window, landed in the glass-strewn alleyway and collapsed atop a pile of flattened cardboard boxes by a recycling bin. Now that the guy was unconscious, Ink could begin his work. Joy munched on a handful of peanuts and handed him instruments in a steady stream.

“Seven by seven,” Ink said as he traced a small line of erupting black birds. “Reminds me of one of the old marks— the seventh son of a seventh son.” He exchanged the razor for the wand. “Not much call for that anymore.”

“Why not?” Joy asked.

“Birth control,” Ink answered and blew the leaf wand dry. ”
― Dawn Metcalf, Indelible

“They each chose a seat. Graus Claude towered over them. Joy thought he’d make an impressive school principal or Supreme Court judge. Heck, he was pretty impressive as a fourarmed toad in a three-piece suit.”
― Dawn Metcalf, Indelible

“You look white,” Monica said.

“Caucasian, actually,”
― Dawn Metcalf, Indelible

“Inq mentioned that we could expect something like this.” Joy marveled at the expanding definition of something like this. “Ours is an enigmatic circumstance, and the Folk are nothing if not curious.”
― Dawn Metcalf, Indelible

“What happened to you?” Monica accused over a tray of leafy greens.

“What?” Joy said. “Nothing.”

“Well, that nothing has you eating your salad with a spoon.”

Embarrassed, Joy switched utensils, tucking her hair behind her ear and letting her fingers linger there. She grinned again.

“I’m just thinking,” she said, poking the lettuce, “about stuff.”

“Thinking stuff.” Monica nodded and chewed. “Sounds dangerous.”

“Not yet,” Joy chirped.

Monica slapped both hands on her tray, “Okay, that’s it— spill.”

“What?”

“What ‘what?’ Don’t give me ‘what’ and expect me not to ask ‘what?’” Monica pointed her fork at Joy’s nose. “You’ve been a total nut job ever since that night at the Carousel, and what with breaking windows and random notes and skipping off after school, you think I don’t know there’s a ‘what?’” Monica sounded angry, which was her protective-sisterhood thing. Joy tried not to laugh.

“Is it drugs?” Monica hissed over her salad. “Because if it’s drugs, so help me, I will beat your sorry pale pink butt from here to next Thursday. I will call your dad, I will call the cops and I will even call Gordon and cancel our date!”

“Whoa.” Joy waved a napkin in surrender. “It’s not drugs. No drugs. I swear. Remember? No Stupid,” Joy said, but had to add, “But there is a someone.”

“A someone?”

“A someone.”

“A guy?”

Joy rolled her eyes. “Yes, a guy. There’s a guy. I like guys.”

Monica pursed her lips. “There’s a guy and you like guys and you met a guy, this Someone-A-Guy?”

Joy prodded her lunch, picking at the crust of her sandwich. “There’s a guy and I don’t know what I think about him. I’m just…thinking about him. A lot.”

“Mmm,” Monica said noncommittally. “So does this guy have a name?”

Joy considered the question. “Yes.”

“Yes?” Monica prompted with a wave of speared iceberg lettuce. “And?”

“And there’s not much to talk about.” Joy shrugged and took a wide bite of sandwich, filling her mouth. She couldn’t decide whether Indelible was his first name or Ink, but neither sounded particularly normal. As opposed to Gordon Wiener-Schnitzel. Still, it was a subject best avoided.

“Uh-huh.” Monica joined Joy in a long bout of chewing. They exchanged glances and evasions like fencing partners until Monica swallowed. “Okay,” she said. “So, this mysterious Someone-A-Guy that you can’t stop thinking about— would I, as your best friend, theoretically speaking, give him a thumbs-up or a thumbs-down?”

Two thumbs down, definitely, for mysteryguywhostabbedmeintheeye. Joy swallowed. “He’s not your type,” she said diplomatically.

“But he’s your type?” Monica said. “And, what is your type, exactly?”

“He’s…” Joy stumbled, trying to find the words. “Exciting. Intellectual. A little sad, which can be sweet.” The flash in her eye inspired her. “He’s an artist.”

“An artist?” Monica sneered around cukes. “Please do not tell me that you’re going to go all emo on me. That’s worse than drugs.”
― Dawn Metcalf, Indelible