Marcy
“You came back for her?” Wren stopped sweeping the broom back and forth across the black-and-white floors of the tattoo parlor. Her healthy bosom heaped over the top of her sweetheart neckline, rippling underneath the storied mural inked onto her skin.
I let the door close behind me. My insides thrummed like I’d been trapped for days and was just now plotting my escape from cabin fever. “Came back for who?”
Wren’s burgundy lips were in stark contrast to the whites of her teeth. “Her. Keres.” She nodded at the illustrations pinned to the wall next to me. “Isn’t that the one you had your eye on last time?”
My focus was immediately drawn to the lithe faerie with her tattered wings, curved blade, and trail of dripping blood. “How did she get her name?” I asked.
Wren resumed sweeping. “Keres was the name for the daughters of Nyx. Legend has it, they were female death spirits and sisters of the Fates. That one’s my favorite. The black Ker, which meant Violent Death.”
I lingered over the beautiful portrait a moment longer. “I haven’t earned her yet,” I said. “So just the same for now.”
“Another line then?” She shook her head. “What is it with you? It’s hard not to take line drawing as an affront to my artistic abilities.”
I stepped forward and took a seat on the same black leather chair that I’d occupied on the previous visit. “It’s not intended that way. I’m saving her. For a special occasion.”
Wren shrugged and leaned the broom in the corner. “Aren’t you a little young to be out tonight?” she said, rolling her stool and equipment alongside.
“What do you mean?”
“I’m hardly a stickler about the rules, but you’re missing curfew.” My face must have read blank because she continued. “The county’s on lockdown again. Don’t you watch the news?”
“No,” I answered honestly.
The mosquito buzz of the needle switched on and she dipped the sharp end into the pot of black ink. “A boy’s gone missing again. And another one’s been found dead. This time they’re college boys, but I don’t think that makes it any better.” I clenched my fist just before the needle broke skin. “This place has seen more than its fair share of death, don’t you think?”
“I don’t know.” I watched the ink bubble over my flesh. “Who gets to decide what’s fair?”
She paused. Her green eyes lifted and met mine. The door to the parlor opened and we both instinctively turned to see who was there.
Lena was brushing dark strands of hair from her forehead. “I got your message.” She held up her phone. “You shouldn’t even be out.” Her glance passed between Wren and me and I could tell she wasn’t saying all that she wanted to say. She crossed the room to us and stared down at my arm, the line on which Wren had begun retracing. She took a step back and gawked. When she spoke, her voice was a croak. “You’re getting a second one,” she said.
Wren wiped away the excess ink. I watched. As the darkness of the line deepened, so did my giddiness.
The surprise on his face. The sound of smashing skull. The spray of blood fanning out as though from a sprinkler system.
The line encompassed every bright point in my mind’s eye. “Yes,” I said, unable to fight the smile that was dancing at the edges of my mouth.
“There are cops everywhere.” There was a quake in her tone that told me she wasn’t worried the cops would haul us in for breaking curfew. She knew—or at least she guessed—the meaning of the second line and now the first.
“I tried to tell her,” Wren said. She pulled out a wad of gauze and taped it over the fresh tattoo on my wrist.
The thrill of the needle’s pain dissipated as the meaning of what Lena and Wren had been telling me crashed like a giant gong being beaten within five inches of my eardrum. I’d been stupid. So stupid. If cops were on the scene, if cops could be led to me, the end of my plan was in mortal danger, which in turn meant the remaining boys—California, Lucky Strike, and Circus Master—were not. I might never finish. There might never be justice. My throat squeezed like I was having an allergic reaction.
“How much?” I said, standing up too quickly so that the blood rushed from my head. Even I could hear the strangled note in my question.
Wren rolled her equipment back against the wall and stripped off her plastic gloves. “You can get me next time.” Next time. The thought was comforting even if Wren had no idea what she was saying.
Lena let out a quiet whimper. I cut a glance at her and she shut up.
“Definitely,” I said, rolling down the sleeve of my hoodie. Because there would most certainly be a next time. The problem had just gotten trickier to solve. Luckily, I was good at solving problems.
Lena followed me outside where the air was leaning on the side of warm and the first hints of cottonseeds could be caught in the breeze.