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To my surprise, she gave a little chuckle and sat back against the bench, looking relaxed for the first time since coming into the parlor. Of course, she had already shared her dark secret with me, so what was there to be nervous about now? “I know that. Trust me, if a tattoo artist had found a cure for cancer, do you think anyone would actually be dying of it right now? I know that you can’t do anything about my situation. You can’t even extend my life. I want to die knowing that despite what God thought of me, I still got my wings. I’ll go to hell with my angel wings.”
I turned my head and looked over at the brave woman who was begging for my help to jump out on one last adventure before her breath left her body for the final time. Her two hundred dollars wouldn’t cover the time it would take to draw up the design and get half of it inked, but I would take the money because I didn’t want to injure her pride any more than it already had been by having to admit the truth to me. I’d take the job because I knew about thumbing your nose at the authorities just a moment before you were sure that you would cease to exist.
“So when do you want to start?” I asked, forcing a smile onto my lips.
Her brown eyes finally lit up with some of the energy she had been missing when she first came into my shop. “You’ll do it? Wonderful! I want to do this as soon as possible!”
“I need some time to get the design done. I’m assuming that due to the narrowness of your frame you want the wings to look like they’re folded on your back.”
“Yes, that would be perfect.”
“And color?”
“Just black ink. I think I’m pale enough to make the feathers look snowy white.”
Her enthusiasm was starting to become contagious. Most people who came in had been tattooed a time or two, resulting in a very blasé attitude about the whole process, or there was just the annoying, slightly intoxicated youth looking for that official badge of adulthood. But Tera was different. She might never have the chance to show the tattoo to the world, but she would know it was there; it was her way of trumping the great puppeteer in the sky. She had won my respect.
“All right,” I said, pushing to my feet. I extended my hand to her and she eagerly took it in both of hers. “Come back by tomorrow around six o’clock and I’ll have a design for you to look at. If you like it, we’ll get started then.”
“Awesome! Thank you so much!” she gushed for a second before sailing out the front door.
As I stepped into the back room again, I found two sets of eyes pinned on me in a mixture of worry and surprise. They both could easily have overhead all of the conversation despite the music that was still playing. The tattoo I had just promised to complete cost closer to a thousand dollars and I was doing it for a fraction of the price. I was happy to help people out when I could, and I cut friends a deal on occasion simply because I knew they would come back, but I wasn’t in the business of charity, and it was extremely rare for me to be drawn in by some sob story.
“Boss, you know that I don’t interfere in your business choices,” Bronx started in his low and steady voice, bringing a frown to my lips. “But this doesn’t seem like a good idea.”
“What’s the problem? She’s dying. It’s not as if I can do any more damage, right?” I snapped.
“Could the ink make her condition any worse?” Trixie demanded. “Or maybe the stress on the body during the tattooing process might aggravate her weakened condition.”
“I don’t see it being a problem. She knows what she’s getting into, and hell only knows what she’s already been through. Getting a tattoo couldn’t possibly be worse than some of the tests and treatments she’s already suffered.”
“Who do you think recommended you to her?” Bronx inquired.
I just waved my hand aimlessly as I started to walk to the back room where the potion components were stored. “Heaven only knows. I’ve tattooed so many people over the years. It could be anyone.”
“Maybe you should ask her when she comes back tomorrow.”
I paused before disappearing down the narrow hallway and looked over at the troll’s grim expression. “You know, you’re starting to sound really paranoid about this one. You got something you want to tell me?”
“Wish I did,” he muttered as he eased himself down into the tattooing chair he used.
Truth be told, I wished he had something more to tell me as well. I thought I knew all there was to know about this particular client. Hell, I knew more about her than I knew about most of my clients. I tried to tell myself it was just the fact that she was dying that was bothering me, but there was something niggling in the back of my brain that wouldn’t let the tension ease from my shoulders.
Before grabbing my bag, my eye caught on the enormous glass-fronted wood case that held hundreds of different potion components. With the right combination of herbs and rare ingredients, I could guarantee someone a varying degree of good luck, I could make them more attractive to a certain person, or I could even hex a person’s ex for the right amount of money. Damn, for the right amount of money, I was positive that I could do far worse, but I tried to avoid getting myself into that kind of trouble, no matter how much green or gold was flashed in front of me. Karma could be a bitch.
Yet, as I stood there, it wasn’t the first-floor cabinet I was picturing, but my wall of cabinets in the basement that was flashing across my brain. In seconds, I was running through the catalog of items, weighing the use, effectiveness, and strength of each one. What was I hoping to accomplish? I knew without a doubt that I couldn’t cure her, but what if I could buy her a little more time? What if I could give her months versus days? Would they be days of agony or happiness because she had experienced more life than she had expected to?
It was only the pounding of Trixie’s heels on the wood floor that made me realize I had been standing transfixed before the cabinet for several minutes, lost in thought. I quickly bent down and grabbed the strap of my bag before shouldering it. My mind was still rattling through ingredient after ingredient. It was a puzzle my brain couldn’t let go of. There was something I could do. I was one of the best tattoo artists in the region, if not the country. I had a past that no other tattoo artist could claim. After all the centuries of torture, bloodshed, and death caused by the warlocks and the witches, there had to be something positive that one warlock-in-training could do to help someone without looking for something in return.
“You okay?” Trixie asked, poking her head in the door.
“Yeah, just thinking about the designs I’ve got to get done tomorrow. It’s too late tonight to sit down at the desk. I’m dead on my feet.”
Trixie arched one eyebrow at me for a second before shaking her head as she backed out of the room and headed into the tattoo parlor. I had to admit that I kind of felt the same way. What the hell was I doing? There were some things in this world that couldn’t be changed, but I wasn’t sure that I was ready to admit defeat on this one yet.
5
AFTER THE LATE hour I’d finished the previous night, it was a little difficult to pull my sorry ass back into the parlor before three o’clock the next day. It meant skipping the gym and packing a quick lunch/dinner, but at least I didn’t have an unexpected run-in with any gun-wielding maniacs in the alley beside the tattoo parlor when I arrived in the afternoon.
I went through my usual routine of checking the spells and resetting everything before I trudged down into the basement and reset the spell there. Trixie wasn’t expected for another five hours and Bronx wouldn’t be here until another hour or so after that. The parlor was mine for a while, allowing me to work in peace.
In one far corner was a designer’s desk with a bright overhead lamp. Sitting down in the ergonomically correct chair, I snatched several pieces of paper and started sketching the wings that I had seen dancing through my brain all night as I slept. This project consumed me like nothing else before. I had had clients come to me with some interesting concepts and art, but there was something different about this. I needed it to be perfect in every detail.
As I worked on the art there was something else eating at me that finally drove me down into the chilled basement of the tattoo parlor. Normally, I worked on all my designs in the windowless back room with the ingredients. But this one had taken on a secretive quality. I felt the need to be close to my personal ingredients, as if they were calling to me, wanting me to use them in the ink when I had already said that I wouldn’t. This was just supposed to be a tattoo of angel wings and yet I felt as if I needed to do more, as if I had to do more. I didn’t know if it was about trying to save one lost soul before it was taken too early. Maybe it was about trying to do something good with all my years of study when all the other warlocks and witches had only looked out for themselves.
After a couple of poor starts, I got down a design on paper that I managed to finish in just over an hour. I decided to go with an exceedingly simple design instead of something with heavy detail. I didn’t want to distract from the sheer purity of the lines. The wings would break from her back and pour forth like a white cascade.
I took the design upstairs and checked the clock one last time. I still had a couple of hours until Tera was due to arrive, and to my surprise, I felt myself growing nervous. I had been tattooing long enough that I was never nervous before starting a piece of work. I had done more than a dozen tattoos in a single night and still gone on to have drinks with friends later. Tattooing was my life, and yet I was suddenly faced with what would probably be the last great act of this woman before she died; I was nervous about screwing it up for her.
Shaking my head at my strange feeling, I started to tidy up the windowless back room where I would be tattooing Tera. Considering that she would be forced to lie on her stomach with her back fully exposed, I thought she might appreciate a little extra privacy instead of being on display for any other customers who might come in. While I knew the tattoo would take close to two hours to complete, I figured that I would be able to finish it before Trixie came in the door and officially opened the shop.
As I prepped everything I needed, I took a long look at the plastic cap that would hold the black ink for her tattoo. It was a large, but simple, thin line tattoo. I wouldn’t need more than a single cap of black ink. Mind swirling and conscience screaming, I tightly grasped the cap in the palm of my hand as I stomped down the stairs to the basement where my hidden ingredients beckoned me.
“Fine! I’m here!” I shouted to no one as I stood before the cabinets. I set the cap down on one of the counters of the largest cabinet before I started pulling open one glass door after another. It was only when I reached the one with the heavy padlock on the front that my mind grasped what I was searching for. My heart pounded and my mouth went as dry as the Sahara. I had never thought to use it. Part of me had convinced myself that it wasn’t real, but then I had acquired it from my mentor and he wasn’t one to lie about the veracity of a particular item. Every potion maker had to understand the potency and capabilities of every item he used. The only problem was that due to its extreme rareness no one knew how this item would react. But this once, I was willing to take a chance as the ingredients that I needed suddenly filled my brain.
Walking back over to the first cabinet, I reached inside and on the second shelf picked up a small vial. With a toothpick, I fished out a few particles of pollen from a white lily that had been sitting on a church altar during Easter mass. I wasn’t the type to go haunting churches and cemeteries for the really interesting ingredients, but sometimes a person had to take some chances to get the good stuff. At least I had waited until everyone left mass and cleared out of the church before I made my own personal collection. The white lily has always been a symbol of rebirth and purity. There was a cleanness to it that appealed to my brain, as if I could use these particles of pollen to wash away Tera’s sins.
Replacing the container in the cabinet, I closed the doors and carried the cap, with one finger over the opening and one below the bottom, to the cabinet with the padlock. Carefully setting the cap down, I fished my keys out of my pocket and, with the infrequently used lock making a slight screech, opened it. The wooden doors groaned as they were opened. Dragging over a stepladder, I climbed up to the last step so that I could reach the top shelf. I removed several items before I could reach a carefully sealed mason jar in the very back that seemed to glow with its own perfect light. The jar contained a single white feather that looked as if it was large enough to come from a giant eagle or condor. After coming down the steps, I walked over to my workbench and grabbed a pair of metal tweezers and a pair of wooden tongs. With shaking hands, I opened the jar and partially removed the feather by grasping it with the wooden tongs. I drew in a deep breath and held it as I used the tweezers to pull a single wispy frond from the feather and curl it in the bottom of the plastic ink cap. It was only after the feather had been replaced in the jar and the lid properly resealed that I started breathing again. I quickly put everything back where it belonged and locked the cabinet.
According to my mentor that feather had come from an actual angel. In fact, if he was to be believed, the feather had come from Gabriel himself. Other than my mentor, no one knew I possessed such a unique artifact, and I had always promised myself that I would never use it. It seemed to be too dangerous to ever use. And in truth, there had never been a call for anything so pure and perfect to be used in a tattoo, but at the moment it seemed to fit. I was drawing angel wings for a dying woman. What was more fitting than to have the ink first touched by the bit of a feather from a real angel? It had to do some good, right?
Placing my thumb back over the opening to the cap, I carried it up the stairs and kicked the trapdoor closed with a heavy bang. Setting the cap on the table, I grabbed a small piece of plastic wrap and placed it over the cap so that its contents would be protected until I could finally add the ink.
A knock on the front door suddenly woke me from the doze I had fallen into while stretched out in one of the tattoo chairs. I rubbed my eyes and stumbled out to the main waiting area. Tera was peeking through the front window around the stickers and signs, trying to see if anyone was actually inside. I waved at her as I crossed the distance to the front door and unlocked it for her.
“I saw the closed sign and thought maybe you had forgotten about our appointment,” she said as she stepped inside.
“No, I just can’t open the parlor until I’m done with your tattoo because I won’t be able to work on you and man the front desk and phone at the same time. The shop probably won’t officially open until Trixie gets here later tonight.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be so much trouble.”
I waved her off as I led her to the back tattoo room. “It’s why I had you come in so early. The shop usually doesn’t open until around seven during the summer. Most of my customers are the nocturnal sort.”
“Isn’t that a little dangerous?”
“Not really if you’ve got a troll on staff,” I replied with a smirk. “Bronx tends to keep the peace with just a look.”
“I can imagine,” she murmured as she stepped into the windowless back room. There was a large, cushioned table in the center of the room surrounded by some small tables on wheels so I could easily move my supplies and tattooing machine around without forcing the subject to switch positions. There was one stainless steel sink against the far wall where we would sterilize some of our equipment that wasn’t simply disposable. On the opposite wall was a floor-to-ceiling mirror that allowed the customer to easily see the new piece of work. I knew that it was intimidating being closed up in a windowless room with a total stranger and a pulsating needle while being half dressed, but it was part of my job to set her at ease.
Pulling around one of the stools on wheels, I patted it for her to sit down while I walked over to another table in the corner and grabbed my drawings. I held them up to her. Each was only one wing. I would make a mirror-image copy of the second wing so that it would be symmetrically perfect on her back.
“For the first one, I chose to go with long, slender feathers because your frame is so small and narrow,” I explained. “I wanted to create the illusion of them flowing down your back. The second image is of somewhat shorter wings that stretch more across your shoulder blades.”
A slow smile spread across Tera’s face as she looked at the two designs. She lightly held the paper by her fingertips, as if she were afraid of harming the design. “I love the first one. It’s perfect. Exactly what I had in mind.”
“Excellent. I’m going to go and start getting these copied out to the right size so that the ink outline covers your back. That will give you a chance to get out of your shirt and bra. I just need exposure to your back, so feel free to hold your shirt to your front. Or not,” I said, winking at her as I left the room in hopes that the teasing would take some of the tension away from the lines surrounding her mouth and eyes.
It took nearly half an hour to get the wings the right size and evenly spaced, let alone straight on her back. I had been forced to wash away the ink copy twice before I finally got it centered as perfectly as possible. Two-sided tattoos were a bitch to do, as they required that each side perfectly matched up with the other. However, they were usually some of the most elegant tattoos I have ever seen because of their symmetry on the body.
Through all my cursing and eyeballing of her back from one angle to another, Tera remained still and silent. The perfect little client, but then I suspected she wasn’t going to give me any trouble considering that I was doing this tattoo for so little.
When I was finally satisfied, I told her to lie down on the table while I stepped into the other room and picked up a bottle of black ink. As soon as I returned, I found her lying on the table on her stomach with her shirt arranged in such a way that her breasts were covered as best as possible. Pulling on a pair of latex gloves, I glared at my hands as they trembled before I removed the plastic wrap from the little ink container. I hesitated for only a second, my mind questioning why I was so determined to do this, then I squirted the ink into the container, covering up the frond from the angel’s feather and the pollen from the Easter lily. It was the right thing to do.
Settling on a low stool with wheels, I took a deep breath as I dipped the needle in the ink and positioned the foot pedal for the tattooing machine under my toe. “Okay, I’m just going to do a short line to make sure that you can tolerate this,” I warned her before pressing on the pedal. The buzz of the tattooing machine filled the air and the tension oozed out of my body. I drew the first line and Tera didn’t even flinch. She’d passed the test. I grabbed a glob of petroleum jelly and smoothed it over the area that I was going to be working on and then continued to follow the blue outline on her shoulder, working my way down her back.
As I tattooed her, we talked about nothing at all. We discussed the weather, places we had grown up, and bad relationships. We laughed and joked as I worked, allowing me to completely forget about the dangerous potion I was permanently embedding in her flesh. I reminded myself that I couldn’t kill her, cancer was already doing that job, and quickly.
By the time I’d finished the first half of Tera’s back, Trixie had stuck her head into the room, so we took a short break.
“How’s it going?” my coworker asked with a cheerful smile.
“She’s a trooper,” I replied, setting the tattoo machine on the nearby table so I could pull on a fresh set of gloves.
“Putting up with your crude humor and lewd jokes, huh?”
“No, he’s been a perfect gentleman,” Tera said, defending me.
Trixie gave another snort of disbelief. “Give him time. He’s only half done with your back.”
“Thanks, Trix,” I muttered, turning my attention to Tera, who was looking at me over her shoulder. “I’m going to go help Trixie open up the shop. That will give you a chance to change your position on the table so that you’re facing in the opposite direction. It’s easier for me to reach that part of your back without dragging all the equipment around.”
Tera nodded and I followed Trixie out of the room, shutting the door behind me. We walked silently into the main room, where Trixie started to fiddle with her MP3 player, searching for tonight’s music before she settled on some Three Days Grace.
“How long you been at it?”
I glanced up at the clock. “Nearly two hours. Took me thirty minutes to get the fucking outline on her back properly. The tattooing is going quickly. It’s a simple design. I should be done with her in about another thirty to forty-five minutes. Can you handle things alone for that long?”
“Sure.” Trixie paused for a moment, staring at me with a frown on her face. I knew I wasn’t going to like what was on her mind. “I know it’s way too late, but I still feel bad about this one.”
“Why?”
“I have no idea. It’s a feeling, and I’ve learned to trust my feelings. They’ve kept me alive this long.”
“Yeah, well, I’m just tattooing angel wings on the back of a dying girl. I don’t see the harm.”
“Nothing in the ink?” Trixie inquired.
I frowned at her. “What could I possibly have put in the ink that would help her?” Evading her question wasn’t much different from outright lying to her. Despite my intention of helping Tera, I didn’t like myself much at that moment.
She sighed as she walked to the front door to flip the sign over to OPEN. “Nothing, I’m sure.”
“I’m going to get back in there. Hold down the fort. I shouldn’t be much longer.”
“Be careful,” Trixie whispered at my back as I headed down the hallway, my heavy footsteps echoing off the hardwood floor so that Tera had ample warning of my approach. When I opened the door, she was settled on the table with the shirt properly tucked around her.
“Ready for the second half?” I asked as I grabbed a pair of fresh gloves.
“Ready.”
As I placed the first line on her lower back, she flinched. The tissue there was a little softer and the needle dug in more than when we had been doing her shoulders. I wanted to work my way up, getting the worst part of the tattoo done first. I continued working until she let out a little grunt, causing me to pause.
“It hurts more this time around, doesn’t it?” I asked.
“Yeah.”
“Sorry, but that’s just how it works. When you do two halves of a tattoo, the second half always hurts more than the first half.”
“You’re kidding, right?”
“Does it feel like I’m kidding?” I resumed inking her back. I tried to quickly work my way up to where I knew she had been more comfortable during the first half.
“No, it doesn’t.”
“Sorry, I would have warned you, but you’d have spent the entire first half of the tattoo worrying about completing the second half. You’ll get adjusted.”
Tera gave a soft little laugh as she settled her chin on her folded hands in front of her. “Besides, it’s not as if I can stop now. It would look ridiculous—a single angel’s wing on my back.”
“Actually, at this point, it’s a wing and a half, so that would look even sillier. You have to grit your teeth and stick it out now.”
I looked up when Tera sighed and found that her eyes were closed. “I’ve been through worse. This will pass too,” she murmured.
I had nothing to say to that, so I went silently back to work, finishing the tattoo as cleanly and quickly as possible. It took me another thirty minutes to complete it and wipe it down, removing the excess ink, blood, and petroleum jelly. I gave her a chance to walk over to the large mirror and stare at the image. Her eyes were shining as she gazed over her shoulder at her back. It really was an impressive work of art. The wings actually looked as if they would rise off her back and carry her into the heavens. But that was an illusion created by the puffy skin that resulted from cutting into the flesh. It was just a tattoo, even if it was one of my better ones.
While she was still standing, I pulled off a large piece of plastic wrap and placed it against her back before taping it down with medical tape. “This is to protect that tattoo for the next several hours.”
“I feel like a leftover,” she joked, her mood instantly becoming lighter than air.
“Keep it covered until tomorrow. Don’t sleep on your back, and wash it carefully with unscented soap for the next few weeks. Also, no matter how badly it itches, don’t scratch it.”
I closed my eyes as I helped her pull her button-up shirt on and then escorted her to the front room, where Trixie was already working on a client. She hadn’t bothered to come back for any ingredients, so it seemed safe to assume that it was a regular old tattoo with nothing special added. I collected my fee and followed Tera to the door where she gripped me in a tight hug before she left the parlor.
I wanted to say something hopeful or happy or encouraging, but there were no words that I could push past my parted lips. She was one of the few clients who I knew without a doubt I would never see again.
6
THE SQUEAK OF the front door opening and closing accompanied by the door chime echoing above the sound of Marilyn Manson on the speakers caught my attention, but I couldn’t hear any footsteps. The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end. I didn’t let myself look up from the client I was working on until Bronx said my name. The troll was staring at the TV, which was showing the security-camera view of the lobby. No one was on the screen. Fucking vampires. I truly doubted that this was a pleasure visit. They rarely got tattoos and were never in a good mood when it came to dealing with anything remotely human. I guess it was simply a bad idea to get too friendly with something you viewed as food.
“Trixie, can you finish this tattoo for me?” I asked, dragging my gaze over to where she was sitting on the counter. “I need to take care of this.” She nodded and hopped down from her spot. The man I was working on didn’t seem to mind, as a smile crossed his lips when Trixie took the stool I had just vacated. I glanced over at Bronx, who was intently watching me. “Hang back for me.”
