Inked Magic (16 page)

“Let’s get started then.”

The prep work went fast. And after the shock of the first few minutes of pain, Tori settled in, sharing some of her poetry while the outline was going in.

Her melodic verse and passionate words were close enough to music lyrics it took Etaín a while to realize Tori’s emotions weren’t plunging into her bloodstream. She considered it as she set the liner aside, taking a moment to wipe away the excess ink before moving on to the shader.

Eamon had dangled knowledge like a lure. He’d said there were ways to control her gift, but she didn’t see anything different about this morning over any other, other than having started it in Eamon’s bed.

Probably just the sex, she decided. It
had
been pretty mind-blowing.

She picked up the shader just as the shop door opened. The sight of Salina brought immediate concern. “Hey, everything okay with the tat?”

“Can I come back there?”

“Sure.”

Even regulars didn’t dare trespass into the work area without an invite. It was one of Bryce’s hard and fast rules.

“Sorry,” Etaín said to Tori. “This’ll just be a minute.”

“No problem. I’m cool with you taking time out for Salina.”

“You two know each other?”

“Yeah. I love listening to Lady Steel play.”

Salina shrieked at that mention of the band, coming around the counter like a Mack truck and slamming right into Etaín, arms going around in a hug that lifted Etaín off her feet.

It was like getting tangled in a live wire. Emotion streaked into her, a high octane whip of excited happiness to match the scream. Followed by an awareness of how their breasts were touching and a surge of desire.

So much for the immunity she’d been experiencing earlier. “You want to put me down now and tell me why you’re here? I gather it’s not because there’s a problem with the art.”

Another hug, lust receding under a wave of solid affection, and Salina released her. “You’re the best.”

Etaín laughed. “Yeah, I am, though Bryce might argue it.”

Salina gave a joyous whoop. “This isn’t about art, it’s about music. You mentioned me to Cathal Dunne. He called me!” She raised both fists and did a victory shimmy. “The band is playing at Saoirse. Tonight!”

Pleasure flooded Etaín, her own this time at seeing how much the gig meant to Salina. It spread through her with thoughts of Cathal and the suspicion this had come about because he wanted to see her again.

“Promise you’ll come see the band tonight,” Salina said.

“Wouldn’t miss it.”

Salina grabbed Etaín’s hands and despite the purple latex separating skin from skin, a blast of intensity and purpose came with the touch. “Promise, Etaín.”

She would have anyway, but the prospect of seeing Cathal sent heat sliding down to pool between her legs. Maybe if she alternated between the two men, she could prolong the time she could be with them before some natural barrier was eaten away by too much intimate contact, and she began erasing who they were by taking their memories.

“I promise.”

It elicited another screech, followed by another hug.

Salina released her. “Gotta go. See you tonight. You, too, Bryce. And Tori. I’ll square your being there with Cathal.”

She left in a rush and Etaín picked up the shader, turning back to Tori. “Ready?”

“Yeah. That was way cool what you did for her. I’m heading to Vegas for my cousin’s bachelorette party right after I leave here but I’ll be thinking about you guys tonight. You know any musicians you could hook me up with?”

“Get in line,” Bryce said. “She’s got to find someone for Derrick first.”

Tori rolled her eyes. “Not that kind of hook-up. Somebody looking to collaborate with a songwriter now that Etaín knows what my stuff is like.”

“I’ll think about who might be a fit,” Etaín said, stretching Tori’s skin and returning to the tattoo, Tori’s emotions quiet against her palm as she finished the work, then swapped the shader for a mirror.

“Perfect,” Tori said, looking at the tattoo. “Absolutely perfect. I don’t want to cover it up.”

“It’s just for a little while.”

H
e hung back when he saw her putting bandages on a black girl’s arm. He knew her routine when it came to this.

Bandages. Give the person a piece of paper. Then walk them to the counter so they could
pay.

The thrill he’d felt at seeing the black girl with her grew as he watched them leave the workstation. They weren’t touching, but if he squinted really hard, he could see a thin golden string connecting them.

A little shiver of rightness passed through him. If he could make the black girl the choice for next time, it would be more special because they’d known each other. He’d even add a tattoo on his leg for her, too, instead of on his arm like he did for the others that weren’t white.

He crossed the street. Slowly, but not too slow. This part always made him the most uncomfortable.

His heart pounded so hard he was afraid it would burst. His palms got sweaty and he felt like he was going to mess his pants.

It was always the worst right before he got close. And then it was over.

He either felt excited because he knew she was going to be his choice. Or he felt disappointed. Though sometimes he felt relieved, too, because it meant he could mark one possibility off and have more time to concentrate on the others.

He opened the door and stepped into the shop as the black girl was paying. The taste of sour milk and Fruit Loops filled his mouth.

He made himself take a few more steps inside.

The black girl moved away from the counter, saying goodbye.

The door opened and closed behind him. Then
she
looked away from typing something into the computer and he knew there’d be no other choice for
him.

She had dark, dark eyes and real blonde hair. She was perfect.

He ducked his head. A giggle slid up his throat at the thought of getting a harlequin tattoo here with her watching. He managed to swallow it down.

“Help you?” a man asked. It was the artist who had lots of tats and body piercings.

“I want to get some work done.”

The artist stepped up to the counter. “Name’s Bryce. Custom or flash?”

Fear froze him. Stupid, stupid, stupid not to think about having to give a name and fill out forms if he did this.

The urge to leave was strong. But the need to spend time with her now, imagining what it was going to be like when they were finally together, was stronger.

“I’m Kevin,” he said, using his brother’s name. “It’s a custom piece but you can copy what’s already there.”

Bryce glanced at her and said, “You want to take this one, Etaín?”

His stomach roiled. He took a step backward before he could stop himself.

The door opened behind him and she said, “I’ll take Jason unless Derrick shows up by the time I’ve got him prepped.”

She came around the counter, passing close. His mouth went dry and he stuffed his hand into his pocket, unable to keep from touching himself.

“Where’s the tat?” Bryce asked.

His face went hot when he thought Bryce might have guessed what he was doing. He pulled his hand from his pocket.

“On my calf.”

He started to bend down and roll up his pant leg so he could see her but Bryce said, “You can do that on the table. Let’s take care of the paperwork first.”

It was hard for him to concentrate on filling out the forms with her talking behind him. Her voice made him think of birds singing. It was beautiful like she was, golden sunshine the same as the glow around her when he squinted.

He put down Kevin’s information. They liked a lot of the same things so it was easy to pretend they were the same person.

Kevin was older, but they could almost pass for twins. It was always better to keep things simple rather than having to remember a complicated lie.

She took the man named Jason to her workstation.
Fag
. Like the one she worked with.

He hated that about San Francisco, all the queers. He’d hold his pee all day rather than go into a public bathroom unless Kevin was there to watch his back. He didn’t understand how his brother could stand living here.

When the last form was filled out, Bryce took the clipboard and put it out of sight under the counter. “Come on around.”

Bryce’s workstation was right across from hers. He rolled up his pant leg, then sat down.

A shiver of pleasure went through him. Even though she’d never know he was doing this as a way to remember their time together, he liked it that she was going to see him get this particular tattoo.

“I just want the number thirteen put on the new one,” he told Bryce. “The letters will have to wait.”

I
t’s a little early in the day to be wearing all that leather,” Etaín said as Jason peeled off a vest that laced in the front and on the
sides.

He dropped it to the floor next to the massage table and lay down, faceup and chest exposed, the leather of his pants leaving no doubt how well-endowed he was.

Lifting his hips, he said, “Have to give the tourists what they expect to see.”

Etaín laughed. “They’ll definitely get an eyeful. I’m not sure the cow that skin came from wore it any tighter than you do.”

“Some things are better if you have to expend some effort to get at them.” He wriggled his hips. “For you, I’ll even make an exception to my ‘no women allowed’ policy.”

“So I’d be a one-time deal?”

“No. Packaged like I am, there’s no point in pretending humility. Let’s just say, when I decide to show someone the goods, the first round is just a warm-up event.”

Etaín grinned. “Well, in the spirit of all this honesty, I’ll admit to being totally flattered you would peel off that leather for me. I’ll also shed the modesty. If I took you up on your offer, being with me would either cure you or ruin you, depending on your perspective. The next morning you’d wake up a straight man.”

“No! Not that! Anything but that!” he said, falsetto voiced before cracking up.

“You two are so full of shit,” Bryce said.

Etaín glanced over at his workstation. He was smiling but the guy
he was working on looked like he was about to bolt for the bathroom to hurl.

Her gaze dropped to his calf and the work there. Crying clowns were embedded in flames, their faces misshapen, oozing downward like they were going to slough off, a number and pair of initials on each of their ruffled collars.

The skin art had a seriously twisted vibe, and the thought of touching him, adding her ink to what was already there was enough to make her skin crawl. Give her Jason any day. He was a work in progress, and one of only a few she would step in and add ink to when she wasn’t the original artist.

She turned her attention back to him. The outline was already in place on his chest, and had been for five months. Ultimately it would become part of a full body suit.

The design was Japanese in style and color. Heroes and lotus blossoms with cultural and personal motifs woven in, a tribute to Jason’s heritage though he was American born and the only hint of it was a slight tilt at the corners of his eyes.

“You don’t seem surprised Derrick’s not here,” she said.

“Saw him at a club last night. Mascara running and eyes nearly swollen shut. I asked him if I should call and reschedule. He said no and I figured chances were good you’d be around. Whatever time you’ve got, I’m all yours.”

It took a few minutes to clean up from working on Tori, then she pulled Jason’s art and studied what was there, checking it against the drawings and making decisions on which area she’d work and what colors she wanted. She set up with new ink and several different shaders, already clean and ready to go. Like most artists, she had a small collection of tattoo machines.

She prepped Jason’s chest, getting rid of hair and applying Vaseline. “Speaking of Derrick, you know anyone—”

“I’m the last person you want to ask, babe. Pain is my middle name. I embrace it.”

“We’ll see about that.” She touched the tip of the shader to a lotus petal, believing what Jason said when two flowers later, the leather pants were still outlining an impressive erection.

She was just starting a third flower when Bryce said, “Asshole alert, Etaín.”

Jason opened his eyes and turned his head. “They look like Feds.”

“That’s because they are,” Bryce said.

Etaín felt queasy, the breakfast she’d eaten when she went home to shower and change after leaving Eamon threatened to come back up. Parker and Trent being here couldn’t mean anything good.

Her stomach cramped at the prospect of touching another one of the Harlequin Rapist’s victims. Turning off the machine, she set it on the table. “Sorry, Jason. I need to talk to them.” She’d do it outside, because she didn’t think she could handle it in the close confines of the shop.

“Hey, if you need help. If you need a lawyer—”

She brushed latex-enclosed fingertips over his shoulder in silent gratitude. “I’m good. The blond is my brother.”

H
e nearly bolted from the chair when he saw the taskforce members.

He didn’t because he’d have to run right past them and the thought of it froze his muscles in a message he remembered from living with his mother.

Stay still. Stay still. They wouldn’t notice him if he stayed still.

His heart pounded so hard that only the sound of her voice made it past the rush of it in his head.
The blond is my brother.

A wild giggle surged upward. He clamped down on it, choking it
off.

The reporters were telling the truth about an artist being taken to the hospital. The police were lying.

Cops always lied.

She left her station, stirring the air as she passed. The smell of her changed the fear into nervous excitement.

Another giggle bubbled upward. She didn’t know who he was. She couldn’t.

He looked down at his leg and concentrated on acting normal. The tattoo he was getting for her was almost done.