Angel's Ink

by Jocelynn Drake

  “What are you talking about? Did I extend her life or something? What’s the big deal if she lives a few weeks or months longer? She seems like a good person, and the world wouldn’t be a particularly bad place if a good person lived a little longer.”

  “It’s not a matter of good and bad people, I’m afraid. I also haven’t the time to go into a discussion of morals and the silly concept of right and wrong. It’s a matter of when their time is due. Tera’s time is up.”

  “Fine. She has to die,” I said, throwing up my arms in frustration. She was a nice person, but I doubted that I would be able to sway the grim reaper on the matter of death. “How does that involve me? All I did was give her a tattoo before cancer finally took her life.”

  “You know what you did.”

  “’Fraid not. Please, enlighten me.”

  “You made her immortal! I can’t reap her soul.”

  My mouth hung open for several seconds and I swear my heart actually stopped in my chest. Immortal. I was up a serious shit creek with this one. There weren’t true immortals in this world. Vampires could be killed with a well-placed stake and the elves were simply a long-living race. Even the witches and the warlocks had found spells to extend their lives by a considerable amount, but everyone died. Tera was immortal? To hell with the cancer that I had been hoping to give her an edge on, I had fixed it so that even all-mighty death couldn’t touch her. Holy hell.

  I was screwed. On the one hand, I had death haunting my tattoo parlor, angrily tapping his clipboard of names for the chopping block. On the other hand, if the warlocks and the witches got wind of this massive screwup, they would squeeze me for information on how I did it and then kill me. Unfortunately, I didn’t know which was worse.

  Pushing to my feet, I kept one hand on the wall to steady myself, as my legs were reluctant to support me. “Okay. Okay. Let’s just discuss this slowly.”

  “Discuss this slowly?” the reaper repeated incredulously. “There’s nothing to discuss. She’s immortal, Gage. In case you’ve forgotten the definition of that simple word, it means that She. Can’t. Die. You’re keeping me from doing my job!”

  “I get it. She can’t die. This news is all a little unexpected.”

  “Is it? You know what caused this.”

  The angel feather. Yeah, I knew what had caused this. “I didn’t expect it to have this kind of effect on her. I’ve never used that ingredient before. Never thought to.”

  “So you took a chance with some powerful magic without actually considering the consequences of your actions? What were you thinking?”

  I pounded my fist against the wall before taking a few steps toward the balding man, still seated on the gleaming wooden bench. “I thought I would try to help her. It’s like I said, she’s a nice person. This world could do with a few nice people after all the scumbags that I run into on a regular basis. Helping someone isn’t a crime.”

  “But making them immortal is a crime against nature, and you’re going to have to pay the price for it.”

  “What are you talking about?” I demanded warily, halting in my steps toward the increasingly frightening figure.

  “In three days, I need a soul. On my checklist, it’s Tera McClausen, but I’m more than willing to change that name to Gage Powell to suit my needs.”

  “You can’t do that!”

  “Really?”

  “You can’t kill me to fill in for someone else. That just can’t be legal in your world.”

  “And who are you going to report me to? Until a few minutes ago you didn’t even know I existed.”

  I shoved both hands into my hair and tightened my fingers, wanting to pull my hair out in frustration and sheer desperation. This couldn’t be happening. The grim reaper was going to cut my life short because I fucked up by trying to do something nice for someone else. A low growl rumbled from my throat, my eyes scanning the tattoo parlor as if I was trying to find some way of escaping, but you couldn’t outrun death. I could tattoo myself using the same angel feather, but I had no desire to be immortal. I just didn’t want to die in three days. I was hoping to have a little more time. And even if I escaped, that didn’t mean the grim reaper couldn’t start going after other people in my life in an attempt to exact some revenge for screwing up his job.

  “I wish it didn’t have to be this way.” The man sounded tired and genuinely sorry about the situation. His round shoulders slumped and he sagged a little on the bench where he sat. “After glancing over your paperwork, it looks like you’ve still got a lot that you need to accomplish in this world, but I will reap you if I have to.”

  Dragging in a slow, cleansing breath, I unclenched my fingers and dropped my hands back down to my sides. There had to be a way out of this. I had gotten myself into some nasty scrapes in the past and had managed to ease my way out of the messes with a limited number of bruises, scars, and broken bones. I could still fix this.

  “You said that you don’t need the soul for another three days,” I started. There was only one way to fix this and I could feel my stomach starting to knot. A bad taste was forming in the back of my throat.

  “Yes, three days from today,” he confirmed.

  “And you just need a soul.”

  “Preferably Tera’s soul, but I will take yours in trade. Only yours.”

  “I’m not going to kill some random person off the street just so you can meet your quota,” I snapped irritably. “What if I can make Tera mortal again?”

  “Then you are in the clear.”

  “And there’s no way to extend the time she has? Three days is so little time before she dies from cancer.”

  The grim reaper heaved a heavy sigh, as if he had heard this argument far too many times in his long career of collecting souls from the living. Lines dug deep furrows in his face, signs that this job was weighing heavily on his own soul, assuming that the grim reaper was still permitted to keep his soul. “I’ll see what I can do, but at the very least I need her soul available to me three days from now. Extensions happen, but they are extremely rare. I’ll put in the appropriate paperwork for you.”

  A light-headed giggle escaped me. My neck was no longer necessarily on the chopping block, though Tera’s was back on it. But in trade, I might have actually managed to extend her life longer than she originally had in a legal, happy, grim-reaper manner. It was the best I could ask for.

  “Okay, you work your magic with death paper pushers and I’ll work on Tera. Hopefully, at the end of three days, everyone will be happy in some way,” I said, trying hard not to look too closely at what was currently left of my sanity. I didn’t think it was a good thing to spend the afternoon examining futures with the personification of death. It only led to panic and bargaining for things you didn’t necessarily think you could accomplish.

  Tucking his clipboard under his arm, he pushed slowly to his feet again; some arthritis in the knees was probably beginning to slow him down. “You have a deal. I will see you again in three days.” And then he was simply gone.

  I blinked a couple of times, wondering if I had hallucinated the whole thing. Did I really just have a conversation with the master of death in which I argued trading my soul for Tera’s? A part of me felt dirty from the idea of conspiring with another person to end someone’s life, but then again, no one was supposed to be immortal. I was just undoing a mistake I had made. If I was lucky, Tera was completely oblivious to my mistake and I would be able to fix this without her ever being the wiser.

  The only major problem was that I didn’t have even the beginnings of a clue as to how in the world I was going to make her mortal again. Causing immortality had been a complete accident on my part. But I knew that an accident wasn’t going to save my ass. I needed help. Serious, experienced help and I needed it now . . . before the clock ran out on my brief reprieve.

  Jogging through the parlor, I burst out the back door and pounded up the wooden stairs to the second floor where Trixie was supposed to be sleeping. I hated to
disturb her, but I didn’t have any choice. I had to find a way out of this mess. The elf could catch up on her sleep later. Throwing open the door, I saw Trixie peer out from the bedroom doorway and look down the hall at me.

  “I need you to do me a favor.”

  “Sure,” she replied, sounding a little taken aback by my sudden appearance.

  “Can you open the parlor for me today? Feel free to grab a few hours of sleep and open it late. That’s fine with me. I’ve got an errand to run that I have to do right now.”

  “Don’t worry. I’ve got it. Is everything all right?”

  “Not in the slightest,” I muttered under my breath. “One other thing, can you look up the information sheet that Tera McClausen filled out yesterday when I gave her the tattoo? I need to call her.”

  “Anything else?”

  “Yes—I’ll lock the doors downstairs, but I want you to lock this door behind me. If someone is looking for you, or whatever tale you want to tell me, then you need to try to protect yourself by locking the goddamn door.”

  To my surprise, a bright smile graced her beautiful face. “Thanks, Gage. I’ve got it.”

  I hoped so. It was bad enough my ass was in the fire. I wasn’t sure that I would be able to protect her at the same time if things suddenly turned ugly. But I could try.

  “If you want, you can wait to open until either Bronx or I get to the shop,” I offered as I turned to leave and pull the door shut behind me.

  Trixie’s wonderfully light laughter danced through the small apartment before finally sliding around me. “I’ll be fine, Gage. Run your errand. I’m not completely helpless.”

  “I know,” I mumbled, feeling more than a little silly for treating her like some witless damsel in distress. For her to have survived this long in this neighborhood, she had to have learned to take care of herself. “Just be careful.”

  Closing the door behind me, I descended the stairs, listening for the telltale click of the lock being shoved into place on the door before I finally entered the parlor again. I locked the back door and checked my pockets for my keys and wallet before exiting through the front door. I had only one chance of finding a way out of this. I just hoped that my old tattooing mentor Atticus Sparks was still in the area.

  Or at the very least, still alive.

  Chapter 9

  The drive across town took only a few moments, but the results were not as I had hoped. I turned into a parking lot that was situated just a few buildings from where his shop was located. With a quick glance around to take in the few people wandering the sidewalks, I jogged to the building and skidded to a sharp stop in front of dirt- and dust-covered windows. The sign over the shop was missing, and gazing inside through the dirt revealed an empty storefront that hadn’t been used in what looked to be years.

  I stumbled a couple of steps backward, clenching my fists at my sides in desperation as I looked up to the second floor. Sparks had always used the second-floor apartment as his residence. I knew it too well after spending the better part of four years sleeping on a narrow cot in a room the size of a closet while I was going through my apprenticeship. It had been anything but a comfortable period of time for me, and I certainly wasn’t getting laid, but I was busy learning everything that Sparks could possibly teach me about the tattooing world.

  “Sparks!” I bellowed up at the second floor, hoping against my better judgment that he might actually have stayed in the building but had moved his shop to another part of town. There was no answer, no movement in front of the windows, which looked just as dirty and empty as those on the first floor. Passersby gave me a wide berth as I cursed under my breath. Sparks had packed up shop and moved on to some other tantalizing spot. At least I hoped that was the case.

  “Damn it, Sparks!” I growled, kicking the door to the shop. I could find the old man, assuming that he was still alive, but it would mean using magic, and I was in enough trouble already. The man had never been big on advertising and I didn’t expect to find his name in the white or yellow pages. He lived by the creed that the best kind of advertising was word of mouth, mostly because it was free.

  Now I was in more trouble than I had expected. Standing on the sidewalk, I was trying to think of some way of locating where Sparks might have disappeared to when the thick scent of magic started to waft around me. I spun around, my hands extended, barely resisting the urge to call up my own barrier to protect me from whatever was brewing. My skin prickled and a cold sweat beaded across my back and down my spine despite the growing heat of the afternoon sun. Someone was coming. Someone powerful.

  The distinct smell of magic was that of a warlock or a witch, but it wasn’t Gideon riding my ass again. No, the black-cloaked figure who suddenly appeared on the sidewalk a few feet from me was Simon Thorn. It didn’t look as if he had aged since I had last seen him. Then again, the Ivory Towers occupants had long ago learned to stretch the years of their lifetimes. I hadn’t seen him since I had given up my warlock studies years ago. I had barely survived the experience, but I did give as good as I got, making him wary of me.

  Beneath the traditional black cloak, he wore a dark suit with a crisp white shirt. His hands were encased in black leather gloves as he tugged at the cuffs of this shirt. Instead of a tie, a large red jewel was tucked in the top button. It was a new addition to his traditional ensemble and I had to wonder if it added an extra layer of protection to his usual battery of magical defenses that I had once torn down. When I escaped Simon, I had been fresh from the schoolroom and spells flowed through my brain like a swollen river. But I was at a distinct disadvantage this time. I knew it was too much to ask that he wouldn’t pick a fight. Hell, I had little doubt that Simon was ready to finally kill me after having failed the first time.

  A woman’s scream tore at the midday city sounds, followed by the hard clatter of feet on the sidewalk as people scattered, darting into buildings and ducking for cover at the sudden appearance of a warlock in their midst. Things had been quiet until recently. The scene at the Cock’s Crow just the other day had shaken up our recent stretch of peace, and now Simon had descended from the Towers with the obvious intent of kicking my ass. Sometimes the people of this world couldn’t catch a break.

  “Back to the scene of the crime, I see.” Simon’s cold voice whipped around me like a bitter winter wind. He looked up at the building, his upper lip curling as he took in the abandoned business covered in a layer of dirt and dust. “I see that it has been a profitable choice for your former mentor. Of course, I’ve heard that you’ve done significantly better now that you’ve chosen to cut corners and work in the shadows.”

  I took a couple of steps back from him, keeping my hands open and extended from my body. Instead of being a nonthreatening stance, among warlocks it was an aggressive stance, as it was the easiest way to both catch and sling spells when needed. “Talking to Gideon?” I said with a smirk. “He’s always been such a gossip.”

  Around us, the sidewalk remained frighteningly empty, leaving me half expecting to see a tumbleweed roll between us on a hot breeze. Even the cars rumbling down the street had gradually stopped and all signs of life seemed to have disappeared. To a warlock or a witch, there was no such thing as an innocent bystander—anything that breathed was just a potential target.

  “I don’t need reports from the guardians. You were never interested in the purity of the art. You were only interested in how magic could be used to benefit your ends.”

  I couldn’t stop the derisive snort that escaped me. “You’re just upset that you didn’t have much to teach me. The art came naturally to me, allowing me to cut corners that you simply couldn’t.”

  “You never appreciated what we were offering you,” Simon snarled.

  “And what exactly were you offering me?”

  He waved his hands around our surroundings. “The chance to be a god among these creatures.”

  “You mean a monster. Not interested.”

  “And it’s time that you
paid the price for turning your back on us.” As he spoke, he hurled a bluish-white ball of energy at me. I instantly threw up a protective barrier so that the energy washed harmlessly down the front of the barrier like water. Without giving Simon a second to come up with another spell, I collected my own fistful of energy and magically grabbed the front of his suit like I had grabbed Dalton’s clothes just a few days ago. Surprise popped on Simon’s face before I threw him through the front window of Sparks’s old shop, sending glass splintering in all directions.

  Smiling, I pulled all the shattered bits of glass back together with a wave of my hand, re-forming the window so that Simon was at least temporarily shut up in the old building. Dusting himself off, Simon stepped forward, holding out his hand before him as he approached the window. But to his surprise, he walked right into the window, bouncing off what was now plastic instead of glass. He had used the wrong spell to shatter what he assumed was glass and he had failed to break through.

  I couldn’t stop myself. It wasn’t often that you saw a full-grown warlock smash his face against a plastic window and then bounce off in total shock. I bent over at the waist, laughing, my arms wrapped around my stomach. The surprised look disappeared from Simon’s face, instantly replaced with fury. As he approached the window a second time, a hole appeared in the center and quickly grew bigger as he melted the plastic so that he could step through.

  “It’s all still a game for you,” Simon said through clenched teeth.

  Swallowing back the last of my chuckles, I shook my head once as I regarded the warlock. “If you can’t laugh at life, then what’s the point?”

  From an inner pocket of his suit jacket, he withdrew a wooden wand. The sight of the device froze the blood in my veins. Simon was done playing nice, lobbing softballs in my direction. Now I knew that he meant to kill me. Spellcasters could perfectly direct their magic with their wands, making the magic spell stronger and more concentrated. It was also ten times harder to deflect and block.