“Jack is a dog, right?”
“Yeah, but—”
“And dogs are relatives to wolves, correct?” I slowly pointed out.
“Sure.”
“So at the next full moon he’ll be able to shape-shift back into human form as well as his natural wolf form.”
“But that’s two fucking weeks away.”
“So in the meantime, I suggest keeping a close eye on him. Get him something to eat, and I’d keep the gate closed at all times. I’d hate for him to get hit by a car.”
“Are you serious?”
“As a heart attack,” I murmured as I bent down and picked up the two pieces of the business card that Jack had dropped on the ground. I handed it over to the pack member I had been talking to, who only stared at it in shock. “Stop by the shop when he’s back to normal. We can get you guys covered with some decent ink for a change.”
The werewolf looked at me in confusion, unable to understand my willingness to accept them as clients after they’d attempted to attack and I’d successfully changed their alpha into a shaking, whining ankle biter. “Really?”
“Yep,” I said, and then stepped around the pack members standing stunned on the sidewalk and continued up the street. The run-in was to be expected and no one had gotten hurt, honestly. In truth, we’d all probably gotten a good laugh out of it (except maybe Jack, but then, he’d started the mess). When all was said and done, business was business. Werewolves were great clients. They healed fast; had a high tolerance for pain; and had nice, clear skin for tattooing. Furthermore, since they tended to be parts of clans and packs, there was a lot of tagging involved, which could get complicated and expensive—all good for the tattoo artist.
As I continued down the street, I didn’t bother to pull my crystal from the pocket I had stuffed it into during the scuffle. A couple of houses down from where I had encountered the werewolves, I saw an old man standing on a stone porch stoop, wearing leather moccasins and with his arms folded over his chest. Sparks was waiting for me. He mouthed the word “Chihuahua” and shook his head with a grim smile. I shrugged my shoulders at him. He knew my secrets. He knew all my secrets because back then he was the only friend I had in the world.
The long years had changed things. I had opened my own shop, made lots of new friends, and kept my secrets tightly under wraps, with the exception of today. But then, I had always expected that one day I would end up on his doorstep and that it wouldn’t be a pleasant visit. I had a feeling that he’d been expecting me as well. Atticus Sparks was not only a talented tattoo artist, but he was also a very wise man. He was the one who had advised me to maintain a distance from my family and to avoid getting involved with other people. It was always best if I didn’t give the inhabitants of the Ivory Towers anything they could use to get at me. Letting me continue to walk the earth with their secrets was enough of a problem for them.
Chapter 14
The house made me hesitate. It was a ramshackle, shotgun style with its windows carefully covered to blot out all light as well as keep any nosy neighbors from peering inside. Claustrophobia set in as I stepped over the threshold into the living room. A sagging floral couch was against the far wall, while a small television with a wire clothes hanger sticking out of the top was against the opposite wall. The rest of the room was filled with stacks of old newspapers, boxes of stuff that had never been unpacked from his previous residence, and containers from old TV dinners. A blanket and a pillow were shoved to the far end of the couch, leading me to believe that he actually used it as a bed too.
Sparks had never been vastly successful with his tattooing business, but he’d made good money. The shop he’d owned had been big and he had maintained a nice-size apartment on the second floor. I couldn’t understand how he had come to the point in his life where he was obviously scraping by. Even if he couldn’t handle a tattoo machine any longer, that didn’t mean his brain didn’t hold a wealth of information that could be handed down to an apprentice for a nice price. Or at the very least, a price that would allow him to live in something better than squalor.
“So do you want me to start or do you want to go first?” Sparks inquired with a smug look on his face as he sat down on the couch. I stood in the middle of the room. There wasn’t enough room on the couch and I didn’t feel comfortable leaning against anything.
“Go for it,” I said. I was sure that he had some scathing remark, but I could take it. At the moment, I had no tactful way of tackling what I was looking at or the man I had looked up to for so many years.
“Magic? In public?” Sparks began, raising one eyebrow at me. “That wasn’t self-defense, Gage. I’ve seen self-defense, and that wasn’t it. That was you having fun, and you’re not supposed to have fun without risking the attention of the Tower twerps. You could have been killed in an instant for being so stupid, unless something has changed and you’ve moved back to the Towers.”
“No, I’m still living down here among the dregs.”
“Then what?”
I paused, trying to sum up the mess that had become my life during the past few days, but I couldn’t come up with much that seemed helpful. So I decided to keep it simple. “Simon came looking for me today.”
“Your old mentor?”
“I stopped by your shop looking for you and found him instead. He had one goal: to kill me. There was no discussion, no great reason or no law that I had broken this time. I’m beginning to think that my existence has gotten in his way up there in the Towers and he needs me gone fast.”
“So what?” Sparks snapped. “Now you’re playing fast and loose with the magic because you’ve got a bull’s-eye on your forehead? Doesn’t sound too smart to me. Sounds like you should be keeping your head down instead of sticking your neck out.” His words sounded sickeningly close to what Gideon had told me just a short time ago. The sad part was that I wasn’t sure I was going to listen to Sparks any more than I was going to listen to Gideon.
“They can find me anytime they want. I’m not changing my life or running because the warlocks have gotten their panties in a bunch.”
“They’re going to hurt those around you.”
“They’re going to try, but it’s not going to happen while I’m around. I’ve lost enough because of the mistakes I made when I was a kid. I haven’t seen my family in years. And the last time I did see them, everyone was terrified until I left. Why should I walk away from the rest of my life?”
“Because they are the warlocks.”
“That shouldn’t be an excuse.”
“It is.”
“Not for me. Not anymore. Not if they’ve decided that they’re gunning for me for no reason at all.”
Sparks heaved a heavy sigh as he shifted his weight on the sofa so that he was now leaning all the way back. “I wish it didn’t have to be this way, boy.”
“They chose this route. Not me.”
Sparks snorted, relaxing. “Stubborn ass. I think this was a mutual decision. On a side note, the Chihuahua was a nice touch. I wasn’t quite sure what you were going to do, but it was a nice surprise. I hadn’t had a good laugh like that in a while. It’ll take the wind out of the bastard’s sails for a time.”
I shrugged, a small smile slipping across my lips again. “Probably. I shouldn’t have, but it’s been a long day. I lost my temper.”
“We all have bad days. You’re just more dangerous than others when you let loose.”
“I’m not that dangerous.”
“Magic, a gun in your back pocket, and the last I heard you were studying a few styles of martial arts. Yeah, you’re a real pussycat.”
“Thanks. And what about you?”
“Oh, it’s my turn now?” he asked innocently, snapping the brief good mood that I had managed to capture.
“What the fuck?” I demanded, motioning with both my hands to encompass the decrepit surroundings.
“That’s it?”
“Seriously, Sparks! I went to the old shop and it
looks like you haven’t been there in years. What happened?”
“Business dried up.”
“That’s it? Business dried up? You weren’t in a bad spot. If it was about business, you could always have come to me. I could have fit you into the rotation for a few days a week. You’re a talented tattooist and—”
“You smug son of a bitch!” Sparks snarled, pushing off the couch and closing the distance between us faster than I would have thought possible considering his advanced age. “You think I would ever come begging to my apprentice for a job? I’m the one who taught you everything you know. There’s nothing on this earth that would make me come crawling—”
“Who said anything about crawling? I would have been honored to have you at the shop. You would have been a great asset. Like you said, you taught me everything I know about inking and stirring. You could have helped out the two people I did end up hiring. They’re great, but they were a little rough around the edges starting out. It would have helped me immensely to have you.”
“Would have? So, just like that you close the door on me? You would have taken me in years ago but not now?” he countered unexpectedly, leaving me flat-footed by the question.
“Now? I don’t know, Sparks. When was the last time you held a tattoo machine?”
“It’s like riding a bike.”
“Yeah, but the skills get rusty from lack of use. Besides, you know the kind of trouble I’m in. That mess is going to rain down on my shop no matter how hard I try to protect my people. I’d rather you not be a part of that. The people I’ve got now . . . they have ways of protecting themselves.”
I was babbling as my brain scrambled to decide whether I really wanted Atticus Sparks in my shop. Initially, my brain and heart had reacted to the rotting mess that was his life. He was a talented tattooist, but he was also a stubborn, crotchety old man who wouldn’t listen to a thing I said because I’d been his apprentice. In many ways, having him in the shop would be hell on earth for me. But as I looked around at what I could see of his house, could I honestly turn my back on him?
“Easy, boy,” Sparks said with a slight cough as he patted me on the shoulder. “I don’t want a job in your shop. I appreciate it that you would think of me like that and that you’re worried about your old mentor. That’s enough.”
“Yeah, but what happened?”
“Just got old,” he muttered with a slight shrug of his slumped, rounded shoulders. “I couldn’t keep up with the in-crowd. I wasn’t getting any more apprentices to keep the shop interesting, so business died. I came here, and I’ve found ways to get by. I don’t want you to worry about me. I’m managing just fine, regardless of what it looks like. Why don’t you tell me why you really came looking for me?”
“I got myself into a mess and I need your help,” I started as Sparks wandered back over to the couch.
He laughed as he sank into the flat cushions. “I can’t do shit to help you with the Towers and you know it.”
“Oh no, I’ve dug a hole deeper than just trouble with the warlocks right now. Hell, believe it or not, they’re the least of my concerns. I’ve got the grim reaper breathing down my neck, trying to get hold of my soul if I don’t get him what he wants.”
“The grim reaper?” he repeated slowly, as if I had lost my mind.
“Don’t fuck with me, Sparks! He’s real. Or rather they are real. There’s this whole union of them and the one I met is nice enough so long as I don’t screw up his schedule, but I have.”
“How could you screw up his schedule?”
I paused and took a deep breath. Raising both my hands over my head, I murmured a soft spell so that a shell fell over the small house, making it impossible for anyone to overhear our conversation either through natural means or through magic. I couldn’t risk the warlocks finding out about this giant mistake. It was bad enough that they wanted me dead. I couldn’t risk them wanting to take me alive. I dropped my hands back down to my sides and sighed once the spell was in place.
“I made a girl immortal,” I said in a soft voice, hating to utter the words.
“What?” Sparks demanded, leaning forward as if he hadn’t heard me correctly.
“Immortal. She can’t die and the grim reaper wants her soul in three days or he’s going to take mine in its place. I need some help.”
“How the hell did you make her immortal? I didn’t think such a thing was even possible. I mean, those fucking warlocks can’t even claim to be immortal.”
“A tattoo. She came in telling me she was dying and wanted angel wings tattooed on her back. I agreed. When I was preparing the ink, I put in pollen from an Easter Lily and a frond from the angel feather that you gave me years ago.”
“Angel feather?”
“Yes, you gave me a sizable stockpile of contraband when I started my shop, remember?”
“Yeah, yeah.”
“Well, it included an angel’s feather. You even went so far as to speculate that the feather had belonged to Gabriel. I kept it under tight lock and key for years, never intending to use it, but this seemed like a good cause. I didn’t know what it would do, but I thought it might wipe away her cancer. I never, ever thought for a second that it would make her immortal. Hell, if the thought had crossed my mind, I would never have allowed you to give me the damned feather.”
“You used the angel feather,” he breathed. He dropped his head into both of his hands as he placed both of his elbows on his knees. “I never thought you’d use it. I never thought you would come up with a good excuse to use it. I just wanted it to be in safe hands and I couldn’t think of anyone safer than someone with a warlock’s background.”
“I screwed up.”
“In a way. You saved a girl’s life.”
“I killed myself in the process and ruined hers over the long term. No matter how pretty it sounds, no one wants to be immortal. I have to undo what I’ve done.”
Shaking his head, Sparks pushed to his feet and waved for me to follow him. “You know there’s only one way out of this mess. You have to tattoo her again.”
We passed through a kitchen that was a disaster area of dirty dishes, rotting food, and an overflowing trash can to a back room that had a large chair in the center; cabinets holding potion ingredients lined the walls.
“You’re still tattooing,” I murmured, my eyes taking in the room.
Sparks shrugged indifferently at me. “In a way.”
“In a way? This is illegal, Sparks. If you get caught—”
“What? They gonna take my license away?”
“No, they’re going to put you in jail. The bloodsuckers are going to come for you and they are going to put you away. You wouldn’t survive, Sparks.”
“You take your chances, Gage, and I’ll take mine.”
“Fine. You’re right. This is none of my concern. Let’s get back to the business at hand, making someone mortal again.”
“What makes you think I would know how to do that?” Sparks demanded, throwing open the cabinets, one glass door after another, so we could look at the contents without any hindrances. “I didn’t know you could make someone immortal, so how would I know how to kill them?”
“Killing someone is easy,” I replied in a cold voice. I didn’t know firsthand, as I had never killed anyone, but I had watched Simon succeed at the task often enough without even a flicker of guilt or remorse. “The hard part apparently is handing the soul over to the grim reaper after it’s been protected.”
Sparks heaved a sigh as he crossed his arms over his stomach and stared at the array of jars, wooden boxes, and yellowed envelopes filled with items. “Was there anything in the design that I should know about?”
“Nothing. Just wings.”
“Easter lily pollen and . . . your unique item?”
“Yes.”
“How old was the pollen?”
“Few months.”
“Local?”
“The basilica downtown.”
“Good choice
,” Atticus murmured softly, but I knew his mind was turning over the items that were before him. “The pollen was a nice touch, but it’s unlikely that it did much except maybe bind the ink to the—”
“Yeah,” I filled in. Neither of us wanted to mention aloud what I had used. “How about really potent venom? Even the Towers haven’t come up with an antidote for basilisk venom. Kills every living thing it’s injected into.”
“That’s rare stuff since basilisks are supposedly extinct.”
“Not that rare,” I muttered.
Sparks shoved a hand through his hair and shook his head. “Oh, yeah. Right.” He finally remembered that he had given me a vial of it when I moved out on my own. “Regardless, it’s not strong enough against immortality.”
“How about red dragon blood? Or maybe a bit of horn from a black unicorn?”
“Come on! Why don’t you just drop some strychnine in her morning coffee and call it a day!” Sparks snapped as he turned back toward me. He reached up and clasped my face between both of his clammy palms. “This stuff will kill a mortal anything, but not an immortal.”
I jerked away, pacing a little around the small room as my mind swirled in useless circles. “I don’t know! If a heavenly agent can give a human soul immortality, what’s the opposite? What can take it away?”
“A little piece of Hell, I guess,” Sparks replied.
“Yeah, well, as far as I know no one has ever brought a piece of that back with them from the dead. Not even if they had to do time.”
“What do you mean?”
Shaking my head, I reached into my pocket to pull out my cell phone and check the time. I didn’t want to go into it and wasn’t allowed to anyway. It was one of the few secrets I had learned from the Ivory Towers that I was willing to keep. There was one way to touch the afterlife and come back from it. It was easy to do, but impossible to control. All you had to do was kill someone with magic. Kill someone with magic and you were forced to give up one year of your life. Your body died and your soul traveled to the underworld, where it stayed for that year. Unfortunately, you never knew when you were going to die and those who came back were no longer in their right mind after the experience.
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