“Oh, are you sure? I can—”
“Stay!” Charise said with an almost child-like giggle before turning to me. “Isn’t she just the cutest thing? She’s embarrassed.”
I smirked up at Serah, who was torn between embarrassment and anger at being laughed at. “Yeah, she’s adorable.”
“Ah, honey, I used to be a dancer down at Diamond Dolls. I’m not embarrassed, so you shouldn’t be either.”
And that was why I liked doing work for Charise. It’s also why she got a discount. That and she got a number of her coworkers to come to Asylum for tattoos as well. Charise felt no embarrassment or shame regarding what she did for a living. She knew the value of the service that she was providing and she wouldn’t allow anyone to make her feel bad about it. There was an inner strength in her that I didn’t see in women who pulled down six figures a year, drove a Mercedes, and had a closet full of designer clothes.
“Is one of those for me?” I asked, saving Serah from the mire that she was starting to sink into. Her eyes snapped to the two cups she had in her hand as if she had forgotten that she was carrying them.
“Uh . . . yeah,” she said, extending one toward me.
“Put it on the counter,” I directed with a jerk of my head toward the counter on my left while I picked up the gun again. The scent of the coffee was heavenly, though my stomach was starting to rebel a little bit. I’d sucked down a pot of coffee already but hadn’t followed it up with anything that actually resembled food. My stomach wasn’t pleased.
“What are you having Gage tattoo on you?” Charise asked as I started working again. I inwardly cringed a bit. That was the one drawback about Charise. She didn’t have some of the boundaries that most people had. Most customers knew better than to ask what they were having done because there was a good chance that it was something very private between you and your artist. But you couldn’t fault her. She was just trying to make polite conversation.
“I haven’t decided yet,” Serah said. She set her cup of coffee down on one of the empty folding chairs I kept for clients or friends of clients while they waited. She stripped off her coat and tossed it over the back of the chair. Pausing for a second, she then continued to strip off her bulky cable-knit sweater. The heat in the shop was higher than usual because Charise was wearing so little. Once she left, I’d have to turn it back down again so the damn gas and electric bill wouldn’t be through the roof.
“Have you let Gage tattoo you before?”
“No, I haven’t.”
Charise gave an excited little clap and I had to pause as I waited for her to settle down again. “You have come to the best shop in all of Low Town. Gage is a genius!”
“My coworkers are very good too,” I interjected.
“Yes, of course, but you’re the best,” she said, nearly purring as she gave me a little pat on the head.
“Rein it in, Charise,” I warned. Sirens were tricky creatures. Their voices can ensnare a mind and hypnotize a creature into doing whatever they want. In general, they’ve got great control over their gift, but I’ve noticed that when Charise is really happy, her control slips a bit.
“Oh, you’re fine,” she said, pooh-poohing my warning as she turned her attention back to Serah. “Do you know if you want a potion with your tattoo? That could limit what you get. I just went with some art and some light cosmetic potions that Gage is just brilliant at.”
“I think I’d want just art,” Serah said slowly as if she was getting more into the role she was playing for the benefit of Charise. I had no doubt that she had an update to give me on our investigation, but she wasn’t going to say a word about it until we were alone. For now, she was just another customer in Asylum Tattoo Parlor.
“You know, I bet you’d look good with a little bluebird on your ankle or a butterfly on the top of your foot.”
“The top of your foot is more of a summertime tattoo,” I said, not bothering to look up from the canvas stretched before me. Too often people came in with this idea of what they needed to have right that moment without thinking about the long-term aspects. Like the fact that flip-flops were great when letting a tattoo on the top of your foot heal, but they sucked during the winter.
“Oh, that’s true. What about your shoulder? That’s a good spot for a tattoo.”
“What do you think I should get, Gage?” Serah asked.
I looked up briefly to see an expectant look on her face, but I just shook my head at her. “There’s a large flip book under the chair next to you that has a lot of designs. Check that out. I’m almost done with Charise.”
Every tattoo artist around the world was asked that question and I was pretty sure that every last one of us longed to smack that customer a time or two. To me, a tattoo was a reflection of who you were. It should be something important to you or some aspect or philosophy that you valued. As a total stranger, I could no sooner pick out that one thing that you cherished than I could pick the perfect name for your firstborn child or locate your soul mate in a police lineup. Whenever I was asked that, I was tempted to tattoo the person with the contact info for my parlor. If you’re going to leave it up to me, I was going to use your flesh as advertising space, because you obviously didn’t give a shit.
Charise and Serah chatted amiably for the next few minutes as I finished up some shading details on the dragonfly I was doing. Serah flipped through the book of designs she had picked up and was sharing them with the dancer as if she were actually planning to get the tattoo. I appreciated her making the effort to keep the atmosphere relaxed despite the fact that I was itching to know what information she had brought me.
As soon I was finished bandaging up the tattoo on Charise’s left hip, I stripped off my latex gloves and snatched up the cup of coffee that Serah had brought. There was no holding back the moan of delight that rumbled up my throat as the double-shot espresso poured into my body. The caffeine gave me a nice jolt as if getting those last pistons firing in my brain. I had been starting to drag.
“You’re an angel,” I murmured while Charise sauntered across the tattooing room to pick up the tiny skirt she had folded and placed on another tattooing chair. The woman had to be freezing when she walked out the door, but it wasn’t my problem.
“The guy at the coffee shop said you usually ordered that,” Serah said, keeping her eyes locked on me while the other woman got dressed.
“Bill,” I grunted. Bill was one of the baristas down at the local coffee shop, though if you called him a barista you risked getting a face-full of steaming-hot coffee. He was usually making my order by the time I walked in the place since I almost never deviated from my usual. There were perks to being a regular customer.
With half the coffee gone, I walked Charise to the front lobby, where we briefly set up her next appointment so that she could get the matching dragonfly done on her other hip. I had offered to do both today but she just smiled and said that she liked to have a reason to come back to see me. I accepted the compliment and the impersonal hug before she strode out of the shop, her high-heeled shoes clomping across the hardwood floor like a draft horse pulling a heavy load.
I hesitated at the glass case, some part of me not wanting to return to the tattooing room. Charise represented everything that was normal about my life, everything that it was supposed to be. I’d wanted a life of bullshitting with people about everyday things that didn’t really matter. Life was supposed to be creating art and helping people. I was supposed to be worried about bills and whether I needed to get a new set of tires for my SUV so I could get through the winter snow.
But all that was slipping away in the face of darkness that was crowding my life. Reaching down to pick up my MP3 player, I switched the music over to a playlist of movie scores. It matched my darkening mood and was easy to talk over.
“I think I’d like this tattoo,” Serah said, finally pul
ling me into the tattooing room.
Stepping over the threshold, I leaned forward a little to see that she was pointing to a picture of a Japanese koi. I smiled, impressed by her selection.
“Nice choice. Do you know what it means?” When she shook her head, I picked up my coffee cup and sat down in the tattooing chair that Charise had vacated just moments ago. “The koi is popular among young men, but some women have started getting it. It’s the symbol of a person’s journey. A sign of growth, courage, and strength. There’s an old fairy tale that I don’t remember, but apparently the final evolution of the koi is a dragon, the most important of all the Japanese symbols.”
“You make it sound like you have to be worthy of attaining a tattoo of a koi,” she said softly as she closed the book and set in on the chair next to her.
“Only the person getting the tattoo can decide if she is worthy.” I paused, waiting for her to meet my eyes again. “Are you?”
She lifted her head, her shoulders straightening a little, and met my gaze without flinching. “I am.”
“Good answer.”
A little laugh escaped her and she shook her head at me as we both brushed aside the momentary soul-searching. There was a lot I didn’t know about the TAPSS investigator but I respected her. She worked hard and believed in what she was doing. There were a lot of people in this world who weren’t doing half as much as she was.
“Thanks for the coffee,” I said, holding the empty cup up to her before I placed it on the counter.
“I thought you could use it. You said that you were functioning on only two hours of sleep. The parlor forcing you to keep such long hours?”
I shook my head. “I’ve got some other problems that I’m dealing with at the moment.”
“Earlier, when you told me that your girlfriend was pregnant,” Serah started and then paused, licking her lips. “You weren’t serious, were you?”
“Trixie is pregnant.”
“Oh,” she whispered.
“Which explains her reaction to your announcement the other night at Kyle’s shop,” I added, watching as my companion visibly paled. Yeah, telling a pregnant woman that other pregnant women had been killed by a psychopath was not something anyone wanted to do.
“Is she okay?” she gasped.
“She’s a little shaken, but okay.”
“I’m sorry.”
“No problem. I just found out recently myself. We’re happy, but the timing could have been better.”
I suddenly found myself wishing I had something stronger to drink than coffee. There was a bottle of Jack Daniels stashed around here somewhere, but I still had a few more hours of work ahead of me and I never drank while I was inking. And while Serah and I were working together, she was still a member of TAPSS. She wouldn’t let me drink while I was on the clock. TAPSS frowned on drunk tattoo artists.
Roughly rubbing my hands over my face to clear away the last of the cobwebs, I took a deep breath and turned my full attention back to Serah. The dark blue jeans and pale blue T-shirt made her look soft and approachable while keeping her professional air.
“I’m guessing that you’ve found something out,” I said, figuring that it was as good a start as any.
“A few things actually.” Her demeanor instantly brightened and I hoped that this meant that we were actually making some forward progress at last.
“Good news?”
“Good news and some bad news.”
“Give me the good news first,” I sighed, crossing my left foot over my right foot as I stretched out in the chair. “I can definitely use some good news.”
“Well, we found some similarities between the victims. I spent the morning down at the station. One of the detectives reported that two of the women went to the same obstetrician.”
“And the third?”
“She didn’t use that doctor,” Serah said with a shake of her head. “She was a phlebotomist at Low Town Mercy Hospital. But here’s the link.” Her excitement was palpable in the room as she wiggled to the edge of her seat. “The obstetrician’s office is in the tower just across the street from Mercy.”
“So you think our killer was stalking his victims at this particular obstetrician’s office and she just got lucky when she picked up the third victim as she left work?”
Serah nodded. “It fits. We haven’t found any other links besides the fact that both women were in their third trimester.” Turning, she reached into her back pocket and pulled out a little notepad. She quickly flipped through it until she found the page that she was looking for. I thought it was cute that she preferred paper over the little memo-pad app that was on her phone.
“The women lived nowhere close to each other,” she continued. “They didn’t shop at the same grocery store or go to the same pharmacy. They wouldn’t have encountered each other in any other way besides the doctor’s office.”
“I’m guessing that the cops are going to stake out the office building,” I said, arching one eyebrow at her.
“That and they’ve got two detectives working undercover in the office to keep an eye out for anything suspicious.”
“Are there other doctors’ offices in the building?”
“Yes, and all the offices are being checked. Every woman in the office is being checked for a tattoo. In addition, they are also checking all the businesses to see if anyone has suddenly disappeared or quit their job in case the killer might have worked in the building.”
“It looks like they’ve got all their bases covered.” Threading my fingers behind my head, I could feel myself relax a little. The cops might actually be able to catch this person without needing my interference. That would be a nice change of events for once.
“I think it’s a good start,” Serah conceded, but her happiness was already starting to fade.
“What’s the bad news?”
“Four pregnant women have disappeared.”
My hands clenched into fists and I fought the urge to pick up the phone to call Trixie. She was fine. She had to be fine. No one knew that she was pregnant. She wasn’t showing yet. No one knew. She was safe.
“How?”
Serah shook her head, tightly clutching the little note pad in both her hands. “We don’t know. They simply vanished into thin air. Three of them disappeared in the middle of the night from their own beds. The fourth disappeared after dropping off her other two kids at school.”
“Was there any kind of evidence of forced entry?”
“None. The police swept each house for DNA, but found nothing. There were no unlocked doors or windows. No evidence of a struggle. The women are just gone.”
A chill swept through me. While our Low Town killer had the benefit of a powerful tattoo giving her a boost in strength and confidence, she didn’t have any additional magical gifts. At least, the tattoo wouldn’t have given her any. She would never have been able to pull such a kidnaping off without leaving behind massive amounts of chaos and destruction.
This was someone new. Could the killer Gideon and I had been tracking north finally have arrived in Low Town? Only someone with magical gifts could have pulled off a stunt like this. We were running out of time to save these women and to stop these killers before they unleashed something even scarier than what was already hunting Low Town.
“Were all the women taken last night?”
“And early this morning.”
“Any of them shifters?”
“No. Human.”
I breathed a small sigh of relief. It was bad enough that pregnant women around the city were no longer safe, but I didn’t need to add to it the fact that all the shifters were in an uproar, though they were already going to be foaming at the mouth about losing one woman.
With my elbow on the arm of the chair, I dropped my head into my hand as I shoved away thoughts about the problems tha
t Jack and his pack were going to cause. I just couldn’t get drawn into the mess. Besides, I didn’t need to go looking for trouble; I already had plenty in my lap. The easiest way I could help the city was to stop this maniac.
“We need to get ahead of this woman. As it is, we’re staying one step behind her so that we’re constantly tripping over dead bodies,” I muttered, talking mostly to myself.
“I was kind of hoping that you’d feel that way.”
My head jerked to Serah, the little hairs on the back of my neck standing on end at the nervous little smile straining her lips. This was going to be bad. “Why?”
“The cops want to set up a sting.”
“And what? They chose you to be the bait?” I snapped.
“I volunteered.”
“Shit,” I swore softly, a rant already rising up my throat detailing her stupidity, but I never got a chance to speak my mind.
“Listen, Gage!” she said sharply, pushing to her feet so that she was towering over where I sat. “There aren’t a lot of women on the force in Low Town. I’ve at least got some experience dealing with some of the lowlifes that lurk down the dark alleys. Believe it or not, I can take care of myself.”
“I have no doubt that you’ve managed to put down a rowdy incubus or a shifter at the end of a full-moon cycle, but this is different—”
“Don’t you dare condescend to me! Just because you’re some hotshot warlock doesn’t mean I haven’t learned to protect myself. Or is your issue the fact that I’m a woman?”
I jerked back as if she’d hit me. Is that what I’d just done? Dear God, I had! If my mother were here, she would have smacked me and then washed my mouth out with soap. When had I become a condescending prick? Oh, about the time your friends starting getting hurt because you’re a warlock and hell’s fury made a habit of knocking on your door.
“I’m sorry,” I said softly.
Serah took a step back, looking absolutely stunned. Yeah, I was feeling a little stunned myself. Not so much because I apologized. I had a lot of practice at that. Too fucking much. It was more to do with the fact that I had stopped seeing people as capable of handling a situation without me. Maybe this is why things got so out of hand with the witches and warlocks. Or at least started out this way.
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