Stained

by Jessica McBrayer

  When the confrontation came to a head, one person was killed, a bystander blinded, and over 120 Berkeley residents were treated for head trauma, shotgun wounds, and other serious injuries. The police didn’t escape unscathed either. Nineteen officers were treated in emergency rooms as well.

  In the end the community’s will prevailed and People’s Park was part of the result. Thorn knew that now the Park was co-managed by the University of California, Berkeley and various community groups. The park had become home to the homeless. The People’s Park had become a park for disenfranchised people.

  Raven dropped to her handlebars as she pulled into the shadows alongside the Park. Thorn shut down the Ducati and placed the key snuggly into her pocket. She summoned another ‘stay-away’ spell, pulling slightly on her inner magick. It tugged from deep inside her, as she envisioned purple energy surround her bike.

  Being a witch had given her many skills, some of which she would use tonight. One of those powers included glamouring people, when she looked them in the eye. She planned on asking some questions while Raven scavenged. She couldn’t get the dead witch out of her mind. She owed it to Willow, to find out what she could. Now, she would pick her quarry.

  Finding a sleeping woman some fifty feet away, she materialized beside her in a blink of an eye. Thorn leaned down and gently woke her up. When the woman’s eyes were open she spoke to her.

  “What’s your name, dear childe?”

  “Peggy,” she whispered.

  “Peggy, I’m going to ask you some questions.”

  “Yes.”

  “Good.” Thorn made Peggy more comfortable. “Have you seen anyone unusual lurking around the streets at night, childe?”

  “Yes, a man. Talks funny, like a leprechaun, dresses in fancy clothes and does terrible things to us.”

  An Irish accent. The hair on the back of her neck rose sending a current of unease through Thorn. She instinctively looked around her, scanning the bushes and trees.

  “Does this man have a name?”

  “Don’t know.” Peggy shivered. “Don’t wanna know.”

  “Thank you, Peggy, rest now.” The sounds of the night mingled with those of people sleeping under trees and bushes. People rolled over, snored or shuffled about. Her excellent hearing alerted her to Raven gorging himself on some dead animal. She waited, pacing back and forth, for him to come back. The wind came up and the smell of unwashed bodies wafted by.

  Just as quick as she was there, she was gone, and back at her bike, leaving the woman holding twenty dollars. Raven flew to her, having feasted on a dead rat. Raven was sated and Thorn had gotten as much as she was going to get tonight. They started for home and her three a.m. appointment.

  Why would someone cut out those talismans? It had to be something dark. Too many questions on her mind and now she had to go to work.

  Raven was happily cleaning his feathers while Thorn went upstairs to her apartment. The neatly appointed space always gave her comfort, it was her sanctuary. She worked hard to keep the outside world from intruding. No one had ever been there, save for the workmen before she first moved in. She moved quickly now. She wanted to brush her hair out before her appointment and eat something. As she entered the high-ceilinged space, a sense of calm soothed her soul. The walls were a deep russet that accented the ebony leather furniture. Tribal art surrounded her. She had several pieces worth a great deal of money. She didn’t care, their value was in her aesthetic. Thorn crossed the glowing bamboo floors to her room, and checked the curtains to make sure they were drawn tight, out of habit. She needed her sleep during the day, because of her nocturnal lifestyle, and she was a very private person.

  Her boar bristle brush was on the old vanity she’d picked up at a late-night auction. The vanity didn’t match the bed but she liked the way they looked together. The pieces fit in an eclectic way. She brushed her thick black hair until all the tangles were gone and it shone. Replacing her brush, she turned to go downstairs, catching a glimpse of her reflection in the mirror, or what amounted to her reflection. It was more like a murky shadow, fuzzy on the edges, the glass was old and the reflective backing chipped away. She was almost late now. She grabbed a banana to eat, and hurried downstairs to unlock the front door.

  Just in time. Richard was waiting for her. She knew the legendary vampire looks were mostly glamour to attract donors, but Richard wasn’t bad-looking on his own. Tall, with blonde hair, and the requisite dark eyes. His body was well-developed. Her vampire and witch clients had a longer wait time than her human ones. The energy that went into their tattoos wore her out and she only scheduled one appointment a week. They came from all over to see her. She was the only one she knew who specialized in the art. She let him in and noticed he was rosy-cheeked which meant he’d just fed. This was one of her stipulations and one of the reasons she scheduled them for three a.m. It gave her clients time to hunt.

  “Hi, Richard, please, have a seat,” she said, as she pointed to her chair. Thorn went to the counter and took his artwork out of a folder. “I’ve got a design drawn up that I think you’ll like. How does this dragon look?”

  “It’s incredible. You drew just what I described and more,” he said, looking at her and waving his hand across the drawing. He even showed a little fang. “I also wanted a talisman for wealth and protection and if you could work it into the dragon that would be great,” he said. He was excited. Most of her vamps were. The idea of having a tattoo was a new concept for them.

  “Sure, I think we can do that. What color did you want your dragon to be?”

  “Green and gold,” he said, obviously having already thought about it. “I’d like it on my forearm.”

  “Good choice. Green and gold stand for wealth and protection, in the color world as well, so it will be doubly powerful. Why don’t you roll up your sleeve and we’ll get started.”

  She went back into the rear of the shop to where a safe was. She took out some special inks, that had been spelled, that worked even with a vampire’s fast healing properties. Without the spells the ink would vanish in a matter of minutes. Thorn put on gloves and got her gun ready. She selected her needles.

  She started with a rough outline in black, weaving in the symbols for protection and wealth, chanting while she outlined them. As she added color, she continued to chant. Green stood for money and wealth, abundance, and she thought about those things as she chanted and pierced his skin. Gold stood for protection, success, victory. The normal pain most people felt was just a fleeting feeling to a vamp. They healed so fast that the sensation was more like an annoyance to them, than pain to them. The process took two hours and she had to concentrate hard the whole time. Richard knew enough not to talk and disrupt her. He stayed dead still, as only a vampire could. The quiet of the room was broken by the hum of the machine, her chanting, and the quick wiping of the blood she created with her tattooing. Contrary to popular belief, vampires bleed. Their blood was just slower, a bit sluggish. They wouldn’t evaporate in sunlight but it caused them terrible pain, so they were purely nocturnal. Their schedule worked well with Thorn’s. Thorn thought they were truly misunderstood creatures. More human than people thought.

  When she was done the dragon looked like it could rise off of his arm. It was beautiful. Richard stretched his arm back and forth making it ripple. He made sure to leave his jacket pushed up to show off his new tat. He thanked her over and over.

  “It’s my pleasure.” She smiled at him. She also took his five thousand dollars, which was the standard cost for a vamp tat, unless it required multiple sessions. When he was gone she locked up again. There was a brief glimpse of a figure in the crevices of the dark street. Vampire maybe? Sometimes they were curious about what she did, and sometimes they were potential customers watching her do her work. She shrugged it off and trudged up stairs, tired now. Turning off the lights on her way up, Raven followed her.

  Thorn poured herself a glass of wine, and took a seat, in a comfortable, perfectly balance
d sling-back chair. Raven perched on the arm and looked at her.

  “What do you think of this murder Sé asked me about earlier?”

  “Can’t be good. Someone cut out your talismans. Why would someone be collecting them and how did they know to cut just those out?” Raven preferred to talk telepathically when it was just the two of them. It was easier for him to speak mind to mind.

  “That’s what I was thinking. It can’t be a mere coincidence. The talismans were woven into the design. It took real work to cut them out. I hope she was dead before he did it.”

  “Yes, it would be more merciful for the witchling.”

  “Did you hear the woman in the park talk about the man with an Irish accent wandering around? You don’t think he’s found me, do you?”

  “If he has found you he will make himself known one way or another soon enough.”

  “It’s my night off tomorrow. I might do some more asking around. Many witches in the coven would trust me more than the detective.”

  “You need to stay away from that detective.”

  “Jealous, are we?” She smirked.

  “Of course not. Mundanes and witches do not mix well.”

  “Not well, but they do mix,” she said, raising an eyebrow.

  “Humph.” Raven flew over to his perch. He turned away from her to play with his shiny toys. Thorn laughed.

  It was close to dawn and time for bed. She’d put in a full night and was ready to ease into bed and forget about everything for a while. She locked the door with a deadbolt and made sure the sprinkler system was on. If there was anything that could kill a witch faster than a village of idiots, it was fire. She made sure to thank the Goddess and God. After that she changed into her favorite soft, silky gown, in a shade of lavender that matched her eyes, and crawled into bed. She lay thinking of Sé, and the way his eyes lit up when he smiled, wondering how he would handle knowing she was a witch. So far she had only come out to two people. Her mentor in Japan, and her best friend, both of whom had been killed. They had dealt with her secret well. But Sé was a cop and had that guarded vibe around her. She wasn’t so sure he would be open-minded. Before she had more time to think about it, sleep took her away.

  CHAPTER THREE

  I feel no sorrow. I feel no pain. My emotions are my own and no one else’s.

  Thorn rose with the moon. She had slept fitfully. She made herself a cup of steaming coffee and put some fresh water out for Raven. He thanked her, seeming to be over his irritation about the mixing of humans and witches. She dressed in her favorite worn jeans, and a grey sweater, with leather boots. She had time to kill before she could talk to the women she was looking for, so she read for a while. Around seven, she unlocked her door and went downstairs to the buzz of machines and the smell of blood and ink. Her stomach clenched with the distinct metallic smell. It reminded her of the way her grandmother bled, when she died. She had been covered in blood. The smell was imprinted, with burnt rubber and twisted hot metal, and it always made her gut roll. Thorn could cope with it now, but it still brought back memories. It was pain easily invoked and then pushed to the back of her mind.

  “Hi, Gwynn, hey, Reese, hi, Gérard.”

  “Hey, Thorn,” the girls said simultaneously.

  “Hello, Thorn,” Gérard said, in his thick creole accent. They were all busy with customers and the shop was full of potential clients. Gwynn, the perpetual flower child, wore a beautiful batik dress with her hair pulled back in her signature messy bun, to keep it out of her work. Reese was dressed in her uniform of jeans and a t-shirt. Gérard wore his typical black. The people in the shop were mostly young at this time of night. Some in full Goth, more people with piercings than not. Judging from the auras, there was a general happy vibe to the room. Jason was up front dressed in slim jeans and a retro tee. His hair hung over his forehead. He was busy answering questions and selling t-shirts and other paraphernalia Stained carried. He was training to be an artist and had a lot of talent.

  Pleased with how things were going in the store, she made her way out back and to her bike. Raven followed, perching on the handle-bars while Thorn tied up her hair and slipped her helmet on. The people she would seek out tonight didn’t use cell phones. Magick and phones didn’t agree, so she’d have to look for them the old-fashioned way. She revved up the engine and sped down the alley, enjoying the snap of cold air on her cheeks. Her first stop was an Irish pub, The Starry Plough, between Ashby and Alcatraz, decorated with a vibrant, bas relief mural facing the street. A few of the local coven made it their stomping grounds. People in the know could find them for spell work and trouble they needed sorting out.

  Thorn relished the way her bike moved under her, as she wove in and out of traffic, always sure that Raven was somewhere close. The autumn air smelled fresh and her nose was numb with cold by the time she reached her destination. She hunted through the bumper-to-bumper parked cars on the residential streets until she found a parking space a block away. The pub catered to local crowds, featuring up-and-coming bands. The place would be packed. She inhaled the crisp scents of fall leaves, as she shuffled through them. There was rain on the air. The trees above were almost bare by this time of year. Music from an Irish band, thrummed through the air, making her long for her homeland.

  She sensed two witches as she walked into the bar. They had a glow about them that could only be described as a sense of peace and serenity. Thorn wove her way through the crowd to their table and they stood up to greet her.

  “Sister, what brings you out on this night? I thought you would be busy at Stained.” Azayrid, a tall, mannish-woman with long golden-red hair smiled at her.

  “I have the night off.” Thorn smiled back.

  “Sit down, and join us then,” Mathilda said. Mathilda was Azayrid’s opposite, petite, brunette and elf-like.

  “Thank you, sisters. I’ve come to ask you some questions.” They looked at her expectantly. Like all true witches they limited their use of words, because words had power, and it was best not to say too much. “There was a murder, a witch who had come to me for some art work. Her name was Willow, do you know of her?” They both nodded. Mathilda’s eyes welled up with tears.

  “Has she been missing long?” Thorn asked.

  “For two weeks now. We feared the worst and now you have confirmed it,” Azayrid said, shaking her head.

  “I wove some talismans into her tattoos and they were cut off, just the talismans. Do you know of anyone who would want to do that, or why?” Thorn waved away a server.

  “No,” Mathilda said, wiping her tears, “but you’re known for invoking powerful magick and whoever took them must have known that, too. I’d be looking for another witch, or vampire, or someone in our community.”

  “I would wonder why someone is taking your magick?” Azayrid asked, holding her hands out to Thorn, searching her face with her expressive eyes. Thorn nodded.

  “Thank you for your time, I’m in your debt,” Thorn said. They both lowered their heads in a formal bow of goodbye.

  “Go in peace,” Azayrid said. She had a wrinkle in her brow. Thorn regretted bringing this troubling news to them.

  Thorn struck out through the fallen leaves to her bike. She thought of the pictures Sé had brought her to look at, and shivered. They had been grisly. She was a peace-loving witch. Harm none. Thorn saw Raven standing guard, and he immediately fluffed his feathers and bobbed from side to side when he noticed her.

  “That’s some fine music. What did they say? Did they know Willow?”

  Thorn raised a small smile at Raven’s childlike observances. “Yes, they knew Willow. She’d been missing for two weeks. They didn’t know she’d been murdered.” Thorn swung her leg over her bike and turned the key, kicking it into life. “Let’s go hunt, Raven.”

  She let the bike out, setting her course for the Marina this time, lots of fish and still a few fishermen at this time of night. Raven deserved a treat. She could feel his glee tickling her mind and it flooded he
r emotions, making her light-headed.

  Weaving her bike around the Marina restored her soul, while Raven ate like a glutton, filling up on discarded fish guts and a bloated sting ray. They flew back home.

  On the way there, Thorn stopped at a Chinese restaurant on College Avenue. As often as possible, she tried to eat from organic and environmentally conscientious restaurants. This one in particular, knew her by name, and had great garlic chicken with green beans. Thorn walked into the back of Stained with her takeout, to the familiar sounds of work and the chatter of people in the shop. It soothed her. She was about to go upstairs when Jason came into the break room, with a look of relief at seeing her there.

  “I was hoping that was you. There’s a cop here to see you, and he’s making people nervous,” Jason said.

  “Detective O’Bradigen?”

  “Yeah, and he’s got some other guy with him too, a big animal.” Jason frowned. “Do you want me to tell them to get the hell outta here? I can, I would for you. You don’t need to be harassed by the cops.” Jason was getting his hackles up, as her grandmother would have said.

  “No it’s okay, Jason.” He sulked to the front of the shop, and was busy giving the detectives the evil eye.

  Thorn walked through the menagerie, to see what they wanted. Sé nodded and strode towards her. She gestured for him to follow her, and she stepped into the break room. Thorn’s gut tightened, as she thought of what he might have to tell her.