Tattoo

by Michelle Rene

  Table of Contents

  Dedication

  Chapter One: They

  Chapter Two: Natali

  Chapter Three: Elliot

  Chapter Four: Irene

  Chapter Five: Dakota

  Chapter Six: Toby

  Chapter Seven: They

  About the Author

  About the Publisher

  Other Titles from Annorlunda Books

  Copyright

  Tattoo

  by Michelle Rene

  Dedicated to all the miscreations out there.

  Chapter One: They

  The motley assortment of beings congregated just below us in the shade of the multilevel garage. Concrete spirals of cars and oil-stained walls towered over the group like a Goliath. Most of the creatures were human, and one was a scraggly poodle dog that danced impatiently about an older woman’s feet, wanting desperately to be held. The timid one, now known as Jane, lifted the dog and held it to her chest. The ever so subtle wag of a tail indicated the beast’s happiness, and Jane scratched behind one of its ears.

  We stood above the company, our presence unknown to those who argued and planned below. Some subconscious force moved me toward my companion as though her presence was a comforting hearth. When I did, her arm brushed mine. I couldn’t help but look down and compare our arms side by side. Mine was rough and chiseled. Volcanic ash and scarred flesh. Hers was perfect, a pristine specimen like the rest of her. She was a vision with her mane of red, curly tendrils dancing in the breeze—her ivory skin, her firm and curvaceous body. An angel of a woman contrasted against my brute ugliness.

  Those sparkling eyes narrowed as she concentrated on the gathering below. A millennium of knowledge flooded those deep pools of hers. I could get lost in them, but there was a danger there too. One could drown in eyes like that and never see the light of day again.

  “Stop it,” she said abruptly.

  “Stop what?”

  “Don’t be coy. It doesn’t suit you. You are just as beautiful as I. And, after all, what does it matter to ones such as we?”

  “It doesn’t,” I snapped. I hated when she peeked in my head that way.

  The long, breezy gown she wore was her favorite. It was truly a part of her like her own hair. We wore no disguises here. No one could see us. We could be ourselves wholly, even if it was not fashionable for this time. I wore my uniform bound about my waist, leaving my skin exposed, pocked and scarred for all to see. The flesh on my torso and neck would remain forever scorched in my natural state, my black skin edging into hard lines of gray and cinder. Many scars covered my body, but the largest, the one that still hurt regularly, ran straight across my abdomen with all the violence of a lightning bolt. I could still smell electricity when I touched it.

  “It’s beautiful, your scar,” she remarked gently. “Things like that are lovely. Reminds you that you are different, unique in all the world.”

  “It never feels beautiful.”

  I snorted a little at the musing of a woman who had no scars of her own.

  Soon, the collection below us had made a plan and set off on their way, hoping no one would see or hear them. It was dangerous, what those small people had done, what they had decided. Little did they know the two beings on top of the parking garage had heard every sentence they had uttered and all the ones they had not.

  “They are going into hiding,” I said.

  “Yes. A good plan, I think,” she replied.

  “Shall we help or hinder?”

  “I think neither.”

  I looked at her with an obvious question in my eyes. My face was always serious even in confusion. She almost laughed at the comedy of my expression. As it was, all she did was smile. The feeling of patronizing humor never did sit well with me, not from her. Of course, she used it all the time. Why did I fall prey? Why did I love it so?

  “So you believe our intervention here is at an end?” I asked.

  “For now, I think so.”

  “She only has five followers.”

  “Yes. An insane mother, a youth savant, a protector, an artist, and an atoning man.” She counted them off on her delicate fingers.

  “Sounds like you’ve birthed a brand new arcana for the girl. It doesn’t seem like enough. The last time there were more.”

  “The last time was different in a lot of ways,” she said with a smile.

  We watched from our perch as the group of misfits walked away from us, all crowded around the fragile girl in order to protect her. She held the dog, since it was one of the only things she herself could protect. None of them knew exactly why they were drawn to the girl, feeling the need to protect her. Perhaps they never would.

  The corners of my mouth pulled downward in frustration. I could feel it in the tension around my jaw. She stood at ease, but I knew she could feel the troubled waves of energy radiating around my cindered body like heat bubbling beneath rock. Nearby was a bench bolted to the rooftop where a parking spot should have been. It looked like some fool’s misguided attempt to make this asphalt flat a haven for leisure. I left the angel and sat there, agitated by the events.

  “Five seems too sparse,” I said with a huff of hot air. “I do not approve.”

  “Five is plenty. They are all capable,” she replied over her shoulder.

  “She is so fragile,” I said.

  “She is stronger than you give her credit. Give her time. She’s barely gotten room to adjust to this place.”

  Dissatisfaction and worry fought for control on my face. They both felt like tension, so it was a pointless battle. She glided over to me and placed one delicate, white hand on my rough shoulder. I could almost feel a breeze from the folds of her gown when she did that. Always she remained a soothing and confident wave to my anxiety, even if she sometimes caused it.

  “The last time was different. I like this gathering. They will protect her,” she mused.

  A light screech broke the silence of the afternoon, and I flinched imperceptibly for a second before realizing what it was. I gazed over at her, but she didn’t seem to notice my moment of panic. Old memories of screeching birds, burnt flesh, and terrible pain flashed in front of me. The scars on my body stung.

  A lovely white owl soared downward to meet us. She lifted one arm and the creature landed gracefully, clenching its talons into her arm’s flesh. The owl was used to this perch, and she neither winced nor bled under its grip. Instead the two nuzzled one another with an intimacy I envied. For an instant, I wondered what it might be like to be that close with another being, even a bird.

  “You can borrow her if you want to know,” she said, answering my thought.

  The owl screeched disapprovingly.

  “I think not,” I replied. “I’ve had enough birds in my life.”

  “This one won’t hurt you. She’s a lamb of a thing.”

  When I saw the owl, my shoulders relaxed a little. Despite the label of bird, I had to admit there was something about owls that was naturally soothing. Perhaps their faces, round and delicately white. Such a calm way about them even when they murdered their prey. Nothing hard or vile. Not like the birds I had known. The ones who tore flesh and ripped out my soul every day again and again. The owl screeched, flew away, and brought my mind back to the present. I sighed heavily under the weight of what we’d done.

  “Your father will not be happy about this,” I said rubbing at my largest scar.

  “I doubt he’ll lift his head up long enough to care. Retirement has made him fat and lazy. He rarely concerns himself with the happenings of mortals any longer.”

  “He might lift that heavy head of his for this one.”

  I tried not to show the sadness in my voice. Something in it trailed back to a time long ago, before the humans, before the fightin
g, when her father and I were friends and allies. For a moment, I reached back through time and space to recall an era before the scars. My vision went dark and cloudy with remembrance.

  “You don’t worry about retribution, do you?” she asked, bemused. “Father may have sent tortures your way, but it was so long ago. Surely you are not still walking around with that in your chest. It was a lifetime ago.”

  The lovely woman turned to me, a half smile gracing her mouth. It was the look she wore when asking a difficult question but trying to do so with a note of humor to lessen the sting. I knew every trick of hers, every piece of guile. Still, they always worked. There was nothing that escaped her crystal gaze.

  “Some fears never truly go away,” I grumbled.

  “Father has no power anymore. You know that. He no longer cares about the ways of lower creatures. They do not believe as they once did. We are mere novelties to them now. Stories told in the history books. Fancies of ancient bones.”

  She sat down next to me, moving the air in such a way I could catch her scent. Parchment and flowers and sandalwood and even a little death. How easily blood and books mixed inside her. Such a dichotomy.

  From seemingly nowhere, she retrieved a tobacco cigarette. It was hand rolled and expertly at that. So strange to see a frivolous human thing in her fingers. She cocked her eyebrows toward me and motioned to the cigarette.

  “I could use a light. Would you mind, darling?”

  Darling? Oh, she did know how to turn me even when I was bitter. I offered one finger toward her, making the tip of it burn. She pressed the cigarette to it and inhaled until she puffed out smoke. By the time she pulled away, the tip glowed.

  “Thank you,” she said, blowing out a long, smoky breath.

  The acrid smell of burning tobacco became a third passenger in our conversation.

  “Why pick up such a worthless habit?” I asked.

  “Why not? Occasionally the mortals come up with some good ideas. Too bad they are on the verge of wiping this one out. It’s entirely pleasant. Besides, it’s not like I have to worry about lung cancer,” she said with a little chuckle.

  She picked a bit of leaf off her lip and flicked it away. Despite the hot sun, she leaned in to me and curled up against my shoulder like a small child. Her mane fell down the length of my arm. Against my better judgment, I shut my eyes and enjoyed the sensation.

  “What are you thinking about?” she asked. “I can hear your mind whirring.”

  “I’m nervous about the girl,” I lied. Well, it wasn’t a complete lie. I was nervous about the girl, but my mind bounced around for so many other reasons as well. What we had done, this little project into which she had roped me, tread on some dangerous ground.

  “I like this gathering of protectors. I told you she will be all right.”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Do you doubt me?” She raised her head so she could look at me. “Have I ever steered us wrong? Do you not love me?”

  “I do love you,” I professed, even though I wished it weren’t true.

  “Why would you think that?” she asked. “Why would you not want to love me? It’s written in your mind. All over your mind, in fact.”

  She appeared hurt. Genuinely.

  “I’m sorry,” I said, latching onto a shred of hope that this was true. “I am only afraid you don’t love me in return.”

  Another long billow of smoke eased from her mouth as she regarded me. Her face was stoic, unmoving in a way I could not read. If only I could see into her mind the way she saw into mine, perhaps the playing field would be level. All my questioning would cease. The idea she might be manipulating me to play her games poked at me incessantly. I was no fool, but I loved her like one.

  “Don’t be silly,” she said. “I convinced Father to release you all those eons ago. Of course I love you.”

  Something in me relaxed as another thing tightened.

  When she stood, she took a final drag of her cigarette. Without so much as a warning, she stubbed out the butt on my cinder-like shoulder. The black ashes left a spattered smudge. I couldn’t deny the hurt.

  “Why did you do that?” I asked.

  “Oh come now. It isn’t as if you felt it,” she said.

  She moved back to the edge and looked down. When I rose, the old uncertainty about her affection returned, but I pushed it down in the hope she wouldn’t read it.

  Gazing at the street below, we saw nothing of the party. The reporter who had been rendered unconscious was waking, dazed and looking up into a small crowd gathering around her. She pointed a shaky finger in the direction into which the small group had run off. Several people armed with recording devices ran toward the parking garage where we had last seen the girl and her protectors.

  Instinct pushed me forward to intercept. A delicate hand stopped my progress.

  “Don’t. They are already away,” she said.

  “How do you know?”

  “I have faith.”

  “That is a funny thing to say. Faith is what these people are lacking. Look at them below. Gathered to witness a spectacle. They want a show at the expense of something beautiful,” I said with contempt.

  “I understand your feelings, but they haven’t all gone that way. Just the ones you see below. Our girl has already attracted five good souls, has she not? It’s not a population, but it’s a start. Give them enough time, and the world will right itself again. At least, they will get it pointed in the right direction. Our little project will not have been in vain.”

  I considered this for a moment. The lower beings led futile lives and held brittle beliefs that could be remade a thousand different ways. So many quibbled over the trivial and murdered over less, blind to the divinity they carried.

  There was the other side. Kindness and love. Forgiveness. Passions that filled the air with music and the walls with stories. It was the reason I’d trespassed so long ago. I saw the potential of their souls and helped them when it was forbidden. My punishment was to be chained to a mountain and tortured by birds for all time, until she came to rescue me.

  However, I never could shake mortals as others had. Love had won the day, despite the pain. I never could forsake the lot. No matter what my torment, I always held a tender place for them. Why was that?

  “Because dear old friend,” she answered my thought with a smile. “They may have forgotten about us, but we haven’t forgotten them.”

  Chapter Two: Natali

  The day the girl came to general lockup started out on a weird note. There had already been three fights, one I had to single-handedly dismantle, and the lunch bell hadn’t even rung yet. The inmates were restless and fidgety, as if it was a full moon or something, like animals before a big storm.

  Officer Beine called me over to help her, wide-eyed shock plastered on her freckled face. Something had spooked her, something significant.

  “What is it?” I whispered.

  “Can you take this one to cell five twelve?”

  “Sure. Why?”

  “I-I don’t want to.”

  I gaped at Officer Beine. She wasn’t a big woman like me, but I had never known her to freak out over an inmate. This woman had once stabbed a shot of adrenaline in the chest of an overdosing inmate without hesitation. Now, her eyes darted back and forth a little, as though looking for movement in the noonday shadows.

  “Okay?”

  “She’s in holding. Thanks.”

  Keeping your cool is essential in prison. The inmates are afraid mostly, but fear backs a person in a corner of their mind that makes them dangerous. So, as I rounded the corner that led to the only holding cell currently occupied, I steeled myself for anything.

  The kid sat on the one bench the tiny cell provided. That’s how I first labeled her, a kid. She was small, fragile-looking, like a life-sized porcelain doll. The difference was this doll looked back up at me and blinked her huge, brown eyes. I thought of a cow or something as seemingly innocent. When the realization
hit me, it hit me hard. The thing that was wrong with this picture, the thing that made Officer Beine afraid.

  The girl was completely unmarked.

  Not one tattoo covered her pale body. She was completely unwritten. Everyone since the big judgment day had their life tattooed on their body. Everyone did. Not only that, but she was bald. There wasn’t a strand of hair on her head save some thin, brown eyebrows. Not a mark, not a hair, not a past, not a future. I held onto my breath, for it threatened to catch.

  “Inmate Sparrow?”

  “Yes?”

  “This way, please.”

  She batted her long cow eyelashes at me and stood, collecting the bedroll and pillow that had been provided for her earlier. This kid was so spindly, so delicate. Once the fear subsided, all I wanted to do was put my arm around her in comfort. She looked so afraid. More so than any other inmates I had escorted.

  “We are going to cell five twelve.”

  “Okay,” she replied.

  Inmate Sparrow followed me in silence, and silence was what followed her. Everywhere we walked, people stopped whatever they were doing and stared. A group in the back of the common room ceased their card game to gawk. Two inmates ended their telephone conversations to watch us in our silent procession. Some muttered inaudible curses; some whispered hastily to one another. There was an overall unease vibrating through every hall we passed.

  The kid sort of tucked in on herself, trying to act as invisible as she could. I wondered if she could sense the change in the air her presence caused. It was a dumb thought. Of course she could. Who wouldn’t?

  Inmate Sparrow. I had to make sure I didn’t get it twisted. She was an inmate, nothing more or less. Inmate Sparrow. Not kid. I couldn’t imagine what a little thing like her had done to get slapped in prison, but no matter what, I had to think of her as a prisoner.

  We reached cell five twelve to find the other three residents sitting on their bunks chatting. I knew them, they weren’t the worst bunch, not the best either, but they had a vacancy, and they were all white. Admin normally kept like with like. It was a notion that seemed silly to me, but statistics showed that in an environment such as prison, the races adapted to better with their own kind, so to speak.