'Ink It Over: A Touch Of Ink Novel

by Rachel Rawlings

  Lars took notice as well. The twitch in his eye and furrowed brow were both signs of his concern. “We should only be gone a couple of hours. You think you can stay out of trouble for that long?” He moved in for a hug and wrapped his arms around me, using the close proximity to whisper in my ear. “When we get back, I need to talk to you. Alone.”

  I wanted to point out that might be difficult since we were staying in an attic the size of a tiny house, but Lars wasn’t done and we were short on time.

  “I’ve been thinking about what he did with her ashes. Something’s not right. He shouldn’t have been able to do that.” After dropping that little nugget of information, Lars pulled away.

  Plastering a fake smile on my face, I did my best to act like Lars hadn’t just whispered secret suspicions in my ear. “Hey, I don’t go looking for trouble. It just finds me. Maybe I should just tag along. You know, so you two big, strong guys can keep me safe.”

  “I think that’s our cue to exit.” Nicholas grabbed the doorknob and turned it to the right while he spoke the enchantment to shift his perimeter wards long enough for the two of them to slip out.

  Lars glanced at his watch. “We should be back before noon.” He followed Nicholas out but not before one last look. “Stay inside and don’t do anything stupid.”

  Which of course left me contemplating all the stupid things I could do while left to my own devices that wouldn’t risk life or limb. My mind ran on an endless loop of pranks and tricks, a veritable cornucopia of things that could be considered stupid. The list was surprisingly long, and I was exhausted just thinking about it.

  Rather than set my inner middle schooler loose on Nicholas’s workshop, I decided to raid his cupboards in the hopes of finding cookies. A package of soft-baked oatmeal raisin was my score for the night. After pouring the last of the coffee into my mug, I settled myself on the couch and became intimately acquainted with one of the most underappreciated baked goods.

  After draining my coffee cup dry and devouring half a box of cookies, I drifted off into a sleep plagued with dreams that were nowhere near as sweet as my second breakfast. Except for the part where Nicholas kissed me again. But even that didn’t last. Once his lips touched mine, the nightmares took over, distorting everything until we were left separated by a pile of the dead and dying. That was right about the time Karen made an appearance in my dreams, and I woke up in a cold sweat.

  “Naps are overrated.”

  The spider crawling across the ceiling was the only other living thing in the attic besides me, so naturally I put him down in the column under ‘squarely agrees with me.’

  “I need a distraction.” I swung my legs off the couch and sat up. “And to stop talking to myself.”

  The spider continued making his way across the ceiling in the direction of the kitchenette and the coffeepot. It wasn’t quite as elaborate as spinning a web with messages like “some pig” in it, but I took it as a sign that the spider henceforth known as Little Charlotte and I were on the same page.

  As appealing as drinking straight from the coffeepot was, I refilled my mug and went off in search of something to do. My options were far from limitless. In fact, I had two. Read Vincent Marks’s life works or use the colored pencils and notepad I’d found in a junk drawer to draw some tattoo flash. Out of fear the reading material would be dry and I’d end up falling asleep again, I decided to draw.

  But Karen Brown’s memory refused to leave me alone.

  Page after page of sketches littered the floor. The designs and colors varied, but the key element remained the same. The phoenix. At some point, my medium changed to pen and skin, filling in the last free space on my left arm with the perfect tattoo placement of the mythical bird.

  I grabbed my phone to research conjuring inks from common ingredients found in any witch’s pantry and started comparing the list to Nicholas’s stores. Three key ingredients were missing, one of which I’d depleted making the illusion charms. A tattoo was out of the question. I didn’t know how Nicholas restocked, but if we were going to be stuck in the attic for an extended period of time, he needed to up his supply.

  “It figures,” I griped to no one but myself, and of course Little Charlotte who’d made herself at home on the corner of the first edition copy of Vincent Marks’s book on duality and the witch. “And this is the part where cabin fever takes hold because I’m seeing signs everywhere and talking to a spider.” That didn’t stop me from picking up the book.

  Always trust your third eye. Yet another of Grim’s life lessons came to mind. This one the equivalent of trust your instincts. And my instincts were telling me there was something waiting to be found in the pages of that book. I turned to the page where I’d randomly stuck the old black and white photo of Vincent and Grim. What had been a mild curiosity when I’d first seen the photo blossomed into a full-blown suspicion that it somehow held the key to Winslow and whatever he was planning.

  “What are you trying to tell me? What do you want me to find?” I half hoped an answer would come from beyond the grave, but I wasn’t a medium. Spirits didn’t make a habit of talking to warders.

  I set the photo down on the small table in front of the couch and turned back to the table of contents. When that failed to reveal any secrets, I switched to the appendix. While some of the subjects were clearly tied into warding, no clues related to Winslow or the Magistrate jumped off the pages. Questioning my instincts, and whether I’d misunderstood what my third eye was trying to tell me, I reluctantly turned to chapter one.

  The words on the page began to blur halfway through the fourth chapter. The information covered in the first fifty or so pages was as boring as I’d expected. Studying had never been my forte, so I was more than a little relieved by the interruption of Lars and Nicholas’s return.

  “How’d it go?” I closed the book and set it on the couch cushion beside me.

  “It didn’t.” Nicholas tossed his coat and messenger bag on the floor by the door in a huff. “I need a drink.” He went to the kitchenette, grabbed a bottle of what I assumed was whiskey based on its amber color, and two glasses.

  “Would either of you care to elaborate on that?” Had Ms. Brown refused to see them? Was it just a wasted trip and a waste of magic because she wasn’t home? Somehow, I doubted either of those scenarios was how it had actually played out.

  Lars came over to join me on the couch, picking up the book and setting it on the table next to the picture before he sat down. Recognition dawned on his face the moment he saw the photo. He looked at me, then the items on the table, and back again.

  All the questions he wanted to ask were plain on his face, but he didn’t ask any of them and instead answered mine. “It looks like Winslow got to her first.”

  “What?” I sat upright, my spine ramrod straight. “She’s not...”

  Neither had to answer. Their moods and body language said it all.

  “Oh my Goddess, they killed her?”

  Nicholas walked over, set a glass in front of me and Lars, poured the whiskey two fingers high in each, and then plopped down in the chair with the bottle for himself. “He’s covering his tracks.” He tried to avoid looking at the photo on the table as he took a long pull from the bottle. “It’s safe to assume with Ms. Brown taken care of, he’ll be diverting all of his attention to us.”

  “Okay, slow down and tell me exactly what happened.” I’m not sure what it said about me as a person that I was more interested in the gory details of what they’d found when they went to the Brown residence than being there for the return of Karen’s remains, but I rationalized it as being necessary to our survival.

  Lars emptied his glass. “We got to the house easy enough. Maybe too easy. That should have been our first clue something was wrong.” He tapped the empty glass on the table and held it out for a refill, then took a sip after Nicholas poured him another. “The fire was already out by the time we got there. A couple firemen still lingered at the scene while a policeman tap
ed off the area, but everything was over. Winslow’s men were long gone. We waited in the alleyway between the apartment buildings across the street. After the Mundanes left, Nicholas performed a recollection.”

  My jaw dropped. “A recollection?” It was my turn to drain my glass dry and ask for a refill. After my second dose of liquid courage, I turned on Nicholas. “You’re not just any candidate. What level are you?”

  “I’m a graduate.” Nicholas took another swig of whiskey from the bottle, refusing to meet my eyes.

  “A graduate.” I felt my temper starting to rise and set my glass on the table before I could throw it at him. “The surprises never stop with you, do they?” It was a stupid thing to lie about, and I couldn’t figure out why he hadn’t told us. “If you keep lying to me, Nicholas, I’ll never be able to trust you.”

  He winced, obviously feeling the sting of that statement as much as I did.

  “Being a candidate was part of my uncle’s plan, to keep you from looking too deep into who I was.” He lowered his head, staring at the floor.

  Lars got up and took the bottle from Nicholas before he had a chance to finish it off. “Winslow should have put a coercion spell on you to keep your mouth shut.” He held the bottle out to me, offering a refill before he sat back down.

  “Yeah, probably.” One side of Nicholas’s mouth turned up in a half smile, but he didn’t look up. “Things have been a little crazy since I switched sides and joined forces with the dynamic duo. Most of my time and energy’s been focused on staying alive. I hadn’t really given it much thought.”

  “Dynamic duo, huh? Fine, you get a pass.” I tossed a throw pillow with the words spell shocked embroidered on it at Nicholas. “This time.”

  Nicholas finally looked up, the relief visible in his eyes. “I could use a refill. Anyone else?” He got up and grabbed another bottle without waiting for an answer.

  Lars and I exchanged a look that had more to do with what we still didn’t know about Nicholas Marks than the things we already did. His explanation for keeping his graduate status from us was reasonable enough. But graduate or not, he’d used Karen’s ashes in a spell, and that had nothing to do with his status on campus.

  Not to mention the recollection.

  There was something else going on with Nicholas. If my suspicions were right, it had something to do with Karen Brown, and I intended to find out what is was. Before it got us all killed.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  WE MANAGED TO SEE ANOTHER sunrise despite sleeping like the dead. Stress and alcohol were the top two contributing factors to the three of us passing out on the couch and chairs. Well, that and the lack of beds. I rubbed the sleep and the hangover from my eyes before pushing Lars’s feet off my lap and making a beeline for the bathroom, and then the coffeepot.

  With each sip of the heavenly brew, life was restored in my body, and I began to resemble something almost human. Under normal circumstances, Lars or I would have already been to the convenience store around the corner from Something To ‘Ink About for the traditional post-hangover greasy breakfast sandwiches. My stomach rumbled just thinking about it. I had half a mind to slip out of the apartment and hit the nearest drive-thru but decided to loot Nicholas’s pantry again.

  There wasn’t a bacon, egg, and cheese biscuit in the world worth listening to a lecture from Lars about leaving the safety of the workshop alone.

  Making the best of a bad situation, I laid out a spread of prepackaged donuts and bite-sized muffins. It was a far cry from the grease and protein combo my body craved, but it would have to do. I took a bite of my donut, marveling at how the waxy frosting constituted being called chocolate, and washed it down with a mouthful of coffee.

  The sound of Lars snoring like a lumberjack clearing a forest of trees broke the quiet solitude of the morning and drew my attention back to the living room and eventually the book and photo still on the coffee table. Careful not to wake the others, I abandoned my half-eaten donut and tiptoed between the couch and table to grab the picture and Vincent Marks’s study of the duality of magic.

  There was no rational explanation for why I felt so drawn to the book, but with magic, there seldom ever is. Back at the kitchen table, I picked up where I’d left off the night before, delving into a scientific side of magic I’d never really explored before.

  “Morning, sleeping beauty.” Lars ruffled my hair, pulling me out of a light slumber. “Doing a bit of light reading?”

  “Damn it.” I’d dozed off again, falling asleep at the table with my face stuck to page forty-seven. “I need the Cliff’s Notes version. Vincent Marks may have been a hell of a scientist, but he was an awful storyteller.”

  “What are you hoping to find?” Lars laid out a paper napkin for a makeshift plate and piled three donuts on top. “I mean, unless it’s a book of spells dedicated to eradicating a megalomaniac, I don’t see how it’s going to help with our Winslow problem.”

  “You don’t think the photo of Vincent and Grim together is odd?” I got up to start a fresh pot after Lars polished off the last of the coffee. “Like some kind of clue?”

  “Yes, Nancy Drew, I do.” Lars popped a bite-sized muffin in his mouth and put a handful more on top of his donuts. “But I don’t think you’re going to find the answer in the pages of that book. We need to focus on how and why Grim and Vincent got together.”

  “And how do you propose we do that?” After changing the coffee filter, I measured out the grounds and started the coffee maker.

  “I’m not sure.” He looked over his shoulder at the still sleeping Nicholas. “But I think he’s the key.”

  Almost on cue, Nicholas stirred, then woke up and lumbered his way toward the coffee. After grumbling an undecipherable greeting, he grabbed a mug and filled it to the brim with coffee. Lars shook his head, a silent plea to keep his suspicions between the two of us for a little while longer.

  Since we didn’t have anything to go on but our hunches, I was happy to oblige.

  THE DAYS SEEMED TO run on repeat, with the three of us rotating shifts resetting the wards, keeping watch, and the occasional supply run. Winslow had been uncharacteristically quiet. Losing Karen Brown was a major setback, but men like him didn’t gain position or favor within the Magistrate by worrying about things like collateral damage. No, he was safe within campus walls, calculating his next move.

  Which no doubt involved one of us—namely me.

  If we wanted to stay alive, we needed to figure out Winslow’s next move before he did and cut him off at the pass. No small feat considering he wanted us dead and had unlimited resources. We had an attic efficiency, one Warder, a graduate, and a Lars. Not exactly a recipe for success, but we’d managed to stay alive.

  For the time being.

  We also had Vincent Marks’s book, which regardless of what Lars thought, I knew had something to do with Winslow’s plans. And of course, Vincent’s son Nicholas, who Lars was convinced also had something to do with it. Nicholas performed more than one act of magic impossible for someone with only a trace of death magic in their blood. Winslow’s hatred of anything to do with the Marks family name blinded him to whatever anomaly lay dormant in his nephew’s blood. All Lars and I had to do was discover what that was before Winslow.

  Easier said than done when you’re on the run, or in our case, hiding.

  But I’d been on the run before. The confines of the small workshop were an upgrade from the streets of Providence. I’d managed to stay alive on my own before Grim found me, and I could do it again. I had to. We had to.

  The Goddess and I had had a falling out, or at least that’s what I told myself when I was just a kid in foster care. I was hurt, scared, angry, and made choices that led me further away. I’d turned my back on her, but contrary to the beliefs of that little girl, she hadn’t turned her back on me. She gave me a second chance by putting Grim in my life, and if my suspicions about that old photo of Grim and Vincent were correct, she’d done the same for Nicholas.
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  If I’d learned anything from Grim and my second chance, it was that life isn’t about what you did; it’s about what you do.

  And it was clear the Goddess wanted me to do something.

  Did you love 'Ink It Over? Then you should read Soul To Keep by Rachel Rawlings!

  Reapers always play for keeps.Reap what you sow. That's been Angelica Wright's motto since joining the Department of Soul Acquisitions as a Reaper. It's served her well over the years, a reminder the mortals who end up in her case files sealed their fate when they signed their deal with the Devil. Reapers have one job - collecting souls - and Angelica is good at her job.And then a Necromancer moves into town and takes up collections of his own. Competition is good for business but there's just one problem - the souls are innocents - and that just wont' do.Thrust into a partnership with Jackson Reed, the silver-tongued seller of salvation who's been on her tail and poaching her collections, Angelica has her hands full.In order to chase down the Necro, she'll have to work with the Sin Eater who's been chasing after her for months or the Reaper may end up reaped herself....

  Read more at Rachel Rawlings’s site.

  Also by Rachel Rawlings

  A Touch Of Ink

  'Ink It Over

  Department Of Soul Acquisitions

  Soul To Keep

  The Jax Rhoades Series

  Payable on Death

  Paid in Full

  The Maurin Kincaide Series

  The Morrigna

  Witch Hunt

  Wolfsbane

  Blood Bath

  Ill Fated

  Darkness Hunts

  Mistletoe Meltdown

  The Maurin Kincaide Series Box Set

  Standalone

  Sherri 2.0

  Watch for more at Rachel Rawlings’s site.