by Gary Jonas
“Got a focus knob for the faces?” I asked.
“They muddied their appearances with magic.”
“Can you go back to their arms?”
Lakesha lowered her hands and the images stopped.
“Why?”
“They all have tats,” I said. I held up my right arm to show my tattoos. “Good thing nobody else has tattoos these days.”
“Funny.”
“Seriously, though, go back in and check their tattoos. We can’t see their faces, so the tats might be a way to ID them.”
“Good idea.”
“And you thought I wasted all my time getting stoned and watching Law and Order.”
She brought the coasters up again, waved them around, until she brought up the intruders. This time, she swept in to focus on their tattoos. Wife beater dude and the chubby chick both had the same triangle tats with the circle inside. The older guy had long sleeves, so we couldn’t tell about him.
“Yahtzee!” I said.
“Good call.” She leaned forward bracing her hands on her knees, bending the coasters a bit. She looked like a runner after a marathon.
Lakesha opened the door, stepped out onto the porch then sat down on the steps. She shook her head.
“You all right?” I asked, following her outside.
She waved me off. “Give me a minute.” She took a few deep breaths. “Purse,” she said.
I went inside to get her purse and brought it out to her. Damn thing weighed a ton. I set it on the porch beside her. “You carrying anvils in this thing?” I asked.
She opened the purse, dropped the coasters inside then pulled out a bottle of water. She twisted off the cap and drank the whole bottle in less time than it takes to tell you about it.
“Thirsty much?” I asked.
“Tough spell,” she said. “Takes a lot out of me. Useful, though.”
“Right. One dude shops at Men’s Warehouse, one shops at Walmart and has tattoos. The chick is a bit on the thick side. That really narrows things down.”
“The tattoos narrow things all the way down to one artist.”
“So I was right,” I said.
“Maybe. Did you note the symbols and how they shifted on the attacker?”
“Yeah. So?”
“Pentagram first. Symbol of protection.”
“I know that.”
“Ouroboros was next. You know what that means?”
“I don’t even think I can say it.”
“Renewal.”
“I can say that.”
“Then the Solomonic Triangles all the intruders shared.”
“The supersonic triangle? What’s that?”
“Solomonic. The triangle is the protected area around the magic circle, and the circle started off blank, then with the attacker, it went black, and briefly had Regina’s face inside it.”
“I didn’t see her face.”
“I did.”
“And your point is?”
“The Solomonic Triangle is used to summon entities and hold them. Regina is trapped inside the circle.”
“Which means?”
“Depends on how powerful the man’s magic is, but to pull a ghost inside would take some serious power. Was he enhanced by the people with him, or was it all his energy?”
“Find the guy with the tattoo and you can ask him.”
“Only one artist can do the shifting magical tattoos. Solomon King.”
“The triangle guy?”
She shook her head. “Certainly named after him. Didn’t you read the Bible?”
“Parts of it.”
“Solomon was one of the sons of David. He built the First Temple.”
“Solomon’s Temple,” I said. “I’ve heard of it.”
“In any case, he was a king of Israel, and he had wealth and power and was a prophet—”
“Time out. I didn’t sign up for Sunday school, and I don’t need a history lesson. Guy’s named after the Bible dude. That’s good enough for me.”
“A man who doesn’t know history is condemned to repeat it,” she said.
“What about the artist?” I asked.
“He has a shop called King Solomon’s Tattoos over on Seawall.”
“I’ve heard of it. Let me guess, you want me to go talk to Solomon Kane.”
“King.”
“King, Kane, same difference.”
Lakesha shook her head.
“Solomon is a cool name, though.”
“You should have him do a magic tattoo for you,” Lakesha said.
“I wouldn’t mind getting another tat.”
“Did you notice that I said magic?”
“Yes.”
“Wanted to be sure. It was more than six words.”
“Ha ha.”
“It will be expensive.”
“Then we’ll need my father’s approval.”
She took her phone out of her purse.
“You’re going to call him now?” I asked.
“Of course.” She scrolled through her contacts.
“I’ll wait inside. I don’t want to talk to him.”
She pushed herself to her feet as she pressed his name. “I’ve got this.”
I stepped back. I didn’t want her to hand the phone to me.
“Hello, Mr. Masters, it’s Lakesha in Galveston. That’s right. Oh, he’s a pain in my ass, but we’re currently helping a family with a magical problem. Yes, he’s actively working on it. I know. I will. Listen, the reason I called is because we need some information from a tattoo artist, and… Hang on. Let me put you on speaker.”
Before I could stop her, she tapped her phone.
“Is this some ploy to get me to pay for a tattoo?” my father asked. “I don’t approve of such things.”
“It will involve magic.”
“Son, are you there?” he asked.
I sighed. “Yes.”
“What’s this about a tattoo?”
“It’s Lakesha’s idea,” I said.
“That’s right,” Lakesha said. “Are you familiar with Solomon King?”
“Raven King’s son?”
“I believe so.”
“He’s designed special sigils for the Ordo Templi Orientis.”
“That’s right,” Lakesha said. “He did a rotating tattoo that shifts between at least three symbols.”
“That’s high magic.”
“Indeed.”
“Brett? You still there?”
“Yes, Dad.”
“You still have the Etteilla deck?”
“Yes, Dad.”
“Is it still tuned to you?”
“Yes, Dad.”
“Go to Solomon King’s shop, take the cards with you, and call me when you’re at your consultation meeting with him.”
“You’re open to paying for a tattoo?”
“If he can do what I want him to, yes. I’ll call him in the morning and set an appointment for you at one in the afternoon.”
“What if he’s booked up?”
My father laughed. “He’ll know who I am, so he’ll fit you in.”
He hung up without saying goodbye.
Typical.
“That was easier than I expected,” Lakesha said. “He even set the appointment at one so you’d actually have a chance of dragging your ass in on time.”
“That just means my father has ulterior motives,” I said. “As usual.”
CHAPTER SIX
Sabrina was levitating Mangani, my self-cleaning, carnivorous carpet, when I got home. A broom swept the floor on its own like something out of the movie Fantasia. Sabrina wore her typical black yoga pants with a red sports bra and moved her arms like a conductor guiding the broom. She’d changed her hair. It was still longer on one side than the other, but now the top half was jet black and the bottom half was crimson.
“Rude” by Magic! played from a speaker on the TV stand.
“Wouldn’t ‘Magic Carpet Ride’ by Steppenwolf be a better choice?”
I asked as I closed the door.
Sabrina spun around and adjusted her glasses. “Oh! I didn’t expect you to come home this early.”
“And I didn’t expect you back until tomorrow,” I said.
She turned off the music and let Mangani settle back on the floor. “I was doing some cleaning,” she said.
“I can see that. You know it would be easier to just sweep normally, right?”
“What?”
“You’re using magic for something simple.”
“Why be a wizard if you don’t use magic?”
“Why bleed to make a broom move?”
“You just don’t understand.”
“You’re right.”
“Magic is its own reward.”
“How often do you bite the inside of your cheek?”
She rolled her eyes, and her glasses magnified the effect to a degree that I wondered if that’s why she wore them.
She changed the subject. “We need to begin your lessons tomorrow.”
I shook my head. “I’m getting a new tattoo tomorrow, so your lessons will have to wait.”
“That’s the best you can come up with?”
“My father’s orders,” I said.
“You do realize I can call him, right?”
“I do.”
“So your lie can be revealed in moments.”
I extended my hand. “I’ll bet you all housework for a month that my father is not only approving of the tattoo, but he’s actually calling to set the appointment.”
She hesitated and narrowed her eyes. I could practically see the gears turning in her head. Was this a grand bluff designed to get her to simply accept it without verification, or was I telling the truth, and my father, who had always said tattoos were not appropriate for anyone in the magical community, had changed his stance? His view was that if you have a tattoo, anyone with any competence in magic could catch you when your guard was down, and magically transform the ink into a binding sigil that would render you instantly helpless.
“There’s no way he would do that,” she said.
I kept my hand extended. “Prove me wrong,” I said. “Shake on it.”
She kept those narrowed eyes on me, and I focused on maintaining no emotion. Lakesha had seen right through me, so I needed to prove to myself that I had a good poker face. Sabrina started to reach for my hand, then stopped.
“What’s the matter?” I asked.
“I want to negotiate the terms.”
“I’m listening.”
“If you’re telling the truth, I’ll take care of the housework for the month, but if you’re lying, you’ll get up every morning at seven to make breakfast for me.”
“Deal,” I said.
She shook my hand.
“Call him,” I said.
“No need,” she said. “I know you’re telling the truth.”
“Did he already call you?”
She laughed. “No. You didn’t even hesitate after I said you’d have to get up early.”
“Which means you want to do the housework?” I asked, confused.
She grinned. “When’s the last time you did any housework?”
I rubbed my chin. “Give me a minute.”
“My guess is years,” she said.
“So you lost on purpose?”
Her grin widened. “I didn’t lose anything. Ask me why I’m cleaning.”
“Just tell me.”
“You have to ask.”
“I don’t give a shit.”
She laughed. “Humor me.”
“Doesn’t matter,” I said and started up the stairs.
“Fine. I’ll tell you. I’m cleaning so I won’t be embarrassed when the maid service starts tomorrow.”
“Which means you’re cheating on the bet. You’re supposed to do the housework.”
“Oh, it gets better. The maid service comes out of your monthly stipend.”
“What?”
“Your father didn’t like the state of the house when he visited last week, so he told me to set up a service, and you would pay for it.”
“That’s bullshit.”
“That, my dear cousin, is the truth.”
I pointed to the carpet. “Mangani, you have my permission to eat Sabrina for dinner.”
“She won’t do that. Mangani and I have an understanding.”
The carpet gave a ripple that amounted to a shrug.
“Oh,” Sabrina said. “One more thing. Michael is coming over in a bit. We’re going to watch a movie, so I’d appreciate it if you could make yourself scarce tonight.”
“Is Michael getting lucky tonight?”
She grinned. “I shaved my legs.”
Chick talk for yes.
CHAPTER SEVEN
King Solomon’s Tattoos was a ways down Seawall not too far from the Lone Star comic shop. In a that never happens turn of events, I was early. I know, don’t get used to it. I popped into the comic shop.
Long boxes filled with comics lined tables in the center and sides of the store. Bagged and boarded comic books adorned the walls. I didn’t want to spend time going through the boxes, so I went to the counter, where a bunch of superhero dolls stood in various poses. One nerdy-looking dude stood behind the counter talking to another nerdy-looking dude in front of it.
They were arguing about who would win a fight between Wolverine and Superman, and they stood resolute in their determination that one would destroy the other. I waited for an opening, but between talk of heat vision and adamantium claws, I wasn’t sure I’d get one.
The clerk suddenly stopped and turned to me. “What do you think, man?”
“I think that if either of you ever want to lose your virginity, you’ll need to find other topics of conversation.”
“We get plenty of girls,” the clerk said.
“I’m excited for you. Can you point me to any comics about a guy called Power Man?”
“Luke Cage rocks,” the customer said.
“I’m sure he does,” I said. “But I’m asking about Power Man.”
“Luke Cage is Power Man, dude.”
“Good for him. I just need a comic for a kid.”
“We happen to have a mint condition copy of the first issue of Luke Cage, Hero for Hire. It’ll set you back four bills.”
“Maybe you didn’t hear me. It’s for a kid. I don’t care about condition.”
“Latest issue is on the rack,” he said pointing to the new comics.
“They’re still making them?” I asked.
“You live under a rock, dude? The Netflix series brought him back to his own book, but he’s been a member of the New Avengers, and—”
“Not really my scene.” I went to the rack with new comics. It looked all fancy with slick paper. Maybe Demetrius would rather have one from when he was alive.
I went back to the counter and interrupted their argument again. “Got any of the older ones that aren’t expensive?”
“We’re sold out. They’re popular books now.”
“The kid likes another character. Black dude who does voodoo and shit.”
“Doctor Voodoo?”
“That sounds right. Fights a werewolf or something?”
“That would be back when he was Brother Voodoo. You want Werewolf by Night issues thirty-nine and forty.”
“You remember the numbers?”
“Of course. They fight Dr. Glitternight.”
“Wow, what a stupid name.”
The guy blinked at me.
“Do you have those issues?” I asked.
He sighed. “Let me check.” He opened a laptop, typed a bit. “Yeah, we have them both.” He pointed to one of the tables. “Probably in the penultimate box there.”
“The what?”
“The next to last box. Geez.”
What a wonderful way to start my day. Comic nerds looking down their noses at me. I found the comics, tossed them on the counter with a ten dollar bill.
“Little tip,” I
said. “Should you ever talk to a girl, leave words like penultimate wrapped up in your wallet with your expired condom.”
He shook his head and gave me some change. “As it happens, pretty boy, I’m married, and my wife has a doctorate in chemical engineering.”
“Oh, burn!” said the customer.
As I walked out of the store, both guys in unison said, “Asshole.”
I hopped into my car—well, one of my father’s cars—and cruised over to the tattoo parlor.
***
King Solomon’s Tattoos was so clean you could eat off the floor. Art decorated the walls, of course, lots of skulls, flowers, barbed wire, angels, dragons, the usual. Notebooks filled with illustrations stood open on a counter for customers to flip through.
A lanky man in his late sixties sat in a black leather chair, eyes closed. He was rail-thin, wrinkled, and covered in tattoos. When he moved to look at me, the tattoos shifted around on his flesh.
“You’re late,” he said.
I guess I took longer than I thought at the comic store.
“Sorry, man. I got hung up.”
He scratched his beard. “Right. So you’re one of the Masters family.”
He didn’t look impressed.
“Guilty as charged,” I said.
A snake tattoo curled around his arm and shot up his sleeve. By that, I mean it was actually moving. A barbed wire tattoo crawled out of his collar and slid around his neck then shifted into a thick circle with a pentagram inside it before it slid back into his shirt. The tattoos were mesmerizing.
“Your old man wired a payment to my account. The size of the payment has me a bit wary, truth be told. He wouldn’t tell me jack or shit about what he wanted me to do, so what say you spill on the details so’s I can decide if it’s worth my time, effort, and talent.” As he spoke, a Mexican dancing girl sashayed out of his hair and swayed her way down his cracked face before twirling into his collar and out of sight. The art on his arms swirled constantly.
“My father wants me to call him.”
“Then make the call. Until I know I’m keeping the full payment, you’re not taking up any more of my valuable time.”
My father answered on the third ring. “Solomon Kane wants to talk to you,” I said.
“That’s King,” Solomon said.
“Huh?”
“Solomon Kane is a character created by Robert E. Howard. A Puritan who hunted evil wherever it chose to manifest. And while my mother, rest her soul, named me after the character, my surname is King.”
