by T. A. Kunz
“All right, off with the shirt,” he says while setting up his station.
I push myself away from the back of the chair and slide my blouse up and over my head. Heath reaches his hand out to take the balled-up garment from me before setting it off to the side and out of the way. I relax and lay back against the chair, preparing for Heath to work his magic.
The buzz of the tattoo gun fills the air and I wince the moment the needle touches my skin. Getting a tattoo doesn’t really hurt. It’s more annoying than anything—like an itch you can’t scratch. My focus switches from the hum of the gun to Heath’s voice as he softly speaks the masking spell incantation. Who knew that speaking in tongues could sound so sexy?
“So, who’s the lucky guy?” he asks after he finishes reciting the spell.
“Hmm?”
“The one who got you to wear this skirt?”
“Do I sense a hint of jealousy, Mr. Blakemore?” I ask, grinning against the headrest of the chair.
“Should I be?”
I turn to face him when he stops inking me all of a sudden, clearly waiting for my answer. “Oh my God, you are jealous.”
“No, I’m not,” he replies, turning away to apply more ink onto the tattoo needle.
“You so are.”
“What if I am? Can you blame me? Or maybe I’m just curious about my competition,” he replies matter-of-factly.
“Well, you can relax. There’s no guy,” I snicker. “Tara talked me into wearing the skirt to this sorority thing tonight. I was her plus-one.”
A smile creeps across his face at my answer. “There’s no other guy?” His voice sounds relieved. I shake my head before snuggling up to the chair’s headrest again. Is Heath interested in me? Maybe I’ve underestimated the effect I have on him by being so preoccupied with the effect he has on me.
“Speaking of Tara, how’s she holding up?” he inquires, continuing to work on the tattoo.
“She’s in adjustment mode. We both are, actually.”
“Does she remember anything?”
“Only what you left in her memory. It’s better that way,” I respond in a somber tone, thinking back to the night both Tara’s and my life changed forever.
Examining the infinity tattoo on my wrist, I recollect that night from a few months ago. Sadness tears at my heart as images of how she looked when I found her lying on the ground, bloodied and pale, flash through my mind. This little tattoo was what brought Tara back to life, and what also bonds us together. When Heath asked me if I wanted to tie my soul to Tara’s in order to save hers, I said yes without even giving it a second thought.
“Are you ever going to tell her what happened?” he asks, taking another break from the tattoo to apply more ink to the needle.
I push away from the chair and pivot at my waist to face him. “No,” I answer pointedly. “She can never know what she was, or the fact that Witch Hunters were responsible for the death of her family. All she needs to believe is they died in a car accident, and I was only able to save her with your help.”
Heath twiddles the tattoo gun between his fingers while sending me an “if you say so” look, letting me know he wants to continue. I feel his hand rest on my shoulder blade just below the tattoo and a hot sensation flows through the area. His hand is like a heating pad resting there. The heat begins to swirl around my back, spreading like a brush fire, making me want to moan in satisfaction, but I bite back the urge. I wish he’d continue talking to me so I could occupy my mind and not focus on how flipping amazing he’s making me feel right now.
“Aren’t you the least bit curious about how I bumped into my brother tonight?” I ask, hoping this question will open up a whole line of dialogue in order to distract my mind from the dangerous Heath thoughts.
“I was just going to ask you about that,” he replies. “I’m assuming it was at the party?”
“Yep. Big Bro decided to crash it with three Maulers. He even shot up the place.”
“What the hell was he after?” he probes, speaking close to my shoulder. I can feel his breath against my skin, which causes goose bumps to sprout up all over.
I take a moment to regain my composure before answering. “My guess is a pretty powerful witch. There was this girl there named Angelica—”
“Wait, Angelica? Like Angelica Delacour?” he asks, cutting me off.
“I don’t know her last name, but maybe. Do you know her?”
“Uh, I’m surprised you don’t. You’ve only been away from the game for a few months, and you’re already out of the loop,” he says. “Angelica Delacour is the daughter of one of the seven High Priestess light witches. She’s like royalty in the witch world.”
“That would explain why it felt like my abdomen was going to implode when I dragged her out of harm’s way.”
“Wait, you’re telling me you saved the life of a High Priestess’s daughter? You realize what that means, right?”
I catch his eyebrow raise when I turn to look at him. “No, what?”
“First of all, it means your brother is an idiot—no offense—for trying to down a witch with that much pull. And second, you’re now owed a favor by the High Priestesses,” he explains. “That makes you two for two in the witch saving business, doesn’t it? Imagine that … an ex-Hunter saving the lives of two witches.”
“Yeah, well, what does it say about me that I’ve made out with one?”
A smirk curls one corner of his mouth. “I’d say it’s pretty hot … in a forbidden romance sort of way.”
“Like a real Romeo and Juliet kind of story,” I say dryly, rolling my eyes.
“Exactly,” he responds, pinning my eyes and locking our gazes. We continue to stare at each other, and I find myself getting lost in his icy blues. His smirk forms into a full-on grin, which snaps me out of my daze, but doesn’t make me not want to go to town on his mouth any less.
“How much more do you have left to do?” I ask after clearing my throat, wanting to change the subject when awkward silence decides to take up residence between us.
“Oh, uh, about halfway done,” he mentions casually. After a few moments, Heath asks, “Why do you think your brother was after Angelica? Do you think he knew who she was?”
“To be honest, I have no idea. Now that I know who she is, I’m even more confused by it all. I’ve always thought there was this unwritten truce between light witch royalty and the Elders. He had to have had a good reason though. Malcolm isn’t one to just go after a witch for the hell of it. He’s very by-the-book,” I answer, trying to make sense of it in my head while I’m explaining it out loud.
“Well, if there was a truce, it may be over when Angelica’s mother finds out about your brother. You do realize this will make him witch enemy numero uno, right?”
“I was the only one who saw him. There’s no way they’ll know he was there,” I reply, but can’t help but feel a little uneasy about my brother being hunted down by the very beings he hunts.
My argument is met with silence. Heath doesn’t say a word; he just keeps his head down and continues working on my tattoo. His nonresponse is worrisome because it makes me wonder if my brother might be in danger now after what he did.
“Do you disagree?” I ask offhandedly, hoping for a no.
“No,” he answers, but I hear the reluctance in his voice.
“You hesitated. Why did you hesitate?” I ask, spinning around to look at him. He groans, probably because I moved for the umpteenth time and interrupted his work again.
“I just think if you care for your brother as much as I think you do, I’d reconsider getting the masking spell redone. Witches, light or dark, get pretty pissed off when someone comes after one of their own. It’s only a matter of time before they find out it was your brother, and since you’re the only one who saw him there, you might want to ask him about it.”
This was the last thing I wanted to hear out of Heath’s mouth. I’m conflicted. On the one hand, I can finish the tattoo and try to forg
et my old life altogether, or I can ditch the color touch-up and confront the one person who most likely doesn’t want anything to do with me. Hmmm … decisions, decisions.
I raise myself to sit up straight and turn to face Heath. His eyes show he’s concerned, and I can tell he’s waiting for me to respond.
“Hey, I’m sorry if what I said bothered you.”
“I think I’m going to head out. Could you clean me up real quick?” I ask, pointing to the rubbing alcohol on the metal tray.
“Uh, sure. You realize I’m not done yet, right? The spell won’t work.”
“Yeah, I know.”
I need to leave in order to clear my head. Heath’s right. I have to track down my brother in order to settle our differences, whether we like it or not, and hopefully get to the bottom of what happened tonight.
Heath sighs. “All right, done.” My quick reply of “thanks” has him turning his full attention to packing up the tray beside him as a frustrated sigh leaves his lips.
He hands me back my blouse, and I slip it on before tugging at the bottom to adjust it to lay properly. “How much do I owe you?”
“It’s on the house. Besides, I can’t charge for a partial with a clear conscience,” he answers with a soft laugh. “When will I get to see you again?”
“I don’t know. Probably the next time I need a touch-up or a new tattoo?” I kick myself mentally for not being honest with how I really feel. Stubbornness … I get it from my father, and it has a way of rearing its ugly head at the least opportune moments.
My one and only make-out session with Heath happened soon after he finished applying the masking spell. His touch had driven me wild, to the point of wanting to make bad decisions. I found myself feeling something between us—a spark—but pushed it aside and attributed it to me lusting after him. That “spark” feeling was completely foreign to me since I’d always had issues with opening up to others. To say the least, it scared the ever-living shit out of me, and putting up a Berlin Wall of non-feeling is how I’ve been dealing with it.
“Sounds good.” Heath shrugs off my comment, but I can tell what I said upset him. “Just let me know when you need anything. But next time could you do me a favor and schedule an appointment? These little late-night sessions aren’t good for business.” His words drip with a serious case of cold shoulder, and I feel even worse about how I’ve dealt with this situation, but I don’t let it show on my face.
I send him a slight smile before leaving the chair. “Thank you,” I say and then begin making my way to the entrance of the parlor. If I hadn’t turned around and moved away, I probably would’ve caved under the pressure of his piercing eyes and began making out with him right then and there. Damn all you conflicted feelings.
“Hey, Olivia?” I immediately spin around, anticipating what his next few words are going to be. Well, hoping, really.
“Yeah?” I reply, trying to keep my emotions in check.
“Remember, Curel lotion is the best for tattoos,” he mentions before continuing to clean up his station.
Why do I do this to myself? I’ve let him in and every word he says affects me and messes with my feelings. I’ve tried to detach myself emotionally from our little heavy petting session earlier that stirred up some stuff within me, but he’s in my head, and no amount of stubbornness on my part will let me forget that. And secretly, I think he’s well aware of this fact.
Without another word, I open the door and step outside. The brisk night air feels even colder now after how my exchange went with Heath, and I hurry over to Scarlet and jump in.
“That was quick,” Tara comments as I settle into the driver’s seat. “I thought at the very least we’d be here for a couple hours.” Her laugh brings a subtle smile to my face, but I shake it off.
Movement by the parlor window draws my attention. I see Heath standing there, peering out at us through a few of the blinds, and when he notices I’m looking, he lets them fall closed just before the shop’s neon sign goes out.
“Yeah, it was a short visit this time,” I reply, feeling the impact of each word as they leave my tongue.
The drive back to our dorm is quiet. I can sense Tara wants to ask about what happened in the parlor, but I can also sense she knows I don’t want to talk about it, hence the silence. I swear, what kind of Hunter am I that I can get this torn up about a warlock? Oh, yeah, that’s right—I no longer am one.
“So, yeah, how about that English class we have tomorrow, huh?” Tara asks out of nowhere. It takes a moment for her question to wade through all the thoughts flooding my mind before I realize what she just asked.
“What?” My confused look meets her pointed one.
“Oh, thank God. You’re still alive. For a second there I thought the awkward-as-balls silence in the car was because you had died at the wheel,” she snickers. “You know how I absolutely loathe the quiet. It makes me nervous, because I’m a talker. I decided to blurt out the only question I could think of that didn’t deal with Heath, your brother, or tonight in general.”
“I see.”
“That’s it? Two words? That’s what I get for all my effort?” she scoffs playfully.
“What else do you want me to say?”
“For starters, you could answer my question,” she quips.
“Boring. English will be boring. Anything else?” I pan my gaze over to her before returning it back to the road ahead.
“Wow. Do you realize you made, like, a million books weep just now by saying that?”
“I happen to like reading, thank you very much, but I’m not a fan of English class,” I reply. “Is that all?”
“What happened back there? Ever since you got in this car, it’s like you had an emotional lobotomy or something.”
“Don’t really want to talk about it.”
“It went that well, huh?” she insists.
“Heath is all surface, Tara. I told you that,” I lie out loud. “He’s a hot bad boy type that girls fall all over because they want to pet his abs and tattoos, but he has nothing to offer me other than a good time.” Damn, that was harsh. I know what I’m saying is the furthest thing from the truth.
“Do you hear that?” she inquires.
“Hear what?”
“Lies. All lies,” she snorts, which causes me to send her one serious glare.
“Okay, you’ve made your point,” I huff.
Tara holds her hands up in submission. “Note to self: no more talking about Heath.”
I sigh, pulling into the parking lot in front of our dormitory. The parking gods must be smiling down on us since there’s a spot right in front of our stairwell. “Hey, I’m sorry for snapping. I’ve just got a lot on my mind at the moment.”
“I know, but if you don’t talk to me, then who exactly are you going to talk to about this stuff?” Tara asks, and she sounds like she already knows the answer.
She’s right. If I can’t confide in her, then who will I confide in? My inflexibility won’t allow me to talk openly with Heath, so Tara is my only other option.
“You’re right, Tara,” I say, beginning to secure the soft-top roof to the windshield of the car with her assistance.
“Of course I’m right. I’m always right,” she laughs, fastening the last clip for her section of the roof.
On our way up to our room, I’m still surprised over the state of our dormitory. Arcadia College as a whole is a very beautiful campus, that’s for sure, but the freshman housing is located in one of the oldest buildings, and it could definitely use some work. Woodman Hall is a traditional redbrick structure that matches the rest of the college, except that it hasn’t seen a remodeling treatment. Our dormitory is the last building on the list, which puts all the repairs happening around this coming summer, almost an entire school year away, and not to mention we won’t be freshmen anymore. At least we don’t have communal showers.
“Ugh. I can’t wait to be a sophomore so we can choose what dorm we live in,” I comment while stro
lling through the hall toward our room with Tara in tow.
She moans. “Yeah, I hear ya.”
I notice Tara’s eyes keep glancing at the sizeable tear up the side of the skirt I’m wearing. “Sorry for ripping your skirt. But you know, looking at it now, it kind of works in this thing’s favor,” I attempt to persuade.
She shakes her head while chuckling. “Yeah, no. Nice try. That thing’s going straight in the trash.”
I throw my arm up across her chest like a mom does when her child’s in the passenger seat of a car as she slams on the brakes. The door to our room is cracked open, and from Tara’s reaction to my reaction, I’m the first one of us to see it.
“Did you leave our room unlocked again?” I ask, hoping to get her confirmation.
“Uh, no, not that I can remember.”
“Wait here,” I say, inching toward our door.
The closer I get, the more I become paranoid that someone has broken into our room, especially after what happened earlier. My brother immediately pops into my head, and though a second meeting tonight might be hazardous to both of our health, it would save me the effort of tracking him down later.
My eyes hone in on the brushed metal door handle, and there doesn’t seem to be any sign of forced entry. Normally, I’d barge right in with the thought Tara forgot to lock up, but right now I can’t take any chances. I take another step closer and reach out my hand to rest it on the door.
“Do you think it’s your brother?” Tara asks, like, three inches from my ear.
I almost jump right out of my skin. A groan-sigh mixture accompanies my exasperated smack to her shoulder for scaring the shit out of me, and for not staying put like I’d asked.
“Seriously?!” I whisper. She shrugs her shoulders and motions for me to proceed.
Dying has seriously changed how she reacts to things. Tara used to be such a hesitant person, but now it seems not much fazes her. Then again, she is a member of the freaking undead now. What does she need to worry about?
Placing my hand against the door again, I give it a light shove and watch it slowly swing open to the side. It taps against the stopper on the wall and bounces back a bit, creaking the whole way. Well, there goes the element of surprise. Damn this old building.
