I wasn’t sure if I’d heard him right. “Why? Do I need permission to enter the city?” The look on his face was beginning to make me uncomfortable, and his questions were no longer amusing. As long as I paid my rent in full and on time, he had no right to walk in here and give me the third degree. “Why don’t you just get to the point, Mr. Cooper, and tell me why you’re here.”
“The point, Miss Bishop, is that you just waltzed into my city and tore down a wall that has taken hundreds of years to build.” His chiseled jaw tensed as he drew a breath through his nose. “In fact, I believe you just opened the gates of hell.”
I shook my head and blinked. One crazy a day was all I could tolerate. Victor Tuse had already satisfied that quota. “Mr. Coop—”
He raised his hand to quiet me and for reasons I can’t explain, it worked. Everyone in the room shut up, including Sugar, and that was no easy task. He walked over to my station and picked up one of the irons I’d used to tattoo Victor Tuse. “Is this the one you used?” he asked, staring at the tip. When I didn’t answer, he looked up at me and snarled, “I asked you a question!”
His tone jolted me. “Yes!”
The iron broke as he violently hurled it against the wall. Abel lunged for him but caught himself before he did something stupid like assault a man as powerful as Finley Cooper. “I think you owe Katie an apology,” he said, clenching his fists but minding his place in a town owned by those with the oldest bloodlines and the deepest pockets.
Cooper collected himself, brushing his disturbed hair back into place with his fingers. A shuddering breath rushed from his nose as he began to explain his bad behavior. “Miss Bishop, you’ve been duped.”
My butt found the nearest seat. “What do you mean by that?” I had a sickening feeling I was about to learn why I felt as if I’d earned that fifteen hundred dollars. Something wasn’t right about any of this. I knew it the moment I touched the ink to Tuse’s skin. The lines seemed to come alive, pulling my hand along as I traced the image. Not to mention the significant fact that I’d seen the tattoo in my dreams.
“Can we have a little privacy?” he asked, glancing at all the faces hanging on his words. “What I have to say isn’t for public consumption.” Sea Bass made a noise in the back of his throat, catching my attention and giving me a cautious look. “Trust me, son. It’s best that you don’t hear this.” Cooper glanced at Sugar for an extended moment.
“Come on now,” Sugar said. “Let’s all get out of here and give the man some private time with Katie.”
It was Tuesday—the shop’s early day—so we were about to close anyway. “It’s all right. I can close up myself.” I stood back up and motioned toward the door. “Everyone can leave.” Abel gave me a look, and I knew he’d be out there somewhere watching us through the window. It was the cop in him.
When the shop was empty, Cooper went to the door and turned the lock before flipping the sign to CLOSED. “Wouldn’t want a customer to come barging in on us, now would we?”
“That depends on what you’re planning to say—or do.”
He scoffed. “Don’t tell me you’re afraid of me, Miss Bishop. I can assure you I mean you no harm.” His eyes went to the broken tool lying on the floor. “Please forgive my outburst. It’s just that the idea of what’s been done brought out the anger in me. Something I rarely allow to happen. I’m sure you’d agree that a temper tantrum usually serves for nothing more than subsequent embarrassment. Something I’m experiencing as we speak.”
“And what has been done?” I asked “I don’t even know you, Mr. Cooper. What could I have possibly done to offend you?”
“The tattoo,” he began. “Victor Tuse is not who or what you think he is.”
I’d never seen him before. Some of our clients were referrals, but most were complete strangers when they walked through that door. “I don’t know anything about most of my clients when they come into the shop for the first time. All I know is the man’s name.”
“Miss Bishop, are you familiar with root magic?”
I’d always known it as African folk magic. “You mean Hoodoo?”
“Hoodoo, folk magic, conjure.” He looked at me and smirked. “Call it whatever you like. It all comes from the root. But the kind of magic I’m talking about makes all those look like cheap fortune teller tricks.”
“I’m a busy woman, Mr. Cooper. Get to the point.”
“The point, Miss Bishop, is that you just opened the door for that devil to walk right out of his prison. I’m a member of a society that makes sure that door remains closed and locked tight. I’m the very reason you get to sleep at night.”
“Really. Do you have a secret handshake, too?”
“We’ve been watching this one for some time now,” he went on, ignoring my sarcasm. “Smart son of a bitch. He’s been through a couple of tattoo artists, but none of them have succeeded.”
“Mr. Cooper—”
“Please, call me Fin.”
“Then I guess you’ll have to call me Katie.”
“Of course, Miss Bishop.”
I shook my head at his odd demeanor, a holdout from a more genteel time. “Whatever, Fin.”
“For lack of a true name, let’s just stick to calling him Victor Tuse, for now. He’s a spirit who has lost his way. Of course, the poor soul who walked into your shop was actually a victim himself, seeing how the spirit randomly chose him as its unfortunate host.”
“You’re telling me that the man who walked in here this morning is possessed?”
“That’s exactly what I’m saying. Victor Tuse—the host’s real name—has been taken over by the spirit. Well, he wasn’t fully possessed when he walked in here this morning, but thanks to you he is now.” He glanced at the mini-fridge in the back of the room. “You don’t by chance have anything stronger than coffee in this place, do you?”
“Sorry. We apply permanent ink to people’s skin. Alcohol in here would be a bad idea, and illegal.”
“Well, this is Savannah. Folk around here tend to greet by asking what you’d like to drink. But I guess you’re right.” He reached for his jacket on the chair and pulled a flask from the pocket. “Lucky for us, I brought my own.”
He wiped the opening of the flask with his handkerchief and offered it to me. “No, thank you.” Normally I would have welcomed a stiff drink after closing, but something told me to stay as lucid as possible for our conversation.
“Suit yourself.” He took a deep swig and stuffed it in the pocket of his pants. “Now for the good part.” He motioned to the couple of flimsy chairs near the door, in the spot masquerading as a waiting area. “You might need to sit down for this.”
I ignored his suggestion and remained standing. If I had anything to say about it, our conversation would be a short one. After all, I had some sleep to catch up on, and that damned tattoo had drained me to the point where I thought I might actually get some for the first time in days.
“As you wish.” He pulled the flask back out and took another drink, this time keeping it in his right hand. “There are two spirits. Two halves of a very unpleasant deity who has gone bad. Individually their power is impressive but limited. But should they manage to find their way back together—” He hesitated as if trying to find the right words. “Well, we’re talking about war, Miss Bishop. You just met one of those spirits. The Crossroads Society has been in place for hundreds of years in order to, among other things, keep that reunion from happening.”
“To save the world from unspeakable evil?” I snorted.
The faint smile he’d carried since walking into the shop slipped away. “You think this is a game, Miss Bishop? You don’t believe in forces that are beyond what you can see or touch?”
“Well—” I began.
“I have news for you. That seemingly innocuous tattoo is a doorway. A thought form that the spirit uses to manifest into the tangible. All it needs is a host and an unsuspecting accomplice to render it into life. If the second spirit finds its w
ay to that same host, well, I think I’ve made it clear what will happen.”
Was that what my own tattoo was doing? Using me as its host? I had to keep in mind that he didn’t know me, or the secret that lived on my own back. But my tattoo wasn’t something someone inked into my skin—I was born with it. It wasn’t until two years ago that I found out that the blackouts I’d experienced off and on since I turned sixteen weren’t from too much drinking. It was the dragon inside of me emerging during precarious situations. The truth came out the day something very much like what Fin Cooper was describing went after my best friend. The beast came out and killed the threat. A few days later we discovered I was a dragon’s child, the daughter of a zmaj.
“And where is this second spirit?” I asked.
“That’s a discussion for another day,” Cooper replied, eyeing me thoughtfully. “A discussion we’ll be having soon enough.”
“God, I thought I left this shit behind me,” I muttered a little louder than I should have.
“What was that?” he asked, eyeing me suspiciously. “If we are to win the fight,” he continued when I didn’t answer, “you need to be up front with me about why you came to Savannah.”
“What difference does it make?”
“The difference is that we need to know why it chose you, Miss Bishop. And why you’re not dead.”
My mouth dropped open. “Dead?”
“That’s right. I mentioned that there were others who were unsuccessful in applying the tattoo. Two others, to be precise. They both died before the outline was even completed. You must have wondered why he came in with an unfinished tattoo, yes?”
Victor Tuse had mentioned the previous artist’s unfortunate “accident” before finishing the job. “It’s unusual,” I agreed. “But it’s not the first time I finished someone else’s work.”
“You see, the spirit has a little problem. No self-control, which is a dangerous thing for something so ancient and powerful. Pardon my vulgar analogy, but I liken his inability to allow the artist to finish that tattoo with the act of premature ejaculation. He simply gets too excited and ends up killing the artist before the deed is done.”
“But I’m not dead.” For a moment I wondered if it chose me because we were alike, nothing but hosts for our beasts. The idea made me uncomfortable. All this time I thought it served me, but now I wondered if I hadn’t been serving the dragon all along. Would it kill me someday when my usefulness was gone? Then I thought about my paternity—my father the zmaj. I was adopted too young to remember anything about my birth parents, but I did meet a woman once who claimed to be my aunt. She had a similar tattoo, so there were others out there like me. We were different, though. Not some random hosts for the demon spirits Fin Cooper was describing. Deep down I knew that.
“No, you’re not dead, Miss Bishop. The spirit chose you for a reason and decided you were worth keeping alive.” His eyes walked over me, sending a warning to my brain to be cautious of the predator in the room. A smart woman kept her eyes on a man like Fin Cooper. “You’d be a valuable member of the society. In fact, I’m extending a formal invitation.”
“Clubs aren’t really my thing, Mr. Cooper. And I’ve got my hands full running a business. Leave your number and I’ll be sure to call if Victor Tuse shows up again.”
“I don’t think you understand, Miss Bishop.” He seemed irritated by my snub, unwilling to take no for an answer. “Now that you’ve created it, you’re going to help us kill it. You owe us that much.”
Before I could object, he grabbed his jacket and headed for the door, leaving me speechless by his audacity.
“By the way,” I managed to say as he opened the door to leave. “I’ll be deducting the cost of that equipment you broke from my next rent check.”
Finley Cooper hadn’t been gone for more than five minutes when Abel knocked on the locked front door. I knew he’d been watching us through the window, and having obviously dealt with Cooper before I’m sure he was just waiting for his cue to come storming in if the man tried anything inappropriate.
“So, what’s the story with Cooper?” I asked after letting him in and relocking the door. “You don’t seem to like him very much.”
“Meh, he’s not as bad as some of the other big wigs around these parts, but he’s had his share of run-ins with the local authorities.” He rubbed his fingers together in front of me. “Money speaks louder than the law around here. Sugar can give you more juice on him than I can, though. Owns a few clubs over by the river.”
I heard the lock disengage on the door and in walked Sea Bass and Sugar.
“Jeez. Anyone else out there watching me and Cooper?”
“You better be glad you got good people looking out for you,” Sugar said. “Fin’s got him a reputation with the ladies, and it ain’t all good. A pretty girl like you got no business in a room with a wolf. I don’t care how good he looks or how fat his wallet is.”
“He minded his manners,” I said. “Had some interesting things to say.” I glanced at Sea Bass to let him know we needed to talk.
“Mmhmm, I bet he did,” Sugar said, catching the look I was giving Sea Bass. “You got you a secret, Katie B? It’s all right. You’ll be telling me when you’re ready. Just be careful with that man. He got a pipeline to some strange shit. I’d tell you he be crazy, but Sugar knows crazy and Fin Cooper is sane as they come.”
“Strange shit?” I snorted. “You ought to see what I left behind in New York.”
She sashayed over and straightened the twisted strap of my tank top. “I don’t want to alarm you, baby, but things down here is a little different than up there in New York City. Some people down here be touched.”
Abel scoffed. “They’re touched, all right.”
“You ain’t helping, Abel,” Sugar scolded.
“Then stop playing with the woman’s head.”
Sugar turned to Abel and expanded her chest. “Playin’? Who the hell you say be playin’?”
“You,” Abel replied, unintimidated by her six foot three frame.
“Honey, you mess with them folks over at the Crossroads Society and you’ll see who be playin’.”
I stepped between them. “All right, you two! I’m locking up. Everyone out.”
4
My limbs stretched across the bed, taking up the full length of the mattress. For the first time in days I slept through the night without a single interruption. No trips to the bathroom, no dreams of tattoos, no waking up from all the noise in my head.
I climbed out of bed and slipped on a pair of shorts and flip-flops before heading to the kitchen to make coffee. It was Wednesday, which meant I was about to suffer a very long day. Wednesday was two-for-one day, but only on small pieces that cost a hundred dollars or less. We were a young shop still finding our feet in the community, and “two-for” day attracted a lot of new clients. Tattoos tended to be addictive. Those little hearts and butterflies usually progressed to bigger and bolder statements, and bigger cash flow for the shop. You know what they say: it takes money to make money. Promo day was a necessary evil.
Something soft brushed against my leg. I bent down and picked up my hungry feline—Jet. I called him that because of his jet-black fur and his ability to make it from point A to point B in less than a second.
“You hungry, baby?”
I fed him while the coffee brewed. Then I made myself a blueberry spirulina shake. I was on this new eating kick, trying to adapt a heathier lifestyle by cutting out junk and all the other food that made life worth living. Since Elliot left I’d gained around seven pounds. Stress eating from the separation, and the anxiety over the ever-looming threat that my business would fail and I’d end up in a cubicle slaving away for someone else’s business. But MagicInk wasn’t doing so bad. I wasn’t buying lobster and champagne just yet, but I could afford a bottle of wine and a few shrimp every now and then.
While I pondered the day over my delicious algae shake, someone knocked on the door. I glanced a
t the clock on the stove panel. “Who in the—” It was way too early for Sea Bass to be dropping by, and no one else in their right mind would be knocking on my door at 6:52 a.m.
I got up and peeked through the front window. A car was pulling away with a sign decaled on the passenger side. It was one of those messenger services. I opened the front door and looked down at my coco fiber mat with the words WELCOME HOM printed in bold black letters. The letter E was missing, marking it down to a more affordable price in the clearance bin at the store. In the center of the mat was an envelope.
“What’s that?” Sea Bass asked as he walked up the sidewalk.
I did a double take. With the exception of late nights at Mojos that spilled into the early hours of the morning, Sea Bass never started a day before nine a.m. I knew this because he barely made it to the shop by nine-thirty and tried his best to hold off customers until at least ten.
“Am I seeing things, boy?”
He held his arms out to his sides, palms up. “What? Was I wrong about that look you gave me last night?”
I’d given him a visual cue, but I didn’t expect the miracle of having him join me for breakfast in order to have that discussion. “Well, will wonders never cease. I was thinking more along the lines of a drink after work, but sooner is probably better.”
I picked up the envelope and motioned him in. “Care for an algae shake?” I offered, grabbing my glass of green slush and waving it in his face.
“What in God’s name is that?”
“Spirulina, which technically isn’t really algae—I think.”
He shuddered at the green sludge, careening around the glass to grab a banana from the counter. “Okay, what exactly is going on between you and that dickhead, Fin Cooper?”
“So you know him?”
“I know who he is, and that’s about as close as I want to get to them folks.” He glanced at the envelope still wedged between my fingers. “You gonna open that? You got some kind of secret admirer leaving you love notes on your doorstep?” He grinned and stuffed half the banana in his mouth.
Crossroads of Bones (A Katie Bishop Novel Book 1) Page 3
