by Holly Evans
His building was a rose-coloured stone with a pale, golden wooden door that held a dragon knocker. Something about it always put me on edge. It stood in stark contrast to the surrounding heavy, grey stone buildings. The magic around it practically sang, and usually I could only feel ink magic. A magical web clung to me as I opened the wrought-iron gate and stepped onto the concrete path leading up to the door. Someone or something twitched the curtain in the window next to the front door. Everything was beginning to feel like a set up. I glared at the door and ran my fingers down the silver knife. I could look after myself if I needed to.
7
The door seemingly opened of its own accord. Someone in the building was very keen on showing off their magic. I resisted the urge to roll my eyes and kept my hand on my silver knife. The silver itself would harm shifters, and the runes engraved on it would harm most other forms of supernal. Non-supernals were rather susceptible to being stabbed by anything sharp. The large double-height entranceway was sparse, with sheer white walls and dark wooden floors. The staircase sitting against the right wall and made its way up to the next floor with elegant banisters in cherry wood. I eyed the elevator, but wasn’t sure that I trusted it. There were too many ways for that to go wrong. The magical web was still clinging to me, and I hadn’t deduced what its purpose was or who had encased me in it.
Ben was on the third floor. He wasn’t expecting me that I was aware of. I listened for anything unusual as I ascended the stairs, keeping my eyes peeled for anything that could be considered abnormal. Nothing. The walls were plain white with embossed decorations just above my eye level. The dark wood floors continued throughout. No one but Ben had put out a doormat. The dreamwalker would have to be different. They were an odd bunch.
Dreamwalkers didn’t quite connect fully with the real, physical world. They had one foot, or more often one foot and half their torso, in the astral plane and the dream world. I didn’t quite understand it, and the entire thing freaked me out a bit, but they had their uses. The pale cream door to Ben’s apartment stood in contrast to the black doors that stood lining the rest of the hallways I’d seen. The door opened just before I went to knock on it. Ben’s cheery face peered out at me. His dark blond hair was in a scruffy mess, his curls sticking up at gravity-defying angles. I was glad to see him dressed. I wasn’t a prude, but he had been known to answer the door naked, and that just made things awkward. He thrust his hand at me, offering it to shake.
“Dacian! It’s been too long.” I smiled politely and shook his hand. “Come in, come in.”
He waved me inside. I was pleasantly surprised to see his apartment was reasonably tidy, as he went. The last time I’d visited, I practically had to vault over a heap of stuff to try and make it to the sofa without damaging anything. There were wide walkways between the books, crystals, and balls of thread that time. More threads, and feathers of every shape and colour hung from the living room ceiling. The walls were buried behind floor-to-ceiling bookcases that were packed with books of every shape, size, and colour imaginable. Ben had somehow managed to squeeze in statuettes, potion bottles, and more balls of string between and around the books.
I took a few steps down the walkway and looked around the main living area while Ben performed some peculiar dancelike movements between the strings that criss-crossed the space. He held a slate-grey string between thumb and forefinger, with one leg stretched between a thick dark-green string and a white string. His eyes rolled back in his head and his face went entirely blank. I frowned and waited. A golden web had been painted on the window, the light moving oddly around it, casting shadows around the room. A movement caught my eye, a shadow danced and frolicked across the bookshelf where the kitchen would have been.
“You’ve been having bad dreams,” Ben said abruptly.
I hated that he knew that. It was creepy as all fuck. I nodded and smiled.
“I have, yes, and I have no idea what they’re supposed to mean,” I said.
He nodded enthusiastically and picked up three small crystals, one pale pink, one pale blue, and another deep green. He began rolling them around the palm of his hand while he looked up at the myriad of feathers over my head. He muttered and hummed to himself while I stood there patiently waiting for him to come back to me. I could be there for hours. He suddenly snapped his attention back to me.
“You’re too connected. The magic is calling to you. There’s a poison, and you need to fix it,” he said matter of factly.
I smiled once more and wondered why no one could give me a straight answer for once. Just once. He tilted his head to one side and gave me an odd smile.
“Dacian, what exactly is reality?” he asked.
I frowned and wondered if, perhaps, he’d finally completely lost it. Before I could even think of giving him an answer, he clicked his fingers in front of my face. I groaned as I felt something hard under me and realised that everything was black. My eyes were closed. I opened my eyes and found myself on a park bench. I groaned. Fucking dreamwalkers. The entire experience had been done in his world, in my dreams. It might not have been intended as a show of power, but it made things very clear. The web of magic had gone, but that didn’t make me much happier. Who knew what could have happened to my body while he controlled it like a puppet and marched it to some park?
Sitting up, I looked around me, trying to figure out where, exactly I was and what I was supposed to do next. The ink magic was a living entity, a network of sorts. I never did pay that much attention in classes. When you can work the magic as easily as you can breathe, you don’t need to worry too much about theory and grades. Ben had told me that the ink magic felt I was the one to help it with some poison. I’d have to speak to Keirn. Elves were very interested in the health and maintenance of magical networks and systems. It was a core part of their various societies. I glared skywards and cursed the gods under my breath.
A quiet cough caught my attention. The red-haired waif of a thing was standing on the far side of the path, a large paper bag clutched in her hands. Her amber eyes were wide as she looked me up and down. I dreaded to think what I looked like. She took a tentative step closer to me, and Kyra began clawing at me, trying to squirm free of her tattoo. I pursed my lips and released her. She practically sprang out of my skin and wriggled out from under my shirt to run to the feral. She wove her way around the feral’s legs, purring. I muttered ‘traitor’ under my breath.
The feral smiled at me and said, “Thank you for your kindness.”
I glared at Kyra while I internally melted. The poor thing was a mess. I didn’t know when she’d last eaten, but the gratitude written on her face made the frustration at my cat’s behaviour worth it. She slowly approached, her eyes darting all around her while Kyra remained at her side. I must have been twice the size of her. She was malnourished and in desperate need of someone to look after her. Kyra mewed at me. I glared at her and mentally pushed a clear warning of don’t get any ideas on her. She flicked her tail at me in response.
The feral held out a small chocolate bar towards me, “I can’t offer much, but…”
I smiled and waved her off.
“Don’t be foolish, you need the calories,” I said.
The gesture was kind and only increased Kyra’s pushing. I mentally threatened to contain her to her tattoo for the next week if she didn’t behave herself. She hissed at me.
The feral smiled and said, “I haven’t met a tattoo magician before, your cat is kind.”
I snorted. “She’s a pain in my ass.”
8
I often felt like ferals had the shit end of the stick. They had some of the personality and physical traits of whatever their animal was, and little to no magical ability. Shifters and garou could at least take on their animal forms; ferals were just somewhere between human and animal. They didn’t fit into either world, and that meant they seemed to struggle. The little vixen in front of me was clearly no exception. Kyra remained rooted by her feet, mewing plaintively a
t me. I reminded her that if she didn’t start behaving herself soon, she’d be stuck in her tattoo for a week.
She mewed one last time.
I asked her and what am I supposed to do? down the bond.
She gave a mental shrug and simply said help back at me.
Cats. Infuriating little beasts. She knew I’d be lost without her, and that was why she pushed as she did. She was completely safe and loved. The vixen stood statue-still and looked at me unblinking with those amber eyes of hers. They were particularly striking with her red hair and pale-gold complexion. I could see why she would be popular with men who wished to buy such services.
Unlike Kyra, I was not one to take in waifs and strays. They were a liability. I glared at Kyra and softened my expression for the feral.
“I’m Dacian, people call me Dan. If you come to the Claw and Tooth tattoo parlour on 17th just after sunrise, then I’ll give you some more food.”
Kyra did her best impression of a grin at me. She was the cat that got the feral. The vixen nodded enthusiastically and thanked me in a jumble of words before she took off into the tree line somewhere.
I glared at Kyra. “You told her I’d help her, didn’t you?”
She lifted her chin and looked away from me.
“Do not do that again, cat,” I growled.
She flattened her ears and continued to look away from me. “In your tattoo. Now.”
She growled at me, but did as she was told. Her claws drew blood when she returned to my shoulder, her feelings made very clear. I put my head in my hands. I’d managed to gain a feral to look after and had no clue what was wrong with the ink magic or why it was my job to fix it. It was time to go and get a stiff drink and have a word or three with Keirn. The elf was always the best place to start. He was my oldest friend, and elves were good with magical problems. That, and he knew everyone. I wondered if he knew someone who could help the feral.
I could feel myself being dragged into the web of trouble. I cursed the gods once more, for good measure. The heavens opened and rain soaked me from head to toe before I’d even left the park. Fucking gods.
Keirn gave me a disdainful look when I walked into the kitchen, leaving small puddles in my wake. My hair clung to my face; water droplets rolled down my cheeks and clung to my eyelashes. I swore that a particularly heavy cloud had followed me on the entire hour walk home. The dreamwalker had dumped me on the far side of the city. Everyone was working against me. Keirn threw a couple of towels at me before I heard the familiar sound of something being poured from a bottle. The sweet scent of rose and lemon struck me. I rubbed my hair dry and peeled off my cold, wet t-shirt before the elf handed me a large glass of garou wine. He refused to tell me where he got the stuff. It was rare for them to deal outside of their own circles. Elves really did know everyone.
I took in the soft and sweet scent, a smile spreading across my face. As much as I wanted something knock back in one long gulp, the wine was far too good for that. I took a sip, allowed it to sit on my tongue where I savoured the complex flavours. Rose unfurled to reveal raspberry and oak before it finished with lemon and smoke. I leant back against the kitchen table and held up the glass full of soft lilac-coloured wine to Keirn in a toast. The day wasn’t all bad.
He clinked his own equally large class with mine and muttered some elven toast before he took his own sip. The warmth started in my fingertips and spread up my arms and down into my core.
We sat and enjoyed the moment for a short while before Keirn said, “What did Ben have to say?”
I shook my head and took a larger sip of the wine. “He gave me the same shit the pixies did. The ink magic is poisoned and it’s chosen me. I woke up in a park on the far side of the city.”
That last bit brought a smile to the elf’s face. He appreciated such little tricks. It was very fae.
“I always knew there was something about you, Dacian. I’ve never quite been able to my finger on what it was,” he said softly.
I mentally checked the bag I always kept packed in my bedroom. There were three changes of clothes, emergency medical kit, and some new IDs. I could jump from the roof onto the next building, and again onto the next. From there, I could climb down and vanish into the city. I’d have to flee to Europe, just in case. The elf was too well connected to risk staying in the Americas. Keirn shook his head a little and gave a small shrug.
“You should stop cursing the gods. They do listen.”
I curled my lip. “Clearly.”
He laughed at that and took a long drink of his wine. His eyes were growing a little wider. His entire face seemed softer.
“How much have you drunk this morning?”
He gave a shrug.
“My muse has temporarily fled. I’ve been coaxing her back. She wasn’t very fond of the Curres tablets in the coffee, the vodka almost brought her to the edge of my mind, but this wine, this seems to be luring her back to me,” he said with the hint of a slur.
I patted him on the upper arm. “I’ll speak to you this evening, when you’ve sobered up.”
“And why would I want to do that?” he said, aghast.
9
Keirn had not emerged from his art room for a number of hours, and meditation hadn’t given me any fresh information. I decided that the elf had the right idea. I needed a night of drinking and revelry. The night was warm and balmy. Summer was starting early. I slipped my silver daggers into their sheathes and pushed a little energy into the runes on my hips that hid them. Normal tattoo magicians could only form one form of tattoo magic: animals, runes, or sigils. Lucky for me, I wasn’t a normal tattoo magician. As long as I had ink, I could weave any form of magic. Given the time and energy, that is. I hadn’t dared study much of the other forms of tattoo magic, but the runes were useful and hid themselves.
The streets bustled with people returning home from their day jobs and others, like me, heading out for the night. The work week had ended. There was a buzz of anticipation in the air. Thick clouds hung on the periphery of the sky overhead, idle threats of rain for later once the sun had set entirely. Until then, the buildings were dripping lemon and rose light.
I shoved my hands down into the pockets of my jeans and wove my way between the clusters of excitable nymphs and arrogant elemental mages. The colleges would be going on break soon, and the city would be swarming with eager students looking for some quick excitement. I wasn’t entirely against the idea. Some strings-free fun sounded like exactly what I wanted. A dull ache formed somewhere between my chest and my groin when I realised just how long it’d been since I’d had such a night.
I ducked down a narrow alley that led away from the less desirable part of the city that I called home into the fashionably dangerous part of the city. The shadows giggled and pooled in the corners between the glass and stone buildings. Wild magic flitted between the walls of the run-down library and the bar I was heading for. Some lithe young thing, a shifter of some form, took off after the magic, no doubt hoping to catch some. If she managed, the payout would be extraordinary, but of course she wouldn’t manage. No one had caught (let alone kept hold of) wild magic in decades.
The bar was like a second home, and I wasn’t as ashamed of that fact as perhaps I should have been. The heavy wooden door was hanging half off its hinges for the second time that week. The tables had all been bolted down to the floor with expensive earth magic, and the stools had sigils engraved in the legs that stopped them from being used as weapons. Poor Ryan had had a hard time of it there for a while. His patrons insisted on killing each other, and that just wasn’t good for business.
The Silent Scream was already half full, and it had only been open for an hour or so. A cluster of shifters, all predators of some stripe or another, had claimed the corner table that the fire and air mages liked to sit at. That wouldn’t end well. A group of what could have been tattoo magic students were sprawling out over three tables next to the right-hand wall. The middle had been claimed by sirens and their
ilk. I made my way past the lot of them and took my favourite place at the bar.
Ryan kept the bar in low light, mostly to save money, but it meant there were lots of places to hide shady deals. The bar owner had no problems with that, as long as the deals were kept civil. There were whispers that he demanded a cut of every deal done in the bar, but no one had been able to confirm or deny that. I didn’t care. It was a bar full of people who didn’t ask questions, drank well, and provided me with some entertainment when I needed it. What more could I ask for?
Faru appeared out of the back room. A cloth hung from the belt loop over his hip, the off-white drawing my eye down the sleek line of his slender hips. His elegant fingers wrapped around a large bottle of something lilac. I’d been trying to get into the pants of the dusky-skinned shifter since I’d first caught sight of his bright blue eyes a year previous. I hadn’t succeeded, but that didn’t stop me from hoping that maybe it was my night.
He approached the bar with the predatory grace that only feline shifters possessed. His pitch-black hair framed his beautifully angular face, I leaned forward a little and gave him my most charming smile. His mouth twitched into a smirk.
“The usual, Dan?” he practically purred.
He was teasing me, and damn him, I liked it.
“Unless you have a better offer for me?” I asked.
He laughed, amusement danced in his eyes. He turned his back on me and turned to look along the wall covered in bottles of every shape, size, and colour imaginable.
“There’s a fae liquor I don’t believe you’ve tried yet…”
“And how many hundreds would that set me back?” I said with a laugh.
He gave me a casual shrug, the smirk still on his lips.
I chewed my bottom lip. “I’ll try it, if I can pay you in… other ways.”
