by Dana Fredsti
Ugh.
“Are… Are you okay?” Tia hovered above me, her face a pasty greenish-white in the glow of the street lamp.
“I’ll live. At least I think I will.” The smell of the thing was still thick in my nostrils.
“I didn’t know what to do,” Tia said, her voice small and ashamed. “I just stood there and—”
I held up a hand, the one dripping with pink goo. “It’s okay. Staying out of the way was actually the smartest thing you could have done. It’s easier to fight when you’re only worried about yourself.”
“But you—”
“Seriously. I’m not saying it to make you feel better.”
A glint of gold caught my attention, right in the middle of the goo that had once been a… well, a living creature, something stuck between human and insect. Overcoming my disgust, I reached down and plucked a necklace from the reeking puddle. A delicate cloisonné butterfly on a gold chain.
Behind me, Tia gasped.
She reached out, fingering the necklace dangling from my hand. I looked at her.
“Do you recognize this?” I asked gently.
Tia hesitated. “I’m not sure,” she finally replied. “Maybe.”
“Tia…”
She sucked in a breath, then let it out in a long exhalation. “Okay, yeah. I’ve seen it before.”
“Where?”
Tia folded down onto the ground, like a prima ballerina playing Odette in Swan Lake. She rested her head on both hands, her breath coming in rapid, shallow gasps.
“Tia, what? Where did you see it?” I tried not to sound too impatient, but honest to god, after dealing with the butterfly monster from hell, I didn’t have a lot of patience left.
“In the shop,” Tia muttered in between gasping breaths.
“Say again?” Okay, there was my impatience shining through.
“In the shop,” she repeated. “LeRoy’s. There was a girl getting a tattoo. I talked to her before she went in the back with LeRoy. She had a really pretty necklace, a butterfly.” She held out the cloisonné butterfly. “This necklace. Oh God, I’m gonna be sick.”
And she was.
* * *
Somehow—I’m not quite sure how—I managed to get Tia through the iron gate and front door of a little in-law in back of the main house. She was right. It was kind of a shitty little place, especially when compared to the well-kept mansion in front. The interior smelled of mildew, and the short-napped gray carpet was worn and stained. Tia had attempted to brighten the place up by hanging up pieces of what looked like old sari fabric—but I could see where moisture had seeped into and stained the walls.
My glance flickered over the place. A black coffee mug on the counter. An ancient Mr. Coffee maker. A mini-fridge. A hot plate. A tiny little microwave, and a rusty old sink that made me positive this place had once been a garden shed. On the shelf above the sink were some books—a few on the art of tattooing, a Klimt art book, and a couple of novels. A battered copy of The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo lay open face-down and spine cracked on a futon covered by a faded purple comforter. The way that a kid would treat a book. Clothes, mostly black, littered the floor, the back of the single chair in the room, and the futon. All in all, it rated solid ten in the depressing décor category.
I unceremoniously cleared everything off the futon with a sweep of one arm and plunked Tia down. Her teeth were still chattering, her body wracked with uncontrollable shivers, so I pulled the comforter around her shoulders. I grabbed the bottle of tequila off the counter, unscrewed the lid, and poured a hefty shot into a coffee mug. As far as I could tell, it was the only thing that passed for a glass in the apartment.
“Here,” I said, shoving the mug into her hands. She took it, but I didn’t trust her not to drop it, so I helped guide it to her mouth and made sure she took a swallow. Then another, and one more until she finished what I poured. Then I poured some more and sat silently with her for a few minutes, one arm wrapped around Tia’s shoulders, making sure that the quilt stayed in place.
“Tell me what you know about those missing girls.” I kept my voice calm and level, afraid any emotion might make Tia shut down on me. I didn’t think she’d answer me at first. Then she cradled her fingers around the mug and took another sip of tequila, and then another until her trembling subsided.
“The tattoos,” Tia said simply. “That has to be it.”
“What tattoos?” I was glad it was obvious to her, but I had no idea what she was talking about. Then she told me. My stomach curdled with horror as she talked.
“So,” I said slowly after Tia had finished telling me about the five girls who’d come into the ink shop where she worked, “you’re saying you think the tattoos have something to do with their disappearing?”
Tia nodded. “The last four were friends of Celia’s, the first girl who went missing—the girl with the necklace. They said she’d told them about LeRoy’s shop. She… Celia had gotten one of LeRoy’s special tattoos too, one of the ones in his private portfolio. Since I’ve been working there, he’s only shown it to six people—those four girls, their friend Celia, and this total dickhead frat boy who came in with his friend. I inked his friend. And… I also inked one of the girls. We all inked one of them.”
“Who’s ‘we’?”
“Me and the Creepy Twins,” she answered reluctantly, avoiding my eyes. “That’s what I call the other tattooists that work there.” Her color was returning to normal—pale sure, but she no longer looked like she was Langdon’s cousin. “All four of them picked designs from that portfolio.”
I stared at her. “You think that the thing we saw… that I killed… was one of those girls?”
“The necklace,” Tia said softly. “Like I said, she wore it when she came in to get her tattoo. I noticed it. Complimented her. So, yeah. I think… I know that was her.” Downing the tequila, Tia finally looked up, directly at me. “And those tattoos had something to do with it. At first, I thought he was just being really picky about his designs. But then it was almost like he was part of a cult, or a slavery ring—marking people with special tats. That would be bad enough. But… But that thing…”
“If that’s the case,” I said, “there are five more people out there who may or may not be—”
“May or may not be human,” Tia said dully. “And if that’s true, I did the ink on one of them.” She shook her head. “Fuck. I need to make this right.”
I thought of what to say to her. Things like, “It’s not your fault,” and, “You had no way of knowing.” But I didn’t know if either of those statements were true—even if I suspected she really hadn’t known—and I didn’t want to offer false comfort. What I finally said was, “How?”
Shaking her head, Tia wrapped her arms around her knees. “I don’t know. But I need to try. I’ll start with the shop tomorrow.”
“Do you want me to go with you?”
Even as I said it, I realized I had a full day of shooting ahead of me tomorrow. I seriously doubted either Devon or Cayden would accept amateur detecting as an excuse for putting the film a day behind schedule. Okay, Cayden might cut me some slack given what we’d been through together in Malibu. Devon, on the other hand, not so much.
I felt almost guilty at my relief when Tia said, “Thanks, but no. LeRoy is really weird about having anyone in the shop if they’re not working or paying customers. He doesn’t even like having friends of customers hanging out while they’re getting inked. I’m gonna try to get there before he or the Creepy Twins do, but if any of them came in and you were there, I’m not sure what he’d do.”
“Fire you?” I suggested.
That drew a wan smile. “Hell, I’m out of there end of day tomorrow, no matter what.” She bit her lower lip and shook her head. “I honestly don’t know what he’d do. And I don’t want to find out.”
* * *
When I got back to the hotel, I tried to slink as inconspicuously as I could back to my room, not an easy task when covered
with smelly goo. The couple unfortunate enough to share the elevator with me going up moved as far away from me as possible.
“We’re filming a movie,” I said apologetically.
They nodded, smiled bright, fake smiles, and got out at the next floor.
Back in my room, I immediately pulled off all my clothes, wondering if it was worth trying to wash the gunk off them or if I should just toss them. I liked that camisole top, dammit! I grabbed one of the hotel laundry bags and stuffed everything but the boots in it. A small black object fell to the ground as I put the jeans in—the little gris-gris bag from Loa Creations. I picked it up and tucked it away with the tile I’d bought. Whether or not the charm had anything to do with me defeating the creature, it made me feel better.
* * *
I had been dreaming I was floating on a cloud. The sun had not yet risen, the air still pleasantly cool although I could feel the humid heat waiting to fall over the city like a sticky shroud.
I stretched, luxuriating in the feeling of cool sheets on my naked flesh. I let my limbs spread wide, hands arching skyward, then pointed and flexed my feet before curling into myself like a cat. The only problem with this picture was the bed next to me was empty, only a slight indentation in the mattress to show that my lover had indeed stayed the night.
“Étienne?”
No answer. I should get up and go find him. Instead I sank back down into my cloud and shut my eyes again, inhaling deeply to catch the scent of cinnamon and leather mingling with the tang of musky sweat. A pleasing, almost sweet smell, unlike the sour reek of so many other men.
As I lay there, myrrh, frankincense, sandalwood, and something less pleasant fought to overwhelm Étienne’s familiar smell. It came from the clouds of incense now roiling in the air above me, permeating the room.
Throwing back the covers, I got out of bed, bare feet padding across the wooden floors as I tried to follow Étienne’s signature scent, which wove its way like a ribbon amongst the other smells in the air. It faded in and out, sometimes lost in the mix of smoke and the heavy, coppery scent of ozone and blood—then suddenly strong and standing out on its own. I followed it as the floor beneath my feet suddenly became a dirt path, leading me into a clearing filled with shadowy figures, all of them joining in a shrieking chant that rose above the discordant sound of screeching pipes and other instruments that had no place in this world…
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
The interior of the shop was still dark when Tia arrived. Good. She’d beaten both LeRoy and the Creepy Twins to work.
Tia’s stomach swarmed with butterflies—God, after what she’d seen, the thought was horrifying—at the thought of being caught. There was one place in the shop LeRoy had told her to steer clear of, and that was where she had to look—the room at the back of the shop. She’d never seen anyone other than LeRoy go in there. Her stomach churned in anticipation of finding out things she’d rather never know.
Polli and Hyla didn’t usually arrive before the sun was at least thinking of setting, but LeRoy’s schedule was unpredictable. Tia couldn’t peg him as either a morning person or a night owl—he was as likely to arrive at the shop at midnight or noon. No matter what time he did show up at the shop, though, he was always dressed to impress and looked like he’d enjoyed a good eight hours’ slumber, untroubled by either guilt or nightmares. The sleep of the innocent, he called it.
Tia somehow doubted that. More like the sleep of the “I don’t give a fuck.” Yeah, that seemed about right. She’d told Lee the truth when she’d said the initial ego rush of apprenticing with him had worn off the more unsettling both his behavior and that of the twins became. And all the hero worship in the world couldn’t mask LeRoy’s increasingly frequent borderline-abusive behavior. She needed to leave before she went all Stockholm Syndrome and started thinking it was normal. In a week’s time she’d have worked under LeRoy for three months, long enough to give her some street cred. Maybe he’d even give her a recommendation if she didn’t piss him off before she left.
So why was she even thinking of violating one of the main rules he’d set down when she’d started her apprenticeship?
She thought again about LeRoy’s portfolio, the private one that he only brought out for special customers. Like the girl who’d worn the butterfly necklace.
The dead girl. The dead… thing.
Fuckity fuck.
Using her key—and oh, hadn’t she been proud to be trusted with the key to the shop?—Tia let herself in, the faint tinkling of the bell sounding overly loud to her ears. Stepping over the threshold, she paused for a moment. Her time living on the streets, thankfully short as it had been, had taught her to feel for the slight vibration disturbing the air that spoke of another’s presence. To listen for tiny inhalations of breath. To sense the heat of another living body.
No, LeRoy’s Ink Shop was empty, except for Tia and a whole lot of spooky atmosphere. She’d never thought the shop looked eerie before, never really noticed anything off-putting about the artwork on the walls. Just your standard ink house stuff with maybe a little more emphasis on darker subject matter than unicorns, Celtic knot arm bands and such. Here the unicorns were rotting, and the Celtic knot motifs wove in skulls or screaming faces.
Giving her head a brisk shake to clear it of unwelcome phantasms, Tia strode resolutely to the inner door leading to LeRoy’s private workshop. Like Bluebeard’s tower, it was forbidden. And like one of Bluebeard’s stupid wives, Tia knew she had to find out what was inside. This never ended well for the wives, she thought, her brisk pace diminishing as she drew abreast of the door in question. And still she reached out, turned the knob.
Locked.
Tia let out a breath she hadn’t been aware of holding, more relieved than she wanted to admit that her brief foray into detective work had come to an end before it really began. Of course it was locked. Someone like LeRoy, someone who basically treated his employees like indentured servants, of course he’d lock this room. He obviously had secrets to hide—why would he trust anyone to keep them? His type never trusts, she thought.
She was only partly right.
Putting on an exaggerated expression of disappointment—more for herself than any audience—Tia headed to her station. Might as well settle in, maybe work on some of the new designs she’d been playing with. All of them surreal, like fever dreams. She’d be lying if she didn’t admit that some of LeRoy’s work had really influenced her since the apprenticeship began. He had a couple of Hieronymus Bosch-type dreamscapes that called to her. She especially loved Doorway to the Elders, a series of old-fashioned locks set into increasingly decrepit wooden doors that spiraled off into the distance—or seemed to, at any rate. She couldn’t figure out how he’d managed the effect of endless doors, all connected to one another. Like Escher, LeRoy effortlessly defied the laws of physics in ways that disturbed the viewer and yet made perfect visual sense.
The matte for this particular painting was constructed of antique keys made of various metals like brass, bronze, and iron. The type of keys that belonged on a heavy round keyring carried on the belt of a spooky housekeeper. The kind that opened the locks in the painting—
—or the door to LeRoy’s office.
Biting her lip, Tia raised her eyes to Doorway to the Elders and the dozens of keys crisscrossed over one another, glued inside a dark wooden frame made elegant by its curves and subtle molding. Like a lot of LeRoy’s paintings, the overall effect was that of an optical illusion, like looking through a View-Master where two flat images combined into a third, three-dimensional one.
The keys were laid out in spiraling pinwheels, set onto the matte with clear glue. The size graduated from largest to smallest as they approached the painting itself. Tia studied it, focusing on the outer edges of the key spiral, reaching up to run her fingers lightly over bronze, iron, and—
“Motherfucker!” Tia snatched her hand away and shook it. Something had shocked her good, a hot needle jabbing into the fingers
that had brushed…
That one. Black metal with red flecks, like pinpricks of blood. Some sort of iron, maybe? Tia didn’t know.
Pulling open one of the drawers at her station, she pulled out a pair of purple latex gloves and put them on. Thin enough to allow her to do her inking with assured precision, yet hopefully thick enough to protect her from another jolt. Then she cautiously reached out and touched the black key. This time she felt maybe a slight thrumming sensation through the latex, but that was all. Snatching the key off the frame, she headed back to the locked door. Now she really felt like one of Bluebeard’s wives—except for the purple gloves.
She stopped midway when she spotted LeRoy’s portfolio resting on the counter, its distinctive brownish-red cover making it stand out next to the other portfolios. It looked wrong. Funny how Tia hadn’t noticed that before. She also hadn’t noticed how the cover felt warm and oddly textured—she could feel it even through the latex gloves. Like the skin of someone suffering from a high fever. Febrile and unpleasant.
Flipping it open, she scanned the pages, remembering the first time LeRoy had let her see it. She’d felt so honored, like she’d been initiated into an exclusive club.
She thumbed through the pages, smiling to herself almost unconsciously as her gaze fell upon now familiar sketches and watercolors, the details rendered with almost impossible clarity.
Here was a crouching gargoyle, expression both menacing and pathetic.
Here a python wrapped around a luckless hunter, only a purpling face, eyes wide and bugging out from the constricting pressure visible in the thick coils.
An unfurling red rose, the petals dripping with blood and revealing a demonic fetus in the center of the blooms…
