“Do you want a ride to school?” Layne appears, climbing out of the car. “And, um, surprise!” He seems uncertain of my response.
“When did you get here? Are you here for good?” I run over, wishing I had gotten up earlier to look more presentable.
“About an hour ago. Drove straight from Wilmington.” He moves closer, walking pensively until our feet touch.
“Careful, I’m practically barefoot.”
“Sweet toes,” he continues. “I love blue toenails.”
I feel a pinch of unwarranted jealousy. “I guess you’ve admired a lot of blue toes.”
“Sparrow . . . I love your blue toes. Just yours.”
I crawl into his car, stepping over banana peels, empty coffee cups, and water bottles. The floor is strewn with papers filled with lyrics and guitar picks.
The girl’s voice follows me, even here.
“What are you doing with this one? You make it so easy for me.”
10
Jenny is walking toward the 9:30 Club, carrying her camera bag. Her Nikon is ready and poised to take pictures of the infamous bouncer with all the tattoos.
“Jenny,” Layne yells out the window. “Hold up.”
“I have a class tomorrow, an early one,” I protest as he parks, but Layne’s smile makes me forget about it.
“I’ll make sure you get there. Let’s just see who’s playing tonight.” He winks and holds my hand.
When we cross the street, everything looks askew. The street looks overly sharp and clear, then its edges fade and blur. The people outside look dark and stiff, as if they are from an old photograph.
We walk up to the window where a muscular man, with enormous earlobes and a tattoo that covers the lower part of his face, stands guard. Showing our identification, we get our hands stamped and are nodded inside and up the stairs. A wall of smells—spilled beer, cleaning fluids, vomit, and rodent urine—hits us in the face.
The music, the movement of the crowd, and the dark and erratic flashing lights, pull us to the center of the floor. Jenny takes my hand and we dance like marionettes into the sea of people.
“I see you. I can find you anywhere.”
I hear her again. I look everywhere for the disembodied voice that comes from nowhere. “Do you see a strange girl anywhere?” I yell to Jenny.
“Everyone’s strange here.” She laughs.
“Wait. Up there. At the upstairs bar, by the rail.” I see her looking down. The icy dead girl. “Don’t look! Don’t be obvious.”
“I don’t see anyone unusual. Don’t be so paranoid. I’m getting a drink. Do you want something?”
Then it happens in a flash.
“No!” Mateo shouts.
When did he get here?
He leaps toward me from the tables along the walls. The crowd scatters, drinks drop, glass breaks. Winona moves faster than Mateo, faster than humanly possible. It sounds like thunder. I slip, or I’m pushed down, and stinging pain shoots through my arm as I land on the floor. Confused and shocked, I look down at the warm redness of blood pouring down my arm. I see punctures in my forearm, then look into the cold grey eyes of Winona.
Behind her, Mateo reaches down and pulls her up by the back of her hair. She doesn’t blink.
“So, Mateo is here for you again.” Her tiny nostrils flare like a dragon. “He is the good boyfriend after all.” She turns to snarl at him.
“But you are holding out for the boy with the yellow vine hair, aren’t you?”
Bouncers appear from every corner of the club and gather around me, helping me up.
“I just saved you the trouble of cutting yourself tonight.”
Jenny bends over me, helping me up. “Are you okay? What the hell happened?
“We have to get that cleaned up right away,” interrupts Mateo. Layne and Max walk toward me from the bar area. Layne looks at Mateo and then at me. Mateo’s arm is wrapped around me. Layne looks confused, as if he doesn’t recognize me.
A server runs toward me with the scratchy brown paper towels from the bathroom. Completely non-absorbent, the paper merely smears the blood all over my arm.
“What happened?” Layne asks softly, stepping between Mateo and me.
“We were dancing and some crazy girl pushed me. Somehow, I got cut.”
“Who would randomly cut you?” He looks at Mateo, who isn’t moving from his position of standing guard. “Who is this?”
“You’ll figure it out eventually.” Mateo turns away, brushing off Layne’s concern. “Sparrow needs to leave with me now, so we can take care of that cut.”
* * *
When Layne walks into my room the next morning, I am in different clothes. I’m not sure how the clothes got on me, but I guess it doesn’t matter. At least I am covered. My arm feels tight from dried blood, and tender under the ten, little band-aids Mateo must have scrounged up.
“I brought you some breakfast, and a Coke.” He sits quietly but his legs fidget. He taps rhythms with his fingers along his knees.
“Don’t tell him anything more, or I will destroy him too.”
“Thanks, Layne.”
“So, will you tell me what went down last night? I couldn’t sleep. I worry about you constantly and I can’t figure any of this out.”
“Everything around me is getting stranger, Layne. I don’t get it either.”
“Is that guy, the one who had his arm around you, the spirit you were telling me about?”
I don’t want to lie to him.
“You’d better lie.”
“Yes. He is.” I gesture for him to sit next to me on the bed. Our eyes lock, staring, our breath in identical rhythm. I’m shaking with fever, so I climb on top of him.
* * *
“Sparrow,” Layne whispers urgently as he wiggles out from underneath me. His shirt is damp where I’d been laying. I feel like I am floating under indigo waves. “Sparrow, wake up! Can you hear me?”
“I’m already winning.”
I want to say yes but my lips are cold and numb. I nod but everything feels slow, like I am drowning in heavy, wet blankets. My arm burns as the fire runs up to my shoulder; finally, I am able to sit up.
“Layne,” I roll toward him, my voice clenched.
“I’m going to get you to a doctor.” Layne grabs his phone and looks around the room for anything we should take with us. “You’re going to be fine.”
“My arm is killing me!” I arch my back in pain. Every muscle in my face and neck is taut.
“You are going to be okay. Where are your shoes?”
“No! I’m on fire!”
Layne looks down at my arm, red and punctured. “Those are deep cuts.”
I hear someone running up the stairs, too heavy and too fast to be Aunt Shelby.
“Let me see your arm.” Mateo fills the doorway to my room.
My arm is unmoving and heavy, hot to the touch. He grabs my wrist and turns my arm over. His face is as agonized as I feel. “The fact that she is bleeding so heavily is a good thing. Not clotting is a good thing.”
“Why? What do you mean? Just get out of here, would you? You’re to blame for all this.” Layne’s mouth sets firm, his teeth bite his lower lip, as he shoves his hands in his pockets.
“Her body is getting rid of the toxin. Fighting it.”
“She’ll lose. I’ll make certain of it.”
“What toxin? What the hell are you talking about?” Layne yells, grabbing Mateo’s collar and pushing him into my closet door.
His hair falls over his eyebrows as he looks over to me. “I got to Sparrow before Winona was able to cut too deeply. Otherwise Sparrow would be dead.”
The image of Winona makes my pain flare higher. I writhe, nauseated and dizzy.
“Mateo!” I scream and grab for his face. I pull it to mine, desperate to find relief. “Help me!”
“I’m so sorry. I didn’t think she would attack so soon.” His eyes are squeezed shut and he is unable to look at me as sweat pours down my
face and body. “She must be getting desperate.”
“No one saw another girl,” said Layne. “What is going on?”
“I am right in front of you, fool.”
“Should we call an ambulance? The cops?” Layne asks.
“There is nothing they can do.”
“This isn’t their realm. I am not from their world. And neither is your precious Sparrow.
“Then do something,” commands Layne. “Or I am taking her with me.”
“I can try to get out the venom.”
“Why? Why did she do this?” I beg for an answer.
“She doesn’t want you to get the tattoo. She is afraid of you getting the ink.”
“I will see you dead before you get one drop of that ink.”
“Stop this fire!” I plead. “Do anything.”
I watch Mateo’s face, first drawn tight with remorse, then anger, and finally determination. His eyes narrow and his jaw tightens. He looks upward and I scream again, blinded by flaming arcs of hot pain.
He leans over me. His smooth fingers run across my arm, cooling it by his touch. He turns my arm up to his lips. Quickly, he flashes a small knife and cuts around the bite marks. Smoke fills the air as my vision tunnels into a small dot of light. His lips lock onto my arm, mouth pulling out the blood and venom.
“Layne . . .” My lips move with no sound.
“I’m right here, Sparrow. Right here. Don’t try to talk.”
“Don’t leave me.” My voice returns. “Please don’t leave me.”
“Don’t worry.”
“Mateo,” I say. “Where’s Mateo?”
“He’s here too,” says Layne, as his unwavering eyes meet Mateo’s. Neither of them look away from the other. A low growl sounds throughout my room.
“Which one do you want?”
11
Movement. I know I see movement in the trees outside my window. Shimmery and dark shadows surround me, and I hear wind blowing outside the windowpane. Then, it stops. Total stillness.
“Free me. I want to be free of this, Mateo,” I hiss. “I want you to help me end it.”
“That’s why I’m here. But it’s for you to do. I am only to guide you and to protect you on your way back to the reservation.”
“I don’t know if I want to return, Mateo. There is nothing for me there.”
“There is nothing for you there, you are right.”
“She has a choice,” says Layne. “She will always have a choice.”
No choice. I won’t let her choose.
“Her ties to the reservation can’t be severed. She was born into the Blackfoot Nation. There are terms and responsibilities, as well as honor.”
“The reservation is my home. I was born there, and my mother died on its roads. End of story. I am here now.”
“You are wrong,” says Mateo. “It’s the beginning of the story.”
Layne’s knuckles turn white with rage and I stroke his hand.
“You may distract her and enjoy her,” Mateo circles the periphery of my room, almost growling, “but she will never be yours.”
“I don’t buy anything you say. I’m only listening to Sparrow.”
“There is nothing here for you to buy. Your blood, your past, your future, is nothing as far as the Blackfoot are concerned.”
Layne pulls at his lip ring gently, rolling it around his mouth. “I wouldn’t bet on my future, if I were you.”
12
I run my fingers over the page of art. My stomach is clenched. I gaze at Layne and force myself to look back at the page. The glossy plastic sheet covering the art reflects my face. I run my fingers over it, and imagine what it would feel like to carry this design on my body—painful and beautiful, all at once.
“It won’t work. It’s too soon.”
My pulse beats fast under my skin. I straighten my back as Mateo leans over my shoulder. “We have to try it now.”
“Try it and die.”
“You shouldn’t rush her, especially if it’s as dangerous as you claim,” says Layne.
“I don’t want to rush her. But it seems to be the only way that she’ll be safe. Winona will be powerless against Sparrow once she has the ink.”
“It’s a chance I have to take,” I say with brave defiance. “And getting the ink keeps a part of my mother alive in me.”
A book falls from the shelf and Layne turns to grab it right as I do. I turn and stand there. Staring at his shirt, I notice a button is missing. He kisses me. I stretch up on my toes, trying to get as close as I can, as he slides his hand around my waist. It’s like I am suffocating and he is my air.
He lifts me onto the table and I wrap my hands in his hair, pulling him closer. It is the most perfect kiss and it’s from Layne.
“Definitely worth the wait.” He smiles.
My legs are on either side of him with my ankles crossed, locking him to me. “I’m scared. Don’t leave me. I know you have dozens of girls skulking around when you’re on tour, but I need you here.”
“Hey,” he rests his hands on my thighs, “there’s no one else. Just you. No one else, ever since I met you.”
Mateo turns to look outside, but I can tell he is shaking his head in disapproval.
“Let’s do it,” says Stuart. “It will take a couple of sessions. And that’s good. We’ll be able to see how she reacts.” Mateo nods, picking up some bottles of ink. “Be careful. That’s all that’s left of the ink.”
A wicked and dark laugh rolls through the room.
“What’s that?” asks Layne.
“Winona is looking for a way in,” Mateo answers. “She wants to destroy the ink, but she can’t get close to it. It’s stronger than she will ever be.”
The room turns cold and I shiver. I pass the design to Stuart.
“Are you sure this is the design you want? You must be able to live with it.”
“She’ll never be able to live with it. She’ll die with it.”
“Yep, I’m sure.” I choose the design from my dream: the owl and floating feather, alongside four circles, intertwined in a center knot. I add a bridge of sparrows across the top.
Stuart gets things ready, opening a needle package and pulling out the thin metal.
My needle . . . for me and for others. My ink for my skin. I breathe deeply, still watching Stuart set up.
I look at the tattoo machine, and its coils and angles. I shiver. Something primal and earthy echoes through me. I will be different after this, and that is exactly what I need.
“Take off your top,” says Stuart. Layne smiles, but looks at the floor, while Mateo continues looking out the window. “Keep your bra on.” He wipes my back with cold liquid and picks up the stencil of my tattoo. “Turn around.” Stuarts steadies me with his hand on my hip.
Layne stares at me as I stand before him. He looks hungry. Stuart sprays a cool liquid at the top of my spine, just between my shoulders and across my back. “Tie your hair up, please.” He presses the stencil on my back, then peels it away. “Go see if it’s right.”
Layne follows me to the bathroom as I look at the markings on my back. He pushes me against the mirror and tangles his hands in my hair.
“Don’t touch my back,” I warn.
“I can’t make any promises.”
There is a knock at the door, and then it opens. Mateo stands in the doorway; his eyes are dark. “It’s time.”
We leave the bathroom and head back toward Stuart. My nerves feel hyper aware and exposed.
I lay face down, but slightly tilted upward on a sort of massage chair.
“You good?” Stuart asks.
“I’m good.” I brace myself, wondering about the pain. Several ink caps sit next to him.
“It won’t work. It won’t take. It’s too soon.”
“Ready?”
I nod. Layne sits next to my head, stroking my hair. I feel closer to him than ever. The first touch of the needle startles me. My skin feels irritated as he continues, but not pai
ned. The tattoo machine moves over my back, and I am afraid to breathe or move. Stuart outlines the tattoo.
“She’s doing fine. She’ll be okay,” says Layne.
“We haven’t used the Blackfoot ink yet,” says Mateo. “This could be a long haul.”
I close my eyes, listening to the machine as it hums and pauses. Lifting and touching. The vibration sends the tattoo deep through my skin, marking me.
“Here we go,” says Stuart as he uncaps an amber bottle. The outside of the bottle is marked with a label, handwritten in Blackfoot. As the bottle opens, heat fills the room. Smoke snakes from its tiny opening and the sound of men chanting fills my ears.
He pours this ink into another cap and changes his gloves.
“I thought it would hurt more.”
“It will.” He lowers the tattoo machine, and this time, the burn is so intense, I can’t speak. The hum of the machine is no longer comforting. The hum changes to jagged but rhythmic sounds of tribal drums. When I try to moan and speak, the echoing sounds of horses running and women with children crying emanates from me.
“Do you hear that?” I ask Layne.
“Hear what?” He answers.
“I hear it,” says Mateo. “It’s from the blood and tears of our people.”
“You won’t make it through this. The pain of your people will kill you. Weak little girl.”
“Shut up, Winona,” says Mateo.
“You hear her too? All this time, it’s not just me?”
“It’s never just you. You aren’t alone.”
“How’re you doing?” Stuart asks.
I feel loose, like my body is made of Jell-O. “Keep going,” I tell Stuart. “I can keep going.”
“Mmm . . . I don’t know. Not tonight.”
“No, let’s finish it.”
“Yes. Push for it. You won’t make it through.”
“I think we should do this in two sessions. Let’s not push our luck.” Stuart is quiet as he wipes my skin. Layne takes the cotton cloth from him and continues gently wiping the beginnings of my tattoo.
“I think she can do it,” says Mateo. “Winona is getting more and more agitated. The sooner Sparrow completes the tattoo, the safer she will be.”
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