“Well, well, what time do you call this?” Elinor looked up from the drawing table, where she was working up stencils of the Lowe tattoo in preparation for this afternoon. I couldn’t believe how lucky I was to have Elinor Baxter in my life. She’d been a highly-paid, swanky lawyer in London before she came to Crookshollow on an assignment, and loved it so much she decided to stay. Her hot rockstar fiancé Eric Marshell definitely had something to do with it. I admired her so much for choosing an unconventional life over her cushy, parent-pleasing job, although I wished she’d left her punctuality back at the law firm, as well.
Elinor didn’t look like your typical tattoo artist. She had straight brown hair cut in neat layers around her face, and a pair of black-framed glasses that accentuated her large, dark eyes and bow-shaped lips. With her prim outfits and sexy curves, she looked more like a secretary than a tattooist, especially since she didn’t actually have any visible ink. Six months ago, I’d given Elinor her first ink – two beautiful wings across her back, the fine bones and sinews poking from her shoulder blades, curling into an elegant arc with the feathered tips ending right above her pelvis. Elinor drew the design herself – she had a real talent. I’d been trying to convince her to get sleeves done, but so far, she wasn’t keen.
Now, she was my apprentice, as well as being my best friend and one of the human members of the pack. I’d given her the job of designing the Lowe tattoo – it depicted a wolf staring thoughtfully up into the full moon, the branches of a spindly tree framing the scene. The pack’s new motto, AMOR VINCIT OMNIA – Love Conquers All – arched around the bottom in gothic script.
Ever since I’d discovered that shapeshifters were real and ghosts could be brought back to life, business at Resurrection Ink had been booming. Word spread around the shifter and supernatural communities that Elinor and I were part of the Lowe pack. Shifters had been travelling from far and wide to have their pack tattoos designed and inked by me and Elinor. We’d gained a reputation for exquisite work, and discretion for our less-than-human clients. Soon, our handiwork would become one of the most recognised symbols of the shifter community. I felt a stab of pride as I admired Elinor’s finely drawn lines and perfectly rendered wolf.
“You’re running this place so well, I don’t have to get up before lunch.” I yawned as I leaned back in a chair and grabbed one of her stencils for a closer look.
“Don’t you dare.” She rolled her eyes. “Sometimes, I think you and Eric would be perfect for each other. I have to go upstairs and yell at him several times to get him to roll out of bed.”
I stuck out my tongue as I handed back the stencil. “I could never date Eric Marshell. He may be a sexy gothic rockstar now, but I knew him when he was the scrawny, pimply teenager who loved cricket. He’ll always be that teenager to me.”
“I’m glad I never knew him then.” Elinor laughed. “It might shatter my dream.”
“So, you won’t believe what happened to me yesterday,” I said, as I wiped down the table with disinfectant and placed fresh covers on the clip cords and power unit.
“Does this have anything to do with that lawyer that came by yesterday about your mother’s estate?”
I grinned. Eleanor used to be a lawyer herself – she was whip smart, and nothing ever got past her.
“It does indeed.” I pulled over an image of the client’s tattoo and started assembling a line of inks across the top of my tray. “It turns out, I’ve inherited my grandmother’s house. It’s crazy, because my grandmother hated me, but it’s right there in the will, totally legit. Wait till you see this place, you’ll absolutely love it. It’s a Victorian manor just outside the village. It’s got loads of tiny, dark-panelled rooms and a big turret and there’s even a secret passage leading from the back of the kitchen to the attic bedrooms.“
“That sounds amazing.” Like me, Elinor had a love for the gothic. She’d have to, being engaged to the musician who single-handedly made the classical violin cool again. “What are you going to do with it?”
“I’m going to move in, of course. And then I’m going to Bianca-ify it. It’s perfect for my art house. I’m going to take out all my grandmother’s stuffy French antiques and ugly Victorian portraits, replace it all with junk-store finds and crazy art, turn the bedrooms into a hostel, and the parlour into a crazy art venue. Can you believe it? I’m actually going to make the art house happen, and all I have to do to get it is to get married.”
“Wait … what?” Elinor’s pen froze in midair.
I shrugged. “Yeah. I have to get married. My grandmother placed this crazy stipulation in her will that in order to take possession of the house, I had to be legally married to a man. She actually specified it had to be a man, can you believe it?”
“But Bianca, how are you planning on getting married when you don’t—” The bell on the shop door tingled. Elinor leapt to her feet. “Finish this story later?”
“Sure.” I watched Elinor flounce over to meet our walk-in – a mousy-girl with soft blonde curls and wide, frightened eyes. She stared at the skulls and dragons I’d drawn on the walls with an expression of utter terror. Elinor started to talk to her about the tattooing process, while I shoved the Lowe stencils under a pile of drawings so she wouldn’t see them.
A few minutes later, the girl was sitting behind the barrier, nervously wringing her hands while Elinor worked up a sketch for her. I glanced at the clock. My client was due in fifteen minutes, so I started prepping my gun and needles.
“What are you getting done?” I asked the girl while I worked. I loved hearing the stories behind people’s tattoos. What you chose to have inked on your body said so much about you as a person. My tattoos, mostly inked by friends from stencils I’d drawn, represented different stages of my life and travels – maenads battling satyrs from my time squatting in Greece, blood-red roses from my trip to Countess Bathory’s castle in Slovakia, an elaborate hieroglyphic frieze from my trip through Egypt. They were symbols of the life I’d carved for myself and the independence I’d earned.
This girl didn’t look like the usual “type” to get inked, but tattoos were so common now you could no longer make judgements like that. I knew whatever Elinor was drawing for her, she’d love it.
“Oh, um …” The girl’s eyes widened as she took in the huge gun in my hands, like a deer trapped in headlights. Her face paled. “I’m … um … getting a rose, on my stomach.”
“Cool. Roses are popular, and Elinor does a great job with florals.“ I pointed to a vivid pagan goddess on my forearm I’d done myself a couple of years previously. “I’ve been teaching her everything I know. I like to try and make tattoos look like old paintings.”
The girl smiled meekly, but her eyes betrayed her horror. “I could never have something like that. It’s nice, though.”
I laughed. “Don’t worry, we’re not going to make you look like me. Although, I have to warn you, everyone starts with something small, and then they get hooked. Before you know it, you’ll be in here every week, begging for your next fix.”
“… oh, I don’t know …” The girl hadn’t taken her eyes off the gun in my hand. She was so scared, it was adorable.
Actually, it was more than adorable. Those big doe eyes, that dark hair, those juicy lips … this girl was just my type – a sweet, innocent girl ripe for corrupting. I wondered if she was a local girl, and how she’d respond if I asked her out for a drink.
I patted her leg, letting my hand linger just a little longer than necessary. “It’s okay to be nervous. Most people are their first time. It doesn’t hurt as much as you’d expect, er, what’s your name?”
“Willow,” the girl practically whispered.
“Nice to meet you. I’m Bianca.” I extended my hand.
“Hi.” The word was practically a whisper. She placed her trembling hand in mine, her fingers long and thin and delicate.
“What do you do, Willow?”
“I’m … I’m a wedding planner.”
&nbs
p; This meek girl is a wedding planner? In movies, wedding planners were always bossy, perfectionists types who bustled around in too-high heels and pretended to care about table centrepieces. I couldn’t imagine Willow yelling at caterers who messed up or frantically trying to find twenty metres of hot pink bunting at a moment’s notice.
My heart raced. How intriguing. Now I really had to get to know this girl more. On the plus side, if I kept Willow talking, she might be distracted enough that she wouldn’t faint before Elinor had even begun.
“That’s so cool. Elinor’s planning her wedding right now, aren’t you?” I grinned as Elinor came back from the drawing table, with a small square of paper depicting a beautiful, delicate rose, the petals shaded with intricate cross-hatching. Three drops of blood dripped from the thorns on its spindly stalk.
Wow, that’s a bit morbid. I wondered what had made Willow choose that particular design. It really seemed out of place. But that terrified look in Willow’s eyes told me now wasn’t the time to ask.
“I’ve already told Willow she should coordinate it.” Elinor handed the drawing to Willow, who took it in shaking fingers and stared at it as though it might eat her alive. “She’s just moved to Crookshollow and doesn’t have many local clients yet. She was telling me she’s worked on some big deal weddings in London, lots of celebrities and reality TV stars, even one for the royal family.”
“No way. That’s pretty impressive.” So she’s just moved to Crookshollow, and she must be single because if she was that scared of needles, any decent partner would have come along to support her. I bet she could do with some friends …
Willow glanced up, her pale face flushing. “Um, it’s not really … I just … I mean …” She handed the image back to Elinor. “This is perfect. Can I get it done now? I … I think if I have to come back, I’ll completely chicken out.”
“Sure,” Elinor sat back down at the table to make a stencil. “My next client isn’t until this afternoon. But you sure you definitely want this? It’s quite large and it will go over your ribcage, which means it will hurt a lot.”
Willow winced, but fixed her face into a look that I guessed was as close to determination as you could get when you were shaking with terror. “I’m sure. What do I do now?”
Elinor helped Willow up onto the table, and got her to roll up her shirt. She placed the stencil on her side, adjusted it and stuck it in place. Willow checked the placement in a mirror and nodded. Elinor got her to lie down, arranged a couple of pillows to make her comfortable, and then went out back to wash her hands.
Willow gazed around the shop, that terrified expression never leaving her face. I followed her gaze, trying to see the place the way she might see it. Of course, it was impossible. Before I’d taken up the lease, Resurrection Ink had been a laundromat. I’d cleaned out my entire bank account to paint the concrete floor a glossy black, wallpaper it with a garish Victorian floral print, build a waist-high wall and gate between the waiting area and shop floor, and deck it out with the best tattoo gear I could afford. The skull-themed art in faux-gilt frames and constant buzzing of tattoo guns might seem terrifying to some people, but to me, this place was home.
Looking at Willow, I wondered if I could think of another topic to distract her. I want to know more about why she moved to Crookshollow, and about the kinds of weddings she plans … hang on, wedding …
“Hey, you could do my wedding!” I exclaimed. “Elinor’s is still months away. Mine won’t be as flash, but it’s going to be in the next month or so, and I want something pretty crazy.”
Elinor’s head popped around the corner of the wall. “You’re really getting married just to get that house? Who’s the lucky guy?”
“Robbie.”
Elinor’s lips pursed.
“What? He offered.” I didn’t like the look she was giving me.
“Bianca, I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”
“Why not? It’s not a real marriage. He’s just doing a favour for a friend. He’s desperate to get out of Raynard Hall. I’m going to give him a room in Primrose House for his trouble—”
The bell rang. I whirled around. Curtis, my client, stood in the doorway, his impressive bulk blocking the light from the street. “Hey, Bianca,” he said, removing his sunglasses and shrugging off his leather jacket to reveal a tight black t-shirt and two full-sleeve tattoos of evil, naked mermaids slaying fish-monsters with deadly tridents. Curtis was a regular – a construction worker and Harley Davidson enthusiast from Crooks Crossing who spent every spare cent he didn’t put into his bike on covering his skin in ink.
“Hey, Curtis.” I patted the table. “Come on back, I’m ready for you.” To Willow, I said, “Leave your card with me when you’re done, and I’ll give you a call.”
Oh yes, I’ll definitely give you a call.
“Thanks,” Willow said, wincing as Eleanor’s needle met her soft skin. Elinor glared at me. I turned back to my client, grabbing the disinfectant to clean his arm.
What’s Elinor so upset about? Is she worried my fake marriage somehow overshadows hers? That’s not possible, and she should know that. So what’s her problem?
As soon as Willow and Curtis left, we put up the “CLOSED” sign and set about prepping the place for the afternoon’s session. I tried to bring up the subject of the my fake-marriage again, but Elinor just held up her hand and said, “I don’t want to talk to you about it just yet. Why don’t you tell the others this afternoon and see what they say. Then I’ll feel safe giving you my opinion.”
I fumed as I disinfected the shop and changed the needle on my gun. I thought we were friends. Why does she not think I trust her opinion? And what’s there to even have an opinion on, anyway? It’s not as if this is a big deal. I thought she’d be happy for me.
There wasn’t any time to confront Elinor again before the pack arrived. Belinda Wu was the first to walk through the door, which didn’t surprise me in the slightest. Belinda was the baker at Bewitching Bites, the best place to eat in Crookshollow. She knew the importance of getting timing just right.
“I brought treats.” Belinda tucked a strand of her black hair behind her ear and yanked the lid off a box filled with fresh Cornish pasties and slices of her signature dessert – Heaven and Hell cake.
“Don’t bring those behind the barrier,” I warned. “We’ve just disinfected. But we’ll totally eat out in the waiting area.”
“Way ahead of you.” Elinor vaulted over the gate in her haste to snap up a still-warm pastie. “This is amazing, as always. I’m gonna have to introduce you to my last client, Willow. She’s a wedding planner and she just moved to Crookshollow from London, so she’ll need contact details for the best local caterer and cake-maker. I’ve already told her she has to plan my wedding.”
“And my fake wedding,” I piped up, as I joined them in the waiting area. I sank my teeth into the thick pastie. Warm meat and spices exploded on my tastebuds. My stomach rumbled with appreciation, and I realised I hadn’t eaten since my breakfast bar.
“Your fake wedding?” Belinda looked confused.
Succinctly, I explained about Primrose House and my grandmother’s will. “Robbie offered to marry me so I can get the house. Isn’t that awesome?”
Belinda suddenly become very interested in a tattoo magazine on the table. “Yeah, sure, Bianca. It’s great.”
I glanced at Elinor, but she was also avoiding my eyes. What is with everyone? Why are they not excited about this?
A terrible thought struck me. Maybe they all think the art house is dumb. Maybe they’ve been talking about it behind my back, laughing at how silly I was to think it could work.
Anger flashed through my veins. I stuffed the rest of the pastie in my mouth and bit down hard. So what? Sod them all if they thought the art house was stupid. Robbie believed in me, which made him a better friend, didn’t it?
I didn’t have much time to ponder the question, as Caleb’s voice boomed down the corridor. I rushed forward to h
ug him. Caleb was our leader – a boisterous hulk of a guy with a mop of ginger curls, a wicked smile and a mischievous nature. He was dragging his fiancee, Rosa, by the hand. His cousin Luke, dark-haired and serious, pulled up the rear.
“Anna decided to stay at home,” Luke said, giving me a gentle squeeze. “Little baby Colin didn’t have a very good night last night, so they’re both trying to get some sleep. I’ll come in with her later to get hers done.”
“No problem. Give her and Colin my love.”
“Will do. Oh, cake!” Luke bounded off to join the others.
More bodies filed into the shop. Eric arrived next, looking like a completely different person from the dweeb I knew in high school, with his long dark hair, brooding eyes, and chiseled features. He wore a high-collared black trench coat pulled close around his face, probably an attempt to avoid being recognised on the street. Elinor rushed forward and embraced him, and he whispered something in her ear that made her face light up.
A giant raven swooped in through the corridor, folding its jet-black wings around its body as it settled on the back of the velvet chaise lounge. The raven’s body contorted – its body bulging outward, wing bones snapping as they folded back in on themselves. The feathers retracted into its skin, and the long talons that dug into the fabric slid down the back of the seat, forming toes and ankles and shins. The raven tossed its head back and let out a discordant “croak!” as its face shifted, the beak curling back into lips. A few moments later, a stark-naked man sat on my sofa, his long black hair draped over his shoulders and a sardonic grin spread across his handsome face.
“Cole!” Belinda admonished her fiancé. “Why did you come like that? Now Bianca has to tattoo you naked.”
“I know. It’s her lucky day.” Cole grinned, spinning Belinda around until she squealed in delight. I rolled my eyes. Sometimes all the love around here could get a little tedious.
Inking the Wolf: A wolf shifter paranormal romance (Wolves of Crookshollow Book 3) Page 3
