by L. L. Foster
“I asked around about tattoos so I’d know the process. I don’t want him to slip something into my skin that could poison me.”
Far from bolstered, Luther drew up short. “I hadn’t even considered that.”
“Don’t worry about it. I’ll know if he tries that.” Gaby kept walking, giving Luther no choice but to keep up. The sepulchral thudding of his boots on the pavement echoed over tall brick façades and crumbling stucco, faded into alleyways.
Gaby made no noise at all. “Stay here.”
Luther started to protest, and she said, “I’m trying it your way, but you’ve got to compromise a little.”
He nodded. “If you’re not back around front in one minute, I’m coming after you.”
Gaby left without further discussion. She followed the perimeter of the building to the side, where she checked an old window and found it secure. In the back, she twisted the doorknob. Locked. The other side of the building didn’t have a window. Back around front, she told Luther, “Everything looks fine.”
The front door opened. Palest light radiated from inside, backlighting Fabian’s body, casting a sinister glow around his cadaverous form. “Of course.” White teeth shone in the darkness. “Were you expecting a trap?”
“Still am,” Gaby told him as she took the lead up the stoop and to the door. “So don’t fuck up—or I’ll kill you.”
Luther acquainted himself with the shop under the pretext of awe. Dark green paint and wood trim accented yellow walls. Padded stools, a special chair, and wood cabinets had been organized efficiently.
Image suggestions lined each wall, and glass cases displayed a variety of body jewelry. Some of it was beautiful, but some of the heavier pieces looked deliberately painful.
“I had no idea tattoo parlors were so heavily equipped.” On shelves, he saw tattooing guns, inks, sterilization machines, a copying machine, and a supply of alcohol, swabs, and bandages.
A more private room, possibly an office, jutted out toward the rear, leaving a narrow hallway that led to the back door. On the other side of the hall, a closed door indicated a storage room.
Luther listened, but heard nothing more than his own breathing. The room smelled mostly sterile, with only a faint hint of ink.
Fabian had set out a tattooing apparatus and sealed needle, along with a selection of paints.
Ignoring Luther, he gestured to the chair. “Sit, Gaby.”
She bestowed on him the most noncompliant look imaginable.
Fabian amended the order with, “Please.”
Gaby sat. She eyed the many ink bottles and said, “Just black. Nothing fancy.”
“I understand. But I thought we could edge it in blue or purple—”
“No.”
Shooting for pragmatism, Fabian crossed his arms behind his back and took a breath. “I am not without experience in this. I know what will look best, how to give the tattoo depth and light and movement.”
“Just. Black.”
Luther stood behind Gaby, staring down at her head. She was so cold, so distant, he didn’t know what to think. Was it part of the act, or a real reaction to Fabian?
“Yeah,” Luther said, “I like the idea of simplicity, myself.”
Jaw clenched, Fabian nodded. “As you wish.”
To lighten the mood, Luther asked, “Is that your license on the wall?”
“I display it for the comfort of patrons. Getting a tattoo can be a big decision. I want them to know they’re in good hands.”
“Yeah, I bet.” Luther grinned, but the bite remained in the words.
Fabian took his seat. “Remove the sweatshirt, please.”
Gaby pulled it off over her head and handed it to Luther. Left in a thin T-shirt, she retook her seat and said, “Can we get on with this?”
“In a hurry?”
“Let’s just say I’m not one for idle chitchat.”
Fabian studied her. “You’re worried about the pain? I hadn’t expected that.”
“She’s not,” Luther told him with great certainty. Gaby couldn’t care less about a little pain. But he couldn’t very well tell Fabian that it was his black soul disturbing her.
Unconvinced, Fabian broke into what sounded like a rehearsed speech for his customers.
“Pain tolerance is a unique thing. Everyone reacts differently. In case you didn’t know, the ink is injected into the dermis, the deeper second layer of skin, not just the top layer. I can liken the sensation to being stung hundreds of times by a hornet. Some find the pain nearly unbearable.”
Luther snorted for Gaby. “She’ll be fine.”
But it worried him. Gaby was tough as they came, and she never experienced discomfort as much as others did. But this would be different.
She’d be doing this as a woman, not a paladin.
“I promise not to cry,” Gaby told Fabian with sharp-edged sarcasm.
“Very well.” He lifted her arm by the wrist and bent to examine her scar.
Most of the shop remained mired in shadows, with only one harsh, powerful light directed on Gaby’s arm. The glow of that lamp lent added distinction to Gaby’s features. It sharpened her jawline, defined the bow of her upper lip, the length of her inky lashes.
Disturbed comprehension palpated off her in waves.
Luther saw the wary preparation in her, even if Fabian remained obtuse.
“My God,” Fabian said when he saw how much she’d healed. He couldn’t conceal an odd satisfaction. “The wound is nearly invisible now. It’s amazing, isn’t it?”
“Some of the scar will remain.” Gaby never took her burning gaze off Fabian. “That’s why I want you to cover it.”
“As good as it looks now, that won’t be a problem at all.” He sat back in his seat. “There are several things I need to do first to prepare for the ink.” He patted her arm with paternal pride. “Sit tight.”
Moving to a sink set in the wall beside the sterilization equipment, Fabian scrubbed his hands. When he finished, he returned to Gaby with swabs and alcohol and cleaned the entire area of her arm that would be tattooed, then let her rest her arm on a sterilized towel.
The alcohol had to burn the areas of her arm not completely healed yet, but Gaby never even blinked.
And Luther felt so much pride, he wanted to burst.
Gaby was the toughest person he knew, and still she had the biggest heart and the most giving nature.
He watched as Fabian opened up a single-use needle, put it in an odd machine, and settled comfortably before Gaby.
“Ready?”
“If you take much longer, I’ll be asleep.”
Fabian’s mouth quirked in a smile. “I’m going to make an outline of the design now.” He started working, his head bent to his task.
Luther winced every so often, but Gaby remained as immobile and unflinching as a brick wall.
“So, Gaby.” Fabian glanced up, then back to his work. “I saw you across the street today.”
A muscle tightened on Gaby’s face. “Do tell.”
“You were butting heads with one of our more colorful denizens. A drug dealer, I believe.”
Belying her tension, Gaby sounded bored when she asked, “You know him?”
“I’ve done most of the tattoos for the dealers in the city. They want the best and, foregoing modesty, I can say with confidence that I’m by far the best. My designs come alive.”
“Bully for you.”
“And they can afford to pay my prices, so . . . ” Fabian shrugged. “I’m acquainted with many of the more reprehensible sorts.”
“Of course you are.”
Fabian shot Gaby a look, judged her comment to be only more cynicism, and dismissed it. “This morning, before you left the area, you rounded up some of the area children to take with you.”
She said nothing, just stared at him.
He cleared his throat and nodded at the design. “What do you think?”
She didn’t release him from her gaze. “That it?”<
br />
Fabian flashed an indulgent smile. “I need to fill it in yet, but that’s the outline of the barbed wire design.”
Hoping to break the tension and help Gaby settle down again, Luther leaned over to look.
But Gaby was already saying, “It’s fine. Finish it.”
Raising a brow, Fabian used yet another sterile towel to wipe away a few spots of blood. “You’re a curious woman, Gaby.” He began swabbing the area again with soap and fresh water. “Cody, is it?”
Luther took a protective step forward, too shocked to censor his reaction. How the hell could Fabian know Ga by’s last name when she’d never given it? Something was going on, something more than he knew, and he didn’t like it.
Gaby shifted—a subtle indication for Luther to cool his jets.
Her faint amusement reassured Luther; Gaby would know if imminent danger existed.
“That’s right, Fabian.” Her slow nod gave Fabian points for ingenuity. “Gabrielle Cody, if you want the whole shebang.”
“It’s a lovely name.” He replaced the needle with a new, sturdier one and went back to work. Occasionally he glanced up at Gaby to gauge her discomfort at the puncturing needle, but she showed none.
If Gaby felt anything at all, she hid it well.
When Fabian had finished, he smiled with pride. “Well, what do you think?”
Gaby approved the overall effect with a dismissive shrug. “Looks fine. It does what I wanted it to do.”
Stung, Fabian said, “It entirely conceals any scar and even though you limited me in color, there’s a certain dimension to it that’s quite unique and appealing.”
Gaby said only, “Yeah, you’ll get paid.”
Frustrated with her lack of appreciation, Fabian scowled. “Let me just bandage it up and we’re done.” As he saw to that, he detailed more precautions. “For the next twenty-four hours, keep it bandaged. After that, you can wash it with antibacterial soap, but don’t soak it. Stay out of hot tubs or long showers. Don’t pick at it, either.”
“Got it.” Gaby started to rise.
Fabian caught her wrist. Even Gaby’s glare didn’t make him release her.
“I know why you really came here, Gaby.”
Luther kept his stance loose, but ready. “Think so, huh?”
Fabian spared him an annoyed frown. “I see the news. I know all about the body parts found.” Lip curling, he said, “The headlines have been ludicrous, painting the person responsible as some kind of perverted predator.”
“You don’t think that fits?”
This time Fabian didn’t even look at Luther. He beseeched Gaby instead. “You’re wondering if I had something to do with it.”
Gaby curled her hand into a fist, tightened it so that her muscles flexed and rippled under Fabian’s hold. Finally he released her.
She lounged back, at her leisure. “Actually, Fabian, I’m not wondering about that at all.”
“I . . . ” He closed his mouth, at a loss, but not for long. “Then you’ve already drawn your conclusions.”
Hearing a small sound, Luther eased away from Gaby on a pretext of looking at more designs. Concentrating, he listened for any unfamiliar noise—a breath, the scuffle of a shoe.
He heard nothing. But . . . Fuck. He didn’t like this. He didn’t like it at all.
His visceral reaction was to shut it down, right now. He drew a breath and held off.
“I know what I know,” Gaby told Fabian. “No doubts at all.”
“I see.” Fabian regrouped, and changed tactics. “You know, Gaby, it might interest you to find out that I have some of the same . . . special talents that you have.”
That announcement hit Luther like a shock wave. He ended his perusal of the shop and returned to Gaby’s side.
While he tingled with a foreboding of doom, Gaby didn’t look in the least perturbed. A half-smile cast her features in sinister shadows. “What kind of special talents do you think you have, Fabian?”
He grinned in absurd camaraderie, leaning forward to create a more intimate nature to their discussion. “I knew you were familiar to me. You felt it, too. Admit it?”
She shrugged. “I sensed a deeper knowledge of you.”
“I knew it! In the very same way, I recognized you and your symptoms. The extraordinary things you do are not so far-fetched as you might think.”
Luther couldn’t stand it. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
“Yeah.” Gaby slouched lower in her seat. “This is getting interesting. Enlighten me, Fabian.”
He couldn’t hide the hatred he felt for Luther. “Perhaps you’d be more comfortable discussing this without his intrusion.”
“Not on your life,” Luther told him.
“He stays,” Gaby added.
“Fine.” Fabian stood. He moved to a cabinet, touched a flower pot holding an overflowing, glossy philodendron. “The talents you have are symptomatic of a special breed of person. A higher power, if you will.”
“Let me get this straight.” Gaby smirked. “You think you’re a god?”
Fabian snapped a leaf off the plant. Sizzling with fury, he turned to face her. “You have a knack for running with amazing speed while not tiring. You see extremely well in the dark. You have remarkable reflexes, better hearing, smell, and taste than the pathetic majority that chokes our streets. You, Gaby Cody, are superior. And so am I.”
Gaby sat up, but said nothing.
Fabian took his chair again. With hesitant daring, he traced his fingertips along the fresh bandage wrapped around Gaby’s arm. “It was confirmed for me when I saw your increased recuperative ability.” His voice went soft with awe. “It’s almost as if you’ve bathed in blood and taken the healing properties of it.”
Luther wanted to rip the nutcase out of his chair and well away from Gaby. But this could be the confession they needed. “Have you bathed in blood, Fabian?”
With Gaby’s attention now focused solely on him, Fabian ignored Luther. “You are not meant for the peons of this world, Gaby. Please believe me.”
“What do you suggest?”
Luther knew Gaby baited Fabian, but he was so wrapped up in his recruit of her, he didn’t appear to see through her tactic.
“I know that you hurt, Gaby,” Fabian said. “I share that pain with you. But you see, I can explain it, teach you how to marshal it, control it.” He held out a hand to her. “The truth is, my dear, you and I are more alike than you know.”
“That doesn’t flatter me, Fabian.”
Luther shifted his gaze from Gaby to Fabian and back again. Gaby sounded fine, but he sensed her gathering pain and rage. Before much longer, she would break—one way or the other.
“Well, it should.” He drew a breath, let it out, and stated, “You’re a psychic vampire. Do you understand what that means?”
Luther spoke up. “You’ve been watching too much late-night television.”
If looks could kill, Luther would have been thoroughly slain by Fabian’s stare.
Gaby tipped her head as if curious. “Why don’t you tell me what you think it means.”
Keen to do just that, Fabian grew bizarrely animated. “A psychic vampire feeds off the life energy of others—those who are unimportant. It’s harmless, really. I can partake of your energy without you ever realizing it. That is to say, you, Gaby, would know, because you’re one of us. But he”—Fabian tossed his head toward Luther in clear disdain—“would be clueless. Those such as him are emotionally susceptible and can be easily left drained and lifeless, to sleep for days.”
Luther laughed. “Yeah, right.” He gestured with a hand, praying Fabian would redirect his focus from Gaby. “C’mon, Fabian. Drain me.” And then with a taunting smile, “Dare ya.”
Fabian snarled. “There is a propensity in the lesser specimens of humanity to oppose anything that tests preconceived notions. Those narrow-minded attitudes are why we superior beings are often forced to live in secret, instead of celebrating our unique qua
lities.”
“Your insanity, you mean.”
Gaby raised a hand to quiet Luther. “Fact is, Fabian, I’m not whatever it is you think I am. Trust me on that.”
He composed himself with effort. “You hurt, Gaby, I see that even if he doesn’t.”
Luther bristled, but kept silent. Gaby wanted to handle this, and he trusted her to do so. No matter how hard this might be, she would always be strong.
She would always do the right thing.
“The pain is caused by your need to take, to absorb energy from those weaker than you. The agony can be alleviated that way.” Fabian braced himself. “But it can be obliterated altogether . . . by drinking and feeding.”
Red flags went up for Luther, but again, Gaby didn’t react at all.
“Most times, Fabian,” she told him, “I don’t think of food. What I do, what calls to me, isn’t sated that way.”
Fabian relished the close confidence, the way she shared with him.
He closed the space between them. “Only because you haven’t sated it properly. By taking from others, you fulfill yourself and enhance your abilities.” More vivacious now, he snatched both her hands. “I alone understand this.”
“Just you, huh?”
“Yes.” He went taut with expectation. “I understand everything about you, because you inherited your talent . . . from me.”
Time seemed to stand still.
Luther heard the wind stirring outside, the ticking of the clock on the wall, his own heartbeat. He felt the whirlwind of emotions gathering inside Gaby and put his hands on her shoulders to help ground her. He prayed that his touch would be enough to calm her.
“Just what the fuck are you saying?”
Luther started, unnerved to his bones by that whisper of sound from Gaby.
“I am your father.”
Luther’s heart dropped into his stomach. Gaby blinked, swallowed audibly. The unexpected bomb had thrown her; he felt it, but didn’t know what to do about it. In a show of subtle support, he squeezed her shoulders.
She didn’t notice.
Fabian removed an aged photo from his pocket. He laid it on the table and turned it toward Gaby, then slid it over to her. “The woman beside me is your mother.”
