Better 'Ink Twice
A Touch Of Ink, Volume 2
Rachel Rawlings
Published by Rachel Rawlings, 2020.
This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.
BETTER 'INK TWICE
First edition. January 31, 2020.
Copyright © 2020 Rachel Rawlings.
Written by Rachel Rawlings.
Also by Rachel Rawlings
A Touch Of Ink
Better 'Ink Twice
The Jax Rhoades Series
Payable on Death
Paid in Full
The Maurin Kincaide Series
The Morrigna
Witch Hunt
Wolfsbane
Blood Bath
Ill Fated
Darkness Hunts
Mistletoe Meltdown
The Maurin Kincaide Series Box Set
Standalone
Sherri 2.0
Watch for more at Rachel Rawlings’s site.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Also By Rachel Rawlings
Dedication
Better 'Ink Twice (A Touch Of Ink, #2)
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Further Reading: Rotten Luck
Also By Rachel Rawlings
About the Author
For my husband who never thought twice about believing in me!
Chapter One
Coffee. The one bright spot in the endless loop of our confinement. My soulmate. Maybe a one-sided relationship, but a lack of reciprocation in no way diminished my devotion.
The monotony was getting to me. Nothing new to happen, just the same day, over and over.
I shuffled toward the kitchen in search of my soulmate, stopping to cover Lars with the blanket he kicked off during the night. The couch was too small for his large frame but he refused a multitude of offers to swap places and take the bed. Lars stirred, rolling side to side before settling onto his back. The image of a gentle sleeping giant was shattered as the first of many buzz saw snores rattled the rafters. With my hands covering my ears, I continued on my quest for caffeination— all the while muttering threats to cram the blanket in Lars’s mouth. A spell had yet to be conjured that could silence Lars’s snores.
If I learned one thing during my confinement it was to never take Lars as a roommate.
My one-bedroom apartment wasn’t much larger than Nicholas’s but I didn’t miss the additional square footage as much as the solitude. One did not walk around in their underwear when living in an attic efficiency with two other people. The hour surrounding sunrise was the only peace and quiet I had throughout the day— excluding Lars’s deviated septum.
After fixing my first— and most essential— cup of coffee for the day, I settled on one of the stools at the end of the workspace Nicholas used for his spelling. A variety of jars filled with ingredients ranging from the everyday, garden variety thyme rosemary to henbane and black hellebore, which are poisonous even to us. Each root and herb served a purpose and had been labeled and packaged with the utmost care. Nicholas was a witch who took his craft seriously and his devotion to the Goddess was noted in both the size of the jar and amount of blue roses incense that filled it.
I made a promise to the Goddess— probably more than one— when we went up against Winslow. A real devotion for the Spring Equinox. I hadn’t performed a full ceremony in years. To say I was rusty would have been a gross understatement. But Nicholas? If his magical stores were any indication, honored the Goddess regularly— and the perfect candidate, pun intended, to help me fulfill my promises to Her.
My need to create something, anything, was fueled by a lack of tattooing and warding. New designs and ingredients for spelled inks consumed me but every time I sat down to write out the spell or draw a piece of flash, the only thing I produced was another phoenix design. The small trash can under the counter overflowed with scrapped sketches and spells. I’ve heard it said doing the same thing over and over again expecting different results was the definition of crazy. If that were true, I’d be a clinical case.
I blamed the captivity.
I was still wild a heart— a little feral according to Grim— after so much time on the streets as a kid. Being cooped up in an attic converted into an apartment stifled my creativity but that never stopped me from trying. Yet another piece of blank parchment mocked me from the counter, waiting to be covered with crisp, clean lines or the perfect arrangement of words, so I picked up my pencil and started to draw. The sound of the graphite sliding across the parchment was music to my ears and a balm to my soul. I lost myself in the creative process, only looking when I finally finished my masterpiece.
Another phoenix.
Frustrated, I wadded the paper into a tight ball and tossed it into the trash. The crumpled balls of parchment grew until they cascaded over the side of the wastebasket like a waterfall, pooling onto the floor. Karen’s ward and her death nagged at me. I’d known her briefly. She should have been another client. Just another ward. Her mother came to me for help, to keep Karen safe from the Magistrate and men like Winslow. But the one thing she hoped would save her daughter wound up killing her.
Another casualty of the Magistrate and their status quo.
I tried to shake the cloud of melancholy rolling in behind the thoughts of Karen and what her death and its connection to me meant. The same way I tried to draw something other than a phoenix. It went about as well as I expected— more wads of paper, more dark thoughts.
More feeling sorry for myself despite that fact that I survived Winslow and his schemes.
Nicholas padded in, his bare feet allowing for a ninja approach. Lost in my thoughts and yet another attempt at drawing flash, I hadn’t heard him moving around until he was right beside me.
“Morning.”
Perched on half the stool, I wasn’t seated in the best position for a jump scare. The stool rocked on its legs, teetering when I jumped at the surprise of him appearing next to me. If Nicholas hadn’t grabbed me, I would have landed on the floor.
“For the love of Goddess, you scared the hell out of me.”
“Sorry about that.” He helped steady me on the stool, holding on a little longer than necessary— not that I was complaining. “Peace offering?” Nicholas held out a small box wrapped in plain brown paper and tied with a twine bow.
“For me?” Puzzled as to what the occasion was that warranted a gift, I did a quick rundown of any holidays I may have missed and couldn’t think of any.
Nicholas set the package on the counter next to me. “Open it.” He smiled a lopsided grin that caused a thousand butterflies to take flight within my stomach. “It’s not going to explode.” His teasing and laughter only made me more hesitant.
I leaned in toward the small box, the twine ribbon tickling my ear. “Are you sure? I think I hear ticking.”
“Okay, if you don’t want it...” Nicholas reached over, ready to take the gift back.
“I never said I didn’t want it.” I tugged on the ends of the twine ribbon. The brown paper unfolded, revealing a clear plastic box with four small pots of what I suspected were inks inside. The colors— red, yellow, orange, and white— were an unusual choice. I worked in colors but preferred black and grey. Less interference with the wards. Not that I expected Nicholas to know that.
“Inks? Where did you get these?” I removed the lid from the container and removed one of the inkpots to examine its contents. “It’s beautiful.” The red, a deep velvety shade, had no equal in my personal stock.
“I made them.” Nicholas gave a casual shrug, like craft
ing inks of that quality was no big deal.
I pulled out the jar of yellow, holding it up to the light. “I might have an opening for someone like you at the shop.”
The lighthearted smile forming quickly went away when I remembered that I no longer had a shop. Something To ‘Ink About was gone. Razed to the ground. Yet another casualty on Winslow’s ever-growing list. He seemed determined to destroy everything I loved. For a fleeting moment, I considered giving up, turning myself in. I was already a caged bird, how much worse could it be? The answer to my question and moment of weakness was a lot. A whole lot worse, if Karen’s choice of death over falling into Winslow’s hands was any indication.
Nicholas rested a hand on my shoulder. “Hey, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”
“You didn’t.” I shook my head, clearing away the negative thoughts once more. “They’re perfect and I know just what to do with them.” I grabbed one of the crumpled pieces of paper and slid off the stool. “Lars, wake up!”
In my hurry to wake the hibernating bear also known as Lars, I left Nicholas standing by his spelling counter without so much as a thank you. I slid to a stop, my socks finding traction when I reached the edge of the area rug. I turned around, the precious jars of ink clutched to my chest, and walked back over to Nicholas.
“Hey, candidate,” I closed the distance between us until his back was pressed against the countertop. Glass jars clanked and rolled across the work surface behind him, falling like dominos after he knocked one over. He winced, no doubt over the mess he had to clean up, and I pounced, seizing an opportunity.
“Thank you.” I pressed my lips to his in a rush, muffling my thanks with a kiss.
Nicholas raised a hand; his fingers ran through the strands of my brown hair that fell free of my messy bun before trailing down my arm. He moved to wrap an arm around my waist to pull me closer but I slipped out of his reach before he had the chance. I wanted the kiss, maybe more than just a kiss, but neither of us were in a position emotionally to pursue it.
I pulled away and headed toward the couch to wake Lars so he could get started on my tattoo. Nicholas hung back, straightening the jars and vials of ingredients he’d knocked over. The taste of his lips, a combination of vanilla and peppermint from his lip balm, clung to mine— a reminder of what we could have had if we found each other under different circumstances.
But we didn’t.
Nicholas first showed up in my shop as a plant for Winslow. He made the smart decision and joined team Adeline but the Magistrate and I were playing the long game. I took the pawn. They busied themselves castling their king and maneuvering their rook. Still, there were moves left on the board and with the right strategy, I’d be the one calling checkmate.
Chapter Two
The faint smell of coffee roused me from the last tendril of sleep that kept me on the couch. I kicked off the covers and arched my back, mimicking a cat as I stretched my arms and legs. After a pit stop in the bathroom, I followed the scent of coffee to its source.
Which was easy to do in an attic apartment.
Nicholas stood at the counter in the kitchen-workspace combo with a coffee scoop in one hand and the coffee grinder in the other. There is nothing sexier, in my opinion, than a man making coffee. Dishes and laundry were a close second, but the way to my heart was a French press and freshly ground beans. His blue and white striped pajama pants hung low on his hips. The matching shirt was slung over the back of his work stool, highlighting the fact that despite how long he’d been stuck with Lars and I as roommates, he was used to living alone. His back was covered with wards, each tattoo designed with a specific purpose. I couldn’t help but wonder who hurt him so badly he needed to wear a permanent coat of armor on his skin.
My fingers itched to trace the outline of each ward— from a professional standpoint, of course.
“I thought I’d found the perfect man when I let Mr. Coffee into my life but this French press is a game-changer.” I forced myself to stop staring at Nicholas’s exposed torso with its corded muscles and intricate tattoos and pulled the electric kettle off the single countertop burner. Ready to brew the first pot, I removed the plunger from the press and waited for Nicholas to add the coffee grounds. When he didn’t move, I snapped my fingers to get his attention.
“Um, hello? Earth to Nicholas.” Still nothing. “Listen, I like you but holding coffee hostage is a hard line for me in any relationship.”
“Sorry, I was thinking about...” Nicholas handed me the coffee grinder, a dumbfounded look on his face. “Wait, are we in a relationship?”
“What?” Coffee deprivation clouded my mind but the fog lifted just enough for me to realize what I said. The R-word. Relationship. We had chemistry. There was that kiss and our trip to Block Island— if breaking and entering and a near-death experience counted as a trip, but relationship? And the thank you kiss for the inks. That was a mistake. A delicious mistake. My brain scrambled to come up with a way to walk that statement back.
“Friendships are relationships.” Smooth, Adeline. Real smooth.
It was a wonder I hadn’t been snatched up by an eligible bachelor like Nicholas already.
Nicholas blinked away his befuddled look, choosing to ignore my unintentional banishment into the dreaded friend zone, and scooped enough coffee grounds into the French press for two cups— or one Adeline Severance-sized coffee mug.
“You don’t want coffee?” I reached for another of Nicholas’s belongings I’d adopted as my own— the oversized mug with the saying Bean There, Done That in a cutesy font across the front.
“I’ve already had a cup.” Nicholas grabbed his shirt and slipped it on, covering his wards— and his abs— with each fastened button.
“Lightweight.” I poured the hot water in the press, noting the time. “This is, without a doubt, the longest four minutes of my day.”
“You could just get one of those one cup things. Or, you know, conjure up some coffee.” Lars stumbled into the kitchen, scratching the stubble under his jaw.
“You’re not ready for this kind of commitment and no self-respecting witch, kitchen or otherwise, would contaminate their spelling equipment for a cup of coffee.” I withered under Lars’s accusatory glare. “One time. I did it one time.” I looked at Nicholas who stifled a laugh at my expense. “I was desperate. The coffee pot was broken and I pulled an all-nighter warding.”
“Grim was so pissed. He docked your commission to pay for a new spelling pot.” Lars grabbed a mug for himself out of the cabinet before pushing the plunger down on the French press, ruining my cup of coffee which he then proceeded to steal.
“You monster,” I gasped— which combined with the look of horror on my face sent Lars into a fit of laughter. “Besides, how was I supposed to know his mom gave him that cauldron?”
Nicholas slid his coffee in my direction and moved to put himself between me and his spelling gear. I accepted his sacrificial offering and spared his cauldron.
“You were about to say something before. What was it?” I tried to steer the conversation back around, but Nicholas missed his cue. “You said you had a thought or were thinking about something?”
“That could be dangerous.” Lars ignored the steam billowing from his mug and burned his tongue on the first sip of coffee.
“Not as dangerous as stealing my coffee.” I pointed toward his mug. “Instant karma.”
Nicholas picked up where he’d left off and brought us all back to the conversation he’d attempted to start before we got sidetracked with talk of coffee and relationships— which sounded like the pitch for a popular ninety’s sitcom.
“I keep going back to that photo. The one you found in my father’s book of him and Grim together.”
Lars and I exchanged a sideways glance. We had a similar conversation the night before— and the night before that and the night before that. But we kept our suspicions to ourselves. Mostly because we didn’t know why we were suspicious. Just that we were. And the existe
nce of that photo was too much to be a coincidence.
Apparently, Nicholas didn’t believe in coincidences, either.
“What are the odds that our paths would cross? A million to one?” Nicholas refilled the electric kettle and flipped the switch to the on position. “My father and your...” he paused, taping his finger against the counter as he mulled over the options for Grim’s title before settling on his name. “And Grim. My uncle couldn’t have known our paths were intertwined. He wouldn’t have used me as an operative if he did.”
“Means to an end.” I added two heaping scoops of grounds to the press and turned off the kettle before it reached a boil. “As long as your uncle got what he wanted,” I pointed a finger at myself, “namely me, I don’t think he would have cared.”
Nicholas shook his head. “Normally, I’d agree with you, but Winslow is cold and calculating. He would have factored in the likelihood of us meeting at some point, even if it was just as kids. He would have decided it wasn’t worth the risk of tipping you off.”
“It’s not ready yet.” I raised a hand, ready to smack Lars on the wrist. “Touch that press and ruin another cup of coffee and it will be your last. Clear?”
“Crystal.” Lars reached for the coffee pot, testing my resolve, only to jerk his hand back after seeing the murderous look in my eyes. “So, in spite of themselves, the Magistrate paired the two of you up.”
“Does that make it serendipity or divine intervention?” I glanced at the clock, counting the minutes until the coffee was ready. Two down, two to go. “Do they make a twelve-cup version of this?” I pointed to the press. “Because having to share coffee every morning is enough to make me join a blood coven.”
Nicholas chuckled, the curve of his mouth settled into a lopsided grin that had my stomach doing somersaults— we hadn’t hit relationship status and it was unlikely we ever would but a crush? Maybe.
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