Ink Exchange

Chapter 24

Leslie felt a compulsion riding inside her, leaving her with an inexplicable need to move. Her skin felt tight and tingly. She reached back and tore away the bandage that Rabbit had put over her tattoo. The bandage was wet, not with blood but with plasma and traces of ink. Her shirt stuck to her damp skin, its fabric probably getting stained, but she couldn't stand having her beautiful tattoo trapped.

She tossed the bandage in the trash and headed down Crofter Avenue toward the Crow's Nest, grinning to herself when she saw the club's red neon sign. A few guys were hanging out in the shadowed alley alongside the building; it was a shortcut over to the railroad yard, but most people used it as a spot to smoke. As she approached, she saw one guy punch another. She smiled, feeling a pleasant jolt of adrenaline as the two men began hitting each other unreservedly.

At the door of the club, Glenn, the doorman, stopped her. His attention flicked to the fight in the alley, and the bars in his face glittered as the red light from the sign hit them. He shook his head at the fight. Then turned his attention back to her. "Five-dollar cover tonight."

"Least they're fighting outside." She pulled a crinkled bill out of her pocket and held her hand out for the stamp.

"They're staying out, too." He grinned at her. "You bringing trouble in your wake these days?"

She laughed, but privately she wondered if he was right. Inside the club the lead singer of the band all but screamed his lyrics; Leslie winced. "They don't sound like they're worth it."

"Could be worse." Glenn put the money in the box and leaned back on his stool. They listened to the guitar-heavy music for a minute; then he grinned again. "Or not."

"Anybody around?" She couldn't see far into the crowd.

"Seth and Ash are over by the wall." He inclined his chin toward the most shadowed part of the club.

"Is Keenan with them?"

"Yeah, he's there too." Glenn scowled, but he didn't say more.

The door opened behind Leslie. Glenn turned to the newcomer. "Ten-dollar cover."

Leslie leaned in and asked, "Inflation?"

"Nah. Doorman's prerogative." He quirked his mouth in a crooked smile.

She shook her head and started to walk off, but Glenn put a hand on her arm.

"Watch yourself. All sorts of freaks in town tonight." Glenn shot a glance over the crowded room. The usual familiar faces were there, but a lot of strangers were in the crowd too. Maybe that's what all the fights were about: maybe gangs were moving in.

No. It felt weird to think it, but somehow she suspected that the fights were tied to her. It seemed solipsistic to consider it, but the idea felt true.

Or I'm losing it.

"You okay?" Glenn raised his voice to be heard over the increasing din, and she felt a wave of something— protectiveness—roll from him. "I could get Tim to watch the door and—"

"No, I'm cool." She didn't feel nervous, not tonight, not anymore. Her hand strayed to her tattoo, hidden under her shirt. "Thanks, though."

She squeezed her way through the crowd to Seth and Aislinn. They sat as close together as they could while still remaining on separate chairs.

Aislinn looked up. "Hey."

Beside her, Seth nodded and looked meaningfully at Aislinn and then back at Leslie. "You should talk."

"Sure." Leslie slid into the chair Seth pushed toward her. She leaned toward Aislinn. "Seth says you have something to tell me. Secret spilling and all that."

"I'm sorry about not telling you; I just wanted to keep you safe" — Aislinn bit her lip—"from things. When I heard about Ren's—"

"Don't," Leslie interrupted, waiting for the panic to hit, but it was just a dull roar. "You know my secrets. Got it."

"You're right." Aislinn took a deep breath before looking at Seth for assurance.

Keenan approached the table with sodas for Aislinn and Seth and a glass of wine for himself. He handed Seth the drinks and turned to her. "Niall's not here yet. What shall I get you?"

"Nothing." She didn't have much cash on her, and accepting anything from Keenan made her uncomfortable, especially after the other night.

He scowled briefly at the crowd between him and the bar. "Soda? Tea? Water?"

"Nothing."

"Would—"

"Nothing," she interrupted in a firm voice. She stood back up. She needed to get away from Keenan. Now. She told Aislinn, "Come find me when you figure out what you're trying to say."

But Keenan came closer, beside Aislinn, putting himself between her and Leslie.

Get away from him. He's danger. Enemy. Not us. Leslie stared out at the throng of bodies. The band was awful but she wanted to move, burn some energy, ride out whatever rush she had going from the ink.

"We need to talk, Leslie." Aislinn sounded so serious, so worried.

Leslie forced herself to look at Aislinn. "Sure. I'll be on the dance floor when you're ready."

Leslie stepped away from the table, feeling the increasing pressure to get away from Keenan, to run. Her hands trembled from trying to stay still.

"Leslie, stop," Keenan said as he grabbed the bottom of her shirt.

Aislinn took hold of his wrist but couldn't push him away. "What are you doing?"

Keenan put his other hand on Leslie's hip and turned her. He lifted her shirt, baring Leslie's whole back to Aislinn and anyone who was near. "Look."

Aislinn gasped. "What have you done, Les?"

"Got a tattoo. You knew that." Leslie pulled out of Keenan's grasp. "Lots of people have them. Maybe you should be asking your idiot boyfriend here what he's doing. I don't appreciate being treated like—"

"She doesn't know, Aislinn." Keenan sounded weirdly gentle, soothing as if warm breezes were riding on his voice.

But Leslie felt her anger rising with each word that fell from his lips. This anger was not fleeting or fading.

Danger. He's dangerous to us. She paused. Us?

Keenan looked inhuman as he stepped closer to her. Some trick of the club lights made him glow like a golden effigy come to life. His voice burned her skin when he demanded, "Who did it?"

She crossed her arms, half-hugging herself, refusing to give in to the urge to run. Fear vied with anger, but she tilted her head to glare at him. "Why? You want one?"

"Tell me." Keenan gave her a look so predatory, she felt her stomach twist in fear. It was a terrifying look—but no one else saw it. Aislinn and Seth were watching her, not Keenan.

She'd had enough. Her anger and fear fled again; she smiled with a cruelty she didn't remember owning. "Back off, Keenan. I'm not yours to command. Not now. Not ever. Don't cross me, kingling."

Kingling?

They weren't her words. They didn't make sense. But she felt better for saying them. She walked away and wiggled through the crowd until she reached the front of the stage. She felt like she was looking for someone, the one who would make it all better. Where are you? The thought repeated like a chant in her mind, so much so that she must have said it aloud.

He answered, "I'm right here."

And she knew who it was without looking. "Irial."

"How are you tonight, my love?"

"Furious. You?" She turned to face him, letting her gaze rake over him the way he'd looked at her at the Rath. He looked good, like sin in a suit. From the tips of his soft leather boots to the silk of his shirt, he was gorgeous, but a pretty package wasn't reason enough to forgive his near assault, to forgive anything. She summoned up her anger, her embarrassment, her fear. Then she looked him straight in the eye and said, "Not impressed or interested."

"Liar." He smiled then, and traced his finger down her wrist. He inhaled deeply, like he was trying to catch and hold an illusive scent, and she was suddenly calm. She wasn't afraid, wasn't anxious, none of the things she should feel. Instead she felt something uncoiling inside of her, a shadowy shape stretching and writhing under her skin.

Her eyes started to close; her heart fluttered. No. She stepped backward and told him, "You should go away."

"And leave you to fend for yourself?" He shook his head. "Now, why would I do that? I'll look after you when the kingling comes prowling this way in a moment. The boy's a nuisance."

"I have a date," she said, although she wasn't entirely sure how well that would go right now. Focus on that. Niall lived with Keenan, was his guardian, and right now the idea of crossing paths with Keenan made her want to strike someone. She froze then, as something pieced together. "Kingling?"

"The boy. But let's not talk about him." He took her hands. "Dance with me, Leslie. I'll be nice. Proper, even. Let's enjoy our moment before business interferes."

I should just go. But walking away from Irial didn't appeal to her. Everyone had warned her that he was trouble, but he didn't frighten her, not right now. It was Keenan who terrified her. Having Irial beside her felt right, natural. She didn't move—or answer him.

In the most enticing voice she'd ever heard, Irial said, "Come now, Leslie, would Niall really mind if we had one dance? More important, do you really mind?"

"I should." She didn't, though. Briefly she gave in to the urge to close her eyes against the spiraling ecstasy that had begun to make her body hum.

"Call it an apology? I frightened you at the Rath, didn't I?" His voice seemed so inviting, easing her further into calm. "One song and then we'll sit and talk. I'll stay politely back if you but tell me to."

She swayed toward him like a cobra weaving to a snake charmer's songs. His arms slid around her.

The music was still fast, something suited to thrashing about manically, but Irial seemed oblivious to it. "See, love? Where's the harm, hmm?"

They danced, but she wasn't feeling trapped. She felt dizzy but confident, stepping away when the song ended.

Irial didn't touch her. He walked beside her. In the darkest corner of the room, he snagged two bottles of water from a waitress.

"So, how are you feeling after Bunny-boy's work?" He stood between her and the rest of the club.

She cracked the seal on the bottle of water and leaned against the wall, reveling in the feel of the bass thumping inside her skin. "What?"

Slowly, he reached out toward her. He slid his right hand up the back of her shirt along her spine to rest atop her still-tender skin. "The ink. Our tattoo."

"Our tattoo?"

He leaned in closer and whispered, "I know you heard me, saw me watching when Rabbit drew on that delicate skin."

He pressed his fingers over the tattoo until she winced. Her heart raced as if she'd been running for hours, as if the things in her nightmares had stepped into the room. He's lying. Crazy…He's… not. His words tasted true, felt right as they seeped into her mind.

"I felt each touch of the needle, drawing us closer and closer together. My eyes, Leslie, on your skin. My essence, love, buried inside you." Irial leaned back, giving her a scant bit of space, making it possible for her to look into his eyes. "You're my Mercy, my Shadow Girl, my banquet. Only mine."

She slid partway down the wall and would have hit the floor if he hadn't pulled her closer.

"That terror you feel right now" — he spoke softly, lips hovering over hers. "I can make it stop, just like that."

As he said that, he inhaled, and she felt perfectly calm, as if they'd been discussing nothing special.

Her mind couldn't process it—refused to attempt to make sense of what he'd said. Clarity filled her: all the weirdness of the past few days had brought her here. He's what's changed. He's why I'm … wrong.

"It's not possible," she said to him, to herself.

"You picked me. Rabbit told you it would change you."

"So Rabbit drew your eyes, my bad luck." She slid to the side, moving a little bit away from him. "That doesn't tie us together. It's just ink."

With sinuous grace, he turned to lean on the spot she'd just vacated, putting them side by side. He didn't look at her but watched the dancers instead as he said, "You don't believe that. You know better. Somewhere inside, you feel different. I know that, as clearly as I know that you're watching for Niall, hoping he'll actually strike me this time."

She turned to look at him. "What?"

"He won't. Can't. There are only a few who can touch me, and he's not one of them. But" — he drew a deep breath and let it out in a long sigh, stirring tendrils of her hair— "I do like that you're wishing it. Healthy feelings, those ones—rage, dismay, fear, and a bit of guilty temptation. They taste good."

He laughed, a smoky sound curling around her like shadows taking form, like the shadows she'd imagined—not imagined, but truly seen—hovering over the bottle of ink at Rabbit's shop. She looked then, and saw shadows flowing through the room, crawling toward her from the bodies on the dance floor, stretching themselves out like they had hands that would stroke her skin—and she really didn't want them to. Do I? She licked her lips, tasting honey— longing—and pushed away from the wall.

Coming through those shadow-draped bodies were Keenan, Aislinn, and Seth. None of them looked happy, but it was Seth's worried expression that made her falter. She didn't want them to reach her any more than she wanted the shadows to. Rage at Keenan spiked, matching the cloud of salt-soaked anger that came through the air in front of him like fog coming in from the sea.

Irial twirled her into his arms and gave her a look that made her shiver with longing.

"Mmmm, I like that one, but" — he kissed her forehead tenderly—"I need to deal with business now. We'll have plenty of time for that soon enough."

She stepped away from him, stumbling into the crowd, where Keenan caught her without looking away from Irial. But being in Keenan's grip made anger flare purer than she'd thought she could feel, replaced the blood in her veins with salt. "Don't touch me," she hissed. "Don't you ever touch me, kingling."

"I'm sorry, Les. I'm so sorry," Aislinn whispered to her. For a moment it looked like golden tears slid down her cheeks, but then she turned away and said, "Seth?"

"I got her." Seth pulled her away from Keenan and tucked her under his arm protectively. "Come on, Les."

Keenan put a hand on Seth's shoulder. "Take her to Niall."

"I'm not going anywhere," she told the assembled group. "I don't know what's going on, but I'm—"

"Go home. You'll be safer away from this rabble." Irial inhaled again, and Leslie thought she could actually see shadows crawling across a twisting vine of ink—with feathers where leaves should be—that grew from her skin and vibrated in the air between them. When that shadow vine stilled, she suddenly felt calm again, at peace, quiet.

And she didn't want to be there any longer.

She didn't speak to any of them as she turned her back and left.