Ink Exchange

Chapter 17

"Leslie? Leslie!" Sylvie waved her hand in front of Leslie's face. "Damn. What are you smoking?"

"What?" Leslie tilted the glass of soda, pouring a little out so it wouldn't spill. Thoughts of Niall, of her nightmares of Irial, of her promise to talk to Aislinn, of the weirdly costumed crowd, of the surreal encounter with Rabbit's father, of her assault on the dealer at the house— they tangled and spun in her mind until she wasn't sure of what had really happened at all. Did I break his arm?

"Get some sleep or something tonight. You're a mess." Sylvie made a disgusted sound. Then she pointed to the main room. "The couple in section three need their check. Now."

"Right." Leslie set the drinks on her tray and headed back into the din of the restaurant.

The rest of the shift passed in a blur. Leslie smiled and kept herself on autopilot. Bring the drink. Inane chitchat. Smile. Always remember to smile. Sound sincere. She was tired, exhausted really, but she got it done. Table by table, order by order, she got it done. That's how life worked: just keep moving, and it'll pass.

When her shift ended, she cashed out her tips and folded the money—my ink fund—into her pocket and made a mental note not to leave it out where her father or Ren could see it. She walked down Trestle Way, too tired to bother seeing who was out and about. I just want to crash. She'd gone a few blocks when she bumped into Ani and Tish.

"Leslie!" Ani squealed. She was terminally incapable of speaking at a reasonable volume. "Ohmygods, you look awful."

Tish shoved her sister. "Tired. She meant you look tired. Right, Ani?"

"No. She looks, you know, like she needs to go relax." Ani was unapologetic as always. "We're going to the Crow's Nest. You in?"

Leslie summoned up a smile. "I'm not sure I could walk that far tonight. … Hey, I met your father earlier. He's nice."

As they walked, Leslie filled them in on select details— omitting Gabriel's giving her a ride to work and her own impossible violence. Leslie felt her knees go wobbly when they turned on Harper. Too tired for this. She drew a few breaths, stopped moving. Near her were several people cowering in terror, backs to the wall as if something horrid were leering at them. One wept, begging for mercy. Leslie couldn't move.

"Just vagrants, Les. Bad drugs or something. Come on." The sisters kept walking, propelling her along with them.

"No." Leslie shook her head. It was something else. She tried to see it, sure something was there, like a shadow that lay atop the other shadows.

She started to walk toward the shadows, as if a string had found its way into the middle of her belly and she were being reeled in. A man was dancing manically on a stoop, which was weird enough, but he also seemed to be covered in thorns like shimmering green rose stems.

Ani looped an arm around Leslie's Waist. "Come on, sleepy girl. Let's go play. You'll catch your second wind once you get moving again."

"Did you see him?" Leslie stumbled again.

Tish clapped her hands. "Oooh, wait until you see the new dartboards Keenan bought for the club. I heard that all his girlfriend said was that she wanted to try darts, and boom, there were three new boards the next day."

"She's not his girlfriend," Leslie murmured, glancing back behind them at the doorway. The thorn man waved at her.

"Whatever." Ani tugged Leslie forward. "There's new boards."

Leslie hadn't been at the club more than a half hour when Mitchell—her loudmouthed ex—showed up. Not surprisingly, he was ripped.

"Lezzie, girl!" He gave her a cruel smile. "Where's tonight's toy? Or" — he lowered his voice—"do you just take care of that with battery power these days?"

His dumbass friends laughed.

"Back off, Mitchell," she said. Dealing with him was never pleasant. After her mother had left, Leslie and Ren had both made some stupid choices, chasing a fix. Ren's fix had cost Leslie a lot, but even before that, she'd made a few choices that'd cost her. She'd tried to forget where she was, how wrong things were. It made her do stupid things. Mitchell had been one of those stupid things.

From out of nowhere, Niall was there. "Are you okay?"

"I will be." Leslie turned to walk away from Mitchell, but he grabbed her arm. Unbidden, the image of the dealer crumpling to the ground with her hand on his wrist rose up. It would be wrong. She stared at Mitch's hand on her skin. So? He's wrong.

"Don't touch Leslie," Niall said. He didn't move, but the tension in his body was obvious enough that people were backing away.

"Niall? It's cool. I've got it." She pulled her arm away from Mitchell, but when she turned around, Mitchell slapped her ass. His friends laughed again, but this time they sounded a little nervous.

Leslie swung back, hand curled into a fist, angry to a degree that felt obscenely good. For a moment, her vision was off. People all through the club were watching her, but they didn't look like people. Claws, thorns, wings, horns, fur, misshapen features, so many people looked wrong. It made her pause. Niall stepped in front of her and asked, "Are you well?" She was anything but well. Her pulse was racing like she had been chasing caffeine pills with espresso shots. Her vision was a mess; her emotions were a mess; and she wasn't about to say any of that aloud. Instead, she said, "I'm fine. It's fine. Everything's … fine. You don't need to—“

He cut her off. "He shouldn't disrespect you like that."

Leslie put her hand on Niall's shoulder. "He's no one. Come on."

Mitchell rolled his eyes. She hoped he'd leave it at that, but he was too drunk to have the sense to keep his mouth shut. He leaned in toward Niall. "You don't need to act all heroic to get in her pants, man. She'll spread those scrawny legs for anyone. Won'tcha, Lezzie?"

The sound that came out of Niall's mouth was more animal than human. He started forward, his body at an odd angle as if something were physically holding him back. Mitchell backed up. Leslie followed. She reached out then and gripped Mitchell's face with both hands. She pulled him toward her like she'd kiss him. When he was close enough to feel her words on his lips, she whispered, "Don't. Not tonight. Not ever again." She squeezed his face until tears came to his eyes. "I'll eat you alive. Got it?"

Then she let go, and he stumbled backward. The people who were watching her, those who'd looked just a moment ago feathered and oddly proportioned and otherwise not right, grinned. Some nodded at her. Others applauded. She pulled her gaze away from them. They didn't matter. What mattered was that her heartbeat was calm again.

A few steps away, Mitchell stood stuttering. "She … she … did you see … bitch threatened—"

Right then, Leslie felt invincible, like she could walk into a fight and not be touched, like there was some extra energy humming in her bones. It made her want to move, roam, see how far she could push it. She started to walk away, but Niall touched her arm gently.

"There's all sorts of dangers out there." He caught and held her gaze. "It would be safest if I walk with you."

Safe wasn't quite what appealed to her right then. Safe wasn't how she felt. Invincible, in control, powerful— those words felt closer to true. Whatever this fearlessness, this strength, this difference was, she was starting to like it. She laughed. "I don't need protecting, but I'd take the company."

Although Niall was mostly quiet as they walked through the dim streets, it didn't feel awkward or uncomfortable. Her bad feelings, her usual worries and fears, seemed to be absent. It felt good; she felt good. The choice to change herself, to get her skin decorated, had been a turning point.

Niall caught her hand in his as they walked. "Will you stay at Seth's tonight? I have a key."

She wanted to ask why he cared where she slept, but the chance to stay somewhere safe was reason enough not to ask. She might feel invulnerable, but she wasn't entirely without logic. So she asked, "Where's Seth?"

"At the loft with Aislinn."

"And where are you planning to stay?" she asked.

"Outside."

"So you're going to sleep in the yard?" She looked away, and in doing so saw him out of the corner of her eye. Gone was the face she recognized. His eyes weren't just brown: they were shimmering with the patina of well-aged wood, the sheen of something caressed too often. His scar was red, like a still-tender wound, jagged as if an animal had slashed one long claw over his face. But it wasn't these things that made her draw her breath in so suddenly: he glowed faintly, as if he were being illuminated from some brazier inside.

As at the Crow's Nest, what she'd seen a moment ago and what she saw now weren't the same at all. She shivered, staring at him, reaching her hand out to touch the thick black shadows that lingered alongside his skin. Those dark shadows surged toward her hand, as if she were a magnet.

"Leslie?" He whispered her name, and it was the voice of wind racing down an alley, not a sound made by a person.

She blinked, hoping he wasn't one of those people who asked, "What are you thinking?" She wasn't sure what she'd say. The shadows pushed against her outstretched fingers, and she had a flash of the ink at Rabbit's shop: those shadows had wanted to crawl toward her from the uncapped ink bottle.

Niall spoke again. "I want to stay with you, but I can't."

Hesitantly she faced him, immeasurably relieved that he looked normal again. She looked at the street. Everything looked fine. What just happened? She was about to turn her head again, to see if he'd look different again, but he lifted her hand to his lips and pressed a kiss to the underside of her wrist.

She forgot about looking at him in her peripheral vision, forgot about the shadows that crept toward her. It was a choice. She could look at the ugliness, the oddities, the wrongness, or she could let herself enjoy life. She wanted that, pleasure instead of ugliness. Niall was offering it to her.

He leaned closer, his face hovering over the pulse of her throat now. It sounded like he said, "Do you know what I would trade to be with you?" But then he pulled away and distance returned to his voice. "Let me take you to Seth's tonight. I'll sit with you until you sleep if you want, if you'll let me."

"Okay." Leslie felt dizzy, swaying into him.

Niall put a hand on either side of her face. "Leslie?"

"Yes. Please." She felt high, blissed out. It was lovely— and she wanted more.

His lips were close enough that she felt his breath with each word. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't—"

"I said yes."

And he closed the slight distance between them and kissed her. She felt the same rush of fierce winds that she thought she'd heard in his voice. She felt it wrap around her like the air had grown solid and touched her everywhere at once, soft and unyielding at the same time. The ground felt different, like there would be thick moss under her feet if she looked. It was euphoric, but somewhere inside, panic was trying to force itself to the surface. She started to push him away, opened her eyes.

He tightened his hold and whispered, "It's okay. It'll be okay. I can stop. We can … stop."

But it felt like she was at the edge of a chasm, a swirling mass of tastes and colors she hadn't known could exist. The panic fled, and all she could think of was finding a way to reach that chasm, to slide down the slope into it. There was no pain there. There was nothing but ecstacy, mind-numbingly good and soul sating.

"Not stop," she murmured and pressed closer to him.

It isn't okay. She knew that, but she didn't care. Tiny slivers of shadows danced at the edges of her vision, gyrating like they'd stretch up to consume the moon. Or me. And in that moment, she hoped they would succeed.