Tempest of Change

by Jacie Douglass

  I decide to ignore his text for the moment. I’ll figure out how to block him tomorrow.

  Saturday, October 31st

  ∞

  The buzzing of an alarm penetrates my dreams and I lash out, knocking the phone from the nightstand.

  “It’s too damn early,” I grumble rolling to the edge of the bed. The alarm continues to blare as I hang over the edge, fumbling for the evil phone. “Gotcha!” I hit stop and drag the covers back over my head. I’ve almost drifted back to sleep when the text alert hits.

  “Are you fucking serious?” I whine, fumbling for the phone.

  Angel Sebastian: Happy Birthday Sprite!

  Me: Sleeping!!! Zzzzzz

  Tank Clayton: Get up, Trouble! We’ve got plans for today!

  Vampire Jared: Why did our plans have to start at the ass crack of dawn again?

  Me: Exactly! Go back to bed!

  Nerd Ian: No bed, we have to be on the first ferry!

  Rock Star Samil: You’ve got 30 min Em, then we’re storming the castle.

  Me: Grr! I hate you all!

  Angel Sebastian: Pfft! You know you love us! But you don’t have to get dressed on our account, come as you are hehe

  Me: …. Fine, I’m getting up

  Groaning, I roll out of bed and head to the shower. Since they hadn’t told me what we’re doing today, I waste 10 minutes starting at my closet before settling on jeans and a black tee shirt with “Black is my Happy Color” written across the front. I’d just pulled on my Docs when the pounding starts on the front door. OMG the idiots are going to wake my Mom like that.

  I grab my phone and race down stairs. Disarming the alarm system, I throw open the door and pin Sebastian and Samil with a glare.

  “Are you trying to wake my Mom?” I demand. Sebastian flashes me an innocent smile and shoves a coffee cup in my hand. Slightly appeased, I take a sip. Mmmm peppermint mocha. Sebastian bounces up and down and I raise an eyebrow.

  “Exactly how much coffee have you had this morning?” I ask, taking another sip. I sigh happily, almost feeling human again.

  “Three cups? Maybe four?” Sebastian shrugs. “Come on! Let’s get going! The guys are waiting.” I roll my eyes and take a step back.

  “Lemme grab my purse,” I tell him. I duck into the kitchen, and reach for my bag. A bright pink envelope leans against it. Nice, I thought I’d at least get my birthday card from Mom in person. Grab it, I shove it in the bag and head back to the front door. Samil's got my jacket draped over his arm and Sebastian is practically vibrating with excitement, his aura sparking red and orange flares. Tossing his arm over my shoulder, he pulls me outside.

  “I’ve got the door,” Samil assures. “I’ll catch up you at the van.”

  The van’s side door is already open; Clayton’s waiting behind the wheel while the twins appear to be napping in the back row.

  Clayton flashes me a grin. “Happy Birthday, Trouble!”

  I grumble and clutch my coffee as I drag myself in and plop down in the middle row. Sebastian slides in next to me, practically sitting on my lap.

  “A little Breathing room, Bast?” I push at his shoulder but he just laughs, draping his arm over the back of the seat. Samil grabs the side door and closes it before joining Clayton up front.

  “This is going to be great!” Sebastian grins. I shake my head and drink more of my coffee goodness as Clayton cranks the engine and shifts into gear.

  “It’s already 7:10; maybe we should catch the next ferry.” I suggest.

  “That’s plenty of time, Trouble” Clayton answers, taking off down the driveway. “Besides, we’ve got a schedule to keep.” I close my eyes, as Clayton turns onto the road and hits the gas. Ugh, there is no way I can watch this, Clayton’s driving is nerve racking on the best of days.

  We just manage to make the ferry, thanks to some creative driving. I swear I’ve got grey hairs just from the ride. The dock worker directs us to drive onto the ferry, taking the last spot. Putting the van in park, Clayton turns to look at me.

  “Do you want to stay with the van or hanging out on deck?”

  “We might as well stay here,” Samil answers before I can. “The twins are down for the count back there.” He offers me my jacket; I hadn’t even realized he was still holding it. I smile my thanks and fold it up.

  “Works for me,” I agree, sliding my makeshift pillow between my head and the window. I close my eyes and let my thoughts drift.

  “Wake up Sleepyhead. We’re here!” Sebastian announces. I snuggle deeper into the warmth and grumble something undecipherable.

  “As nice as it is being your pillow, Sprite, we’ve got an appointment to keep.”

  I blink, slowly looking around. At some point, I’d shifted sides and my head ended up in Sebastian’s lap. I glance up at his bright smile and groan.

  “There better be more coffee coming my way,” I mutter, pulling myself upright.

  “Don’t worry, Emmy. We’ve got you covered,” Ian replies. I take another look around and realize the van is empty. The side door is open and the rest of the guys are watching from outside, with various expressions of amusement. I catch sight of Ian holding two cups. Oh, thank God.

  “Come on, Sprite, the day’s a wasting,” Sebastian grins, climbing out of the van. With a sigh, I pull myself together, shoulder my bag, and crawl out after him.

  “Coffee… I need coffee,” I moan reaching for Ian.

  Ian raises the cups up out of my reach and I raise an eyebrow.

  “Death wish?” I ask, grabbing his arm

  “Hug First?” he questions softly. Laughing, I move in and wrap my arms around his waist in a tight hug.

  “Silly boy, Is that better?” I smile. Ian nods, returning my smile.

  “Terrific! Now give me my coffee!” The guys bust out laughing, and I glare at them.

  “Better give it up, Ian. She might turn on you at any moment.” Clayton snickers. Stepping back, I give Ian my best pouty face.

  “Alright, alright, Emmy,” Ian finally relents, offering me a cup. “Just no more puppy dog eyes.” I take a deep drink of liquid happiness and sigh.

  Coffee in hand, I look around the mostly empty parking lot. “So… we were rushing to get to a strip mall?” Clayton grabs my shoulders and turns me to the left where there’s a standalone brick building. The windows are curtained and the writing on the glass is so faded I can’t make out what it says.

  “We’re getting tattoos, Trouble.” He laughs, rocking on his heels.

  “Wait, what?” I gasp as they herd me towards the building.

  “We think we’ve come up with a design that will help with the battery situation,” Samil’s answer comes from behind me and I glance back. His hazel eyes are serious as they catch mine and I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from asking for more information. Out in the open is definitely not the place to talk about this.

  “And we’re all going to get one,” Sebastian chimes in, distracting me.

  “Do I get to see this tattoo first?” I demand, not sure how I feel about their surprise. “And where exactly are they going to put it?” I hadn’t seriously considered getting a tattoo before. Piercings sure, but a tattoo seemed much more permanent. And potentially harder to hide.

  “We’ve got some ideas for ours,” Samil replies. “But with your scars, we figured it would be better to get the artist’s opinion on placement.” Jared opens the front door and we file in.

  “Samil!” A deep voice calls. I look around, catching sight of a burly older guy, his arms and neck covered in tattoos, lounging against the counter. He gives Samil a big grin. “Long time no see. Are you here for more ink?”

  “Hey, CJ,” Samil replies, offering him a hand for what turns into an elaborate handshake. “That’s right, me and my friends here. We should be in the book.” Tattoo Guy flips open the appointment book and nods.

  “Gotcha. You have a design in mind or do they need to see the flash art?” Tattoo Guy asks, gesturing to a pile of album
s off to the side.

  “I’ve got it,” Samil says, pulling out his wallet and putting two pieces of paper on the counter. “This one is for the guys.” He indicates the page on the left. “And this one is for Emily.” I peer around him to check out the designs. The guys’ is a relatively simple pentacle done in Celtic knot work. The design he said was for me starts with the same pentacle, but there are runes in the space between each point on the star. Nodding, Tattoo Guy opens a drawer and pulls a stack of papers out.

  “Looks good,” he says, handing them to Samil and pointing at the pen on the counter. “You know the drill, everyone signs a waiver and I’ll need to see ID’s.”

  Samil starts passing out the forms and I dig around in my purse till I find a couple of pens. Handing one off to Ian, I quickly fill it out and sign. Sebastian snatches the pen from me as soon as I’m done and leans on the counter to fill out his. I shake my head in amusement.

  “Every heard of asking, Bast?” I ask, eyebrow raised.

  “I already knew the answer Sprite, why waste time?” He pipes back, finishing his signature with an over dramatic flourish.

  Ugh! I don’t know why I bother to ask. Apparently good manners are something he’s still struggling with. Turning my attention back to my purse, I pull out my driver’s license and put it on the counter. The guys have already put their waivers and IDs in a pile and Tattoo Guy quickly looks each one over before handing it back. Ian offers me my pen and I flash him a smile.

  Movement from the corner of my eye catches my attention, and I glance over to see Sebastian handing Tattoo Guy a credit card.

  “Hey! I can pay for myself,” I protest, crossing my arms.

  “No way Pixie. This is part of your birthday present. We all pitched in to cover it.”

  I open my mouth to protest, as steady protective energy encircles me, followed by Clayton’s arms around my shoulders.

  “It’s your birthday, Trouble,” he rumbles. “Let us do this for you.”

  “Come on back, Samil,” Tattoo Guy says, coming around the counter. “I’ve got you and your girl. John and Jamie will get your friends started in a few.” Samil grabs my hand and we follow Tattoo Guy through the curtained archway into a long hall. He makes a sharp turn to the right and steps into a brightly lit room with walls covered in intricate artwork. There’s a weird boxy black reclining chair in the center and a rolling stool nearby. Tattoo Guy’s back is to us, as he stands at the desk going through some supplies.

  “Emily should go first,” Samil says.

  “What’s the plan for placement?” Tattoo Guy asks, turning back towards us.

  “I was thinking upper back, but you’ll need to see for yourself.” Samil looks over at me. “Em, do you mind showing CJ?”

  I shrug and pull off my shirt. Good thing I grabbed a cute bra today.

  “Damn, Sweetheart,” Tattoo Guy whistles from behind me. “So you’re wanting it here?” Fingers touch my back, drawing a circle starting at the base of my neck and ending between my shoulder blades. I fight the urge to pull away from his hand as his emotions hit me, clinical with a hint of unspoken curiosity. I force myself to keep my eyes open as I focus on reinforcing my shield, till his emotions fade away.

  “Scale and color?” Tattoo Guy asks Samil.

  “Big as you can go without hitting the scars.” Samil responds, glancing at me for approval. I nod. This was his idea, so whatever he thinks is best works for me. “And just black.”

  “And for yours?”

  “Whatever size you end up doing for Em, CJ.” Samil replies with a shrug. “Same placement and color.”

  “Gotcha.” Tattoo Guy nods, leaning over to adjust the levers on the weird chair. The back lowers until it lies flat, turning it into a padded table. “Settle in, Sweetheart. I’m going to make some copies to find the right size. Be back in a few.”

  Samil motions me towards the chair/table thing, waiting for me to sit on the edge before grabbing a chair from the corner and pulling it over so he can sit in front of me.

  “Sorry about this,” he says, gesturing to my bra uncomfortably before looking away. “I should have thought to bring a bikini for you to wear.”

  “No worries,” I shrug, grabbing his hand so he turns back towards me. “It is what it is.”

  “You sure?” He asks, his hazel eyes are filled with concern as he inspects my face.

  “Seriously,” I give his hand a squeeze. “This is how my body looks. Worrying about what other people think won’t change that. Besides, I saw an article about how people pay big bucks for Scarification, and here I have the real deal for free.”

  The door opens and Tattoo Guy comes back in with a small stack of papers.

  “Alright, you ready Sweetheart?”

  “Go for it,” I reply, standing up so I can climb back on the table and lay on my stomach. There’s a faint crinkling of paper against my skin as Tattoo Guy tests which size to go with. He must have decided because next thing I know something cold is being wiped across my upper back, followed by the feel of paper pressed against my skin. I can hear the sound of bottles knocking against each other, then the paper is peeled away.

  “Do you want me to leave?” Samil asks, suddenly looking uncertain.

  “Nope,” I flash him a smile and squeeze his hand again. “This was your idea, and I need the moral support.”

  “Just let me know if you need a break,” Tattoo Guy says, turning on the gun.

  “Will do,” I reply as he starts to work. I suck in a sharp breath at the pain, gripping Samil’s hand tightly. “So it’s now your job to distract me, Sammy. Tell me about your tattoos. Can I see them?”

  “Sure,” Samil shrugs, standing and pulling off his shirt in one fluid motion. He reveals WAY more eye candy than I’d expected. How had I not seen him without his shirt on before? He had to be seriously working out, cause the boy was ripped. With muscular arms and a well-defined six pack. Do not drool, damn it.

  “So when did you get your first one?” I ask, as much to distract me from checking him out as from the pain of the tattoo.

  He points to realistic image of a man in a small sailboat tattooed on his left bicep. Thank god for his tattoos, at least they made it less obvious I was staring.

  “This was my first. I got it for my 17th birthday.”

  I raise an eyebrow. “How’d you manage that? I thought you had to be 18 to get a tattoo.”

  “Unless you have a parent’s permission,” Samil smiles sadly. “It’s based off a picture of my Dad. It took me 3 years to save up the money and talk my Mom into it. Now this one was for my 18th birthday.” He turns and points to his right bicep, with a beautifully detailed image of an old fashioned sailing ship. “My Dad was so proud of our family’s heritage as sailors. This one is based on my Great Great Great Great Grandfather’s ship, the one that brought our family and the other original settlers to the island.”

  “Wow, that’s really cool. And they look incredible; you’re a walking work of art.” I breathe, the tattoos and the history behind them, distracting me from the pain.

  “Thanks to CJ,” Samil says with one of his rare smiles. “He’s the real artist here.” The indigo and violet swirls around him for a moment, then reform into phantom wings across his chest before fading. I blink rapidly as the image disappears.

  “Wings,” I mumble. Samil leans in, capturing my eyes and I find myself falling into the depth of his gaze. The color flickering from hazel to green to blue and back again.

  “What was that?” He asks, sitting back down, not bothering to put his shirt back on. He takes my hand between his. Blinking, I shake my head, still trying to process it. “What did you say, Em?”

  I reach out with my free hand, hovering over his chest, where I’d seen the image.

  “Wings,” I say finally. “You need wings, right here, outstretched out across your chest.” I’m careful not to touch him, holding my fingers a few inches from his skin. But even then, I can still feel his energy tingling acros
s my fingertips. “A hawk, or an owl, maybe a phoenix.” I shake my head, realizing at some point the buzzing of the tattoo gun had stopped. My cheeks burn and I pull my hand back.

  “I’ll see what I can come up with,” Tattoo Guy offers and Samil nods in acknowledgement. “I need to grab some more ink.” He pats me on the shoulder. “We’re halfway there, Sweetheart. You’re doing great, hang in there.” I hear his footsteps retreating. I close my eyes, trying to break the tension in the room.

  “Why wings?” Samil asks. “Did you see something?” I don’t need to look to know he’s watching me, his head tilted to one side while he considers everything.

  “For a minute,” I finally admit. “Wings on your chest created with your energy. Do you think it means something?” I manage to meet his gaze, but his eyes are distant, his expression thoughtful. Shaking his head like he’s coming out of a dream, he leans down and grabs a water bottle, cracking it open before offering it to me. I give him a grateful smile and take a drink, trying to distract myself from how beautiful he is. How is it that the five best looking guys on the island want to be friends with me?

  I take another drink before passing it back to him, the energy humming between our fingers as they brush. Damn, I wish I knew what he was thinking. Did he feel the energy too or is it just in my head? It’s on the tip of my tongue to ask, but the sound of Tattoo Guy returning stops me. The tattoo gun buzzes back to life and I take a deep breath. Samil entwines his fingers with mine.

  And he’s talking again. This time telling me stories about the time spent with his Dad on the ocean. Stories about his family history and the legends past down about his Great Great Great Great Grandfather. I let his words wash over me; the feel of his hand in mine soothing.

  “We’ll have to take you sailing this summer, when the ocean’s calm and the weather good,” Samil says. I smile at the idea of making plans for the future with them. I let my thoughts drift, wondering what my future could look like on the island, a future with the guys in it, when the sound stops and Tattoo Guy taps my shoulder.