by Bryan, JL
“That’s even crazier if that works,” the girl said. “You’re sure nothing like this has ever happened before?”
“Not before today.”
The fitness center girl seemed to think it over for a minute.
“Okay,” she finally said. Then she blushed a little and asked, “Can I maybe have one more night with it?”
“Whatever you like,” Cassidy said. “I’ll do it whenever you want. No charge, obviously. I promise this is as crazy to me as it is to you.”
“Yeah, I mean it’s kind of amazing, isn’t it? Maybe I could get on talk shows or a reality show or something! Don’t you think?” The girl seemed suddenly excited by the idea. “I could be famous!”
“Sure,” Cassidy said. “That could happen.”
“Let me sleep on it,” the girl told her. “Don’t tell anyone, okay? I want to keep it a secret until I can show it off on TV or something.”
“Whatever you want,” Cassidy said. “Call me if you change your mind.”
Before she could return to her current customer, her manager, Jarvis, approached her with a portable phone.
“I’m tattooing,” Cassidy said. Around the shop, that meant no interruptions, no phone calls.
“You had time for Hot Pants out there,” Jarvis told her. “This customer sounds unhappy.”
Cassidy sighed and took the phone.
“Why are you getting so many complaints today? What’s happening?” Jarvis asked.
Cassidy ignored him and carried the phone toward the bathroom at the back of the shop, giving her customer an apologetic look as she passed her station. The fiftyish biker made a show of drumming his fingers and pretending to check a wristwatch, though he wasn’t actually wearing one. He’d been blatantly trying to look down her shirt for the past hour, so she didn’t feel bad for making him wait.
“Hello?” Cassidy asked. She closed the bathroom door behind her for privacy.
“This fucking chameleon keeps changing colors,” the voice on the other end said. She immediately knew it was Freddy Lin, who ran a semi-questionable computer shop in Cabbagetown, selling hardware at suspiciously deep discounts, cash only. Freddy was already inked from neck to toe, but Cassidy had managed to squeeze the little chameleon onto a narrow blank strip on his chest.
“What do you mean, Freddy?” Cassidy tried to act surprised, but she was beginning to expect this kind of thing. The day had dragged on long enough that she’d convinced herself she wasn’t asleep and dreaming, but that left her with the very uncomfortable alternative that the tattoos she drew were actually coming to life.
“Blue shirt, blue chameleon. Black shirt, black chameleon,” Freddy told her. “I didn’t know you could do that. You didn’t say anything about it.”
“Do you like it?”
“Except when I take my shirt off. Then it turns flesh-colored and disappears.”
“I’m sorry. If you can come in, maybe we can find a way to fix it.”
“I want another one,” he said. “On my face. I love this thing.”
Cassidy let out a small breath of relief. “Let’s make an appointment.”
When she was off the phone, Cassidy returned to her waiting client.
“Are you too busy for me, darling?” he asked. “I bet I can find somebody else ain’t so busy.”
“Sorry, Gus.” Cassidy looked at the chain outline she’d drawn around his calf and shin. Gus wanted her to add long, sharp spikes to the chain, but now she imagined him coming back in a day or two with bloody holes all over his leg. “I was thinking, though. I had kind of a bolt of inspiration.”
“What’s that?”
“You already have medieval weapons—the mace, the morning star, the lance. What if this one could be something...else?”
“Like what?”
“Let me think. Something for good luck? Like a...” Cassidy looked at the chrome chain she’d already drawn. “A charm bracelet?”
The biker laughed. “I don’t think so. Just do what we talked about before you get more phone calls.”
“No, but I mean one that’s right for you,” Cassidy said. “Things that are lucky for you, like...a motorcycle, or...”
“Four-leaf clover?” he snorted.
“But made of chrome.”
His eyes widened. “Oh, I gotcha. Chrome horseshoe...Damn, I like that idea. What all should I put on it?”
“Maybe you could think of a list,” she said.
“I’m gonna do that. I’m absolutely gonna do that. Let me drink on it and I’ll come back next week.” He stood, letting his pants leg drop into place. “A badass charm bracelet. This is gonna be one hell of a tat, if you pull it off.”
“I’ll do my best.”
“I know you can do it, sugar. I’ll call you when I got it figured out.” He winked. “You better wear something sexy when I come back, now.”
“You just give me a fat tip and I’ll think about it.”
He gave her a twenty and winked again before leaving. Cassidy let out a breath and let her shoulders slump. That was one catastrophe averted.
“Did you just run off another customer?” Jarvis popped up behind Cassidy, startling her.
“No, he changed his mind about the tattoo. Going in a different direction.”
“Like the direction of another shop? What’s going on with your customers today, Cassidy? I need to be aware of any issues affecting Neolithic and its reputation. Reputation is everything, Cassidy.”
“Everything’s fine,” Cassidy said. “I need a drink. Call me if you need me.” Cassidy started for the front door.
“You can’t come back to work if you’re drinking,” Jarvis said.
“Not to ink anybody, but I can still talk and sketch.” Cassidy walked right out, though she could feel his eyes boring into her back.
“I need you here working, Cassidy. The whole team needs you here. We’re like a military unit, all marching together.”
“Stop being so corporate, Jarvis,” she said, and the door swung shut behind her.
Cassidy hurried down the street to Five Fingers Tavern.
“Hit me quick,” she told Barb when she reached the bar, and Barb obliged her with a small shot of whiskey. The place had a light crowd, not too busy.
“More,” Cassidy said.
“Take it easy,” Barb said. “You’ve been downing it by the gallon lately. I don’t want to get stuck taking you the hospital because you O.D.’d on Kilbeggan. That would be sad for me and embarrassing for you.”
“I’ve had a hell of a day, though. I need it.”
“Tell me about it,” Barb said. “Dan—that’s the new barback—he’s got some kind of bad spider bite on his arm, so I’m doing half his work today.”
“A spider bite? Is it bad?”
“Dan!” Barb shouted, and the straw-haired Appalachian kid emerged from somewhere in the back. “Show Cassidy your arm.”
“Ain’t that crazy?” Dan asked Cassidy as he held out the arm she’d tattooed. His inner forearm was swollen and dark red all around the brown recluse image. “Thing bit me right where you drew it, like it was some kind of sign sayin’ ‘Bite Here.’ Hurts like somebody hammered a couple of rusty nails in there.”
“I’m sorry,” Cassidy said. “Maybe I can fix it.”
“Not unless you’re a doctor and a tattooer,” Dan said.
“Maybe you should go to the doctor,” Barb said. “I’ll cover for you.”
“Naw, can’t afford that. I got to unload the dishwasher.” Dan returned to the back, holding his reddened arm.
“That’s been happening all day,” Cassidy said in a low voice.
“Spider bites? Are the spiders invading?” Barb asked.
“No, my tattoos.” Cassidy told her about the other customers. “Everything I draw kind of halfway comes to life.”
“Damn, that’s amazing.”
“Amazing? Not freaky? Not like a weird dream that won’t end?”
“Cassidy, you’ve got some
real power,” Barb whispered, leaning over the bar. “Ever since the crash. First astral projection and now this.”
“Don’t get all—”
“Don’t you tell me not get all supernatural on you. We should be past that by now. Are you still trying to deny it?”
Cassidy sighed. “I guess not. What do I do now?”
“I don’t know, but I have to say I’m getting jealous.”
“Why?”
“Why do you think? I’ve been studying this crap for years and I still can’t do anything. You’ve got all these talents showing up, and you don’t even want them.”
“I definitely don’t. How do I get rid of them?”
“Don’t even say that. I’m not sure it can be done. That car crash must have awoken some hidden part of you, but it was probably always there. Does your mom have any of these abilities? Or Kieran?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Maybe you should talk to her about it.”
“What am I going to say?” Cassidy asked. “You know, Ibis gave me something. An old book about some witch from my parents’ old town in Ireland.”
“Really? What did it say?”
“Don’t know, haven’t really looked at it.”
“What? It might have some answers. Clues, at least.”
“I don’t think so.” Cassidy shook her head and tapped her empty glass, but Barb didn’t move to refill it. “The book’s like two hundred years old, anyway.”
“You have to show me. I want to read it even if you don’t!” Barb shook her head. “It figures. All this pointless work on my part to try and develop a little power and protection, and it turns out you’re full of crazy magic.”
“Your work wasn’t pointless. The circles you drew cleared the little transparent pests out of my room. And one you must have drawn in your room worked, too—I couldn’t get very close to you when I was traveling out of body.”
“Really!” Barb’s face lit up. “It’s actually working? I was beginning to think it was all a stupid waste of time, just me walking around and chanting like an idiot for no reason.”
“It’s actually working.”
“This is great, Cassidy.”
“For you, maybe.”
“We have to go look at that book as soon as we get home.”
“Fine. Now pour me another drink.” Cassidy tapped her glass again, and Barb poured in just a splash, barely enough to cover the bottom. Cassidy scowled a little. “Come on, this is the Five Fingers Tavern. That’s not even half a finger of whiskey. It’s barely a fingernail.”
“Just a little more.” Barb splashed in another half a shot. “I don’t want you blacking out before we get home and dig out your secrets.”
“I wouldn’t mind that at all,” Cassidy told her, and then she downed her drink.
Chapter Thirty-Two
At their house, Cassidy reluctantly led Barb into her room and closed the door behind them. Cassidy walked slowly, with a bad limp, but her leg had greatly improved. She supposed it was because of the symbols Ibis had told her to draw on her leg, but she was reluctant to admit it.
“Here, Barb.” Cassidy handed her friend the old book from her closet. “You want to look at it more than I do.”
“I don’t understand why you’re not dying to read this. It looks awesome. I’d read it even if it wasn’t about you.” Barb unzipped the plastic bag and gingerly removed the book. “Fairy-Stories and Ghost Tales of the North. Does that mean you’re from Northern Ireland?”
“It depends what you mean. Not the country Northern Ireland—we’re from County Donegal, which is sort of the northwestern corner of Ireland. It’s part of the main country, the Republic, but everything east of it is Northern Ireland. So it’s kind of cut off. Anyway, it’s a rural place, with more mountains than people, ever since the famine.” Cassidy knew most of this from her own reading, since her mother had told her very little.
She eased down onto the bed next to Barb, who was very carefully opening the book to the story marked with the red ribbon.
“‘The Enchantress of Darmoughan,’” Barb read. “That’s you, huh? An enchantress? Sounds sexy.”
“Let’s just get it over with,” Cassidy told her.
“Watch out before you explode with enthusiasm,” Barb cleared her throat. “And it goes like this. ‘Far in the North, walled from the greater world by steep and icy mountains, on high cliffs overlooking the darkness of a deadly and treacherous Sea, lies the village of Darmoughan. It is a rare traveler who finds cause to walk the narrow and stony road to Darmoughan to-day, for that road is steep and passes among strange and imposing arrangements of stone, built by the Old Folk in the early days of the world, from whence cries or unholy music may be heard in the night, so it has been said.’”
“Unholy music?” Cassidy asked. “Like what? Miley Cyrus?”
“I’m guessing something a little more vintage,” Barb said. She continued: “‘There was long ago a certain youth of Darmoughan, a sheep-herder possessed of that dangerous Curiosity that so often leads the young into Temptation, and from thence, too often, into eternal Damnation.
“He slept little at night, for he felt himself drawn to the stars, and would spend his hours gazing up into the dark mysteries of the firmament, alone with himself; the others of the village thought him strange, for they preferred Society to Solitude, and his nature was precisely contrary to theirs. His strangeness led him to wander in the great wilderness about the village, heedless of the beasts and spirits all others feared.
“‘It was such a night, when the shepherd boy stood on the cliff to better see the stars, that he first heard the strange Melody rising from the rocks far below, an ancient cave known as an unholy place, where the forgotten Old People had worshiped their strange gods.
“‘Drawn by the music, he descended the high cliff by means of steep rocks, made wet by the foam of the sea. Heedless of the danger, the boy climbed down to the cave, midway ‘tween the cliff’s zenith, from which he had set out, and the deadly roiling sea below. Within the cave, ancient symbols of Dark Arts, unknown to followers of the One True God, lay carved upon each wall.
“‘In the dimness of the cave, he perceived the source of the unnatural music and trembled at the sight. The haunting sound was played upon a flute of wild goat-horn. He found the player more enchanting than her lovely song, for she was a maiden of his own age, yet one he had never seen, though he had lived in the village of Darmoughan since birth, and knew all who lived in reach of it.
“‘She sat upon a chair of stone, her eyes closed in reverie as she played her horn. Her hair, dark red as the setting sun, coiled round and round to her feet, here and there adorned with braids, a bit of ribbon, a shiny stone. Her hair alone protected her modesty, for she wore no other clothing upon her body, nor shoes upon her feet, and in this natural condition, proved a great temptation to the young shepherd.
“‘Keeping his presence secret and watching her play, he found himself soon in love, though whether it owed to her unholy music or her savage and unashamed display of female beauty, we cannot say.” Barb stopped to open the window and light a cigarette.
“You’re doing a good job of reading that crap. You’re like an old-fashioned storyteller.” Cassidy imitated an old Southern lady’s voice: “Well, it was way back in the good old antebellum days, before the War of Northern Aggression took our slaves and we had to start picking our own cotton...”
“Glad you like it,” Barb said. She continued: “‘Fear and love mixed in the boy’s heart, for he knew the tales of haunted old places, and thought her a Spirit. In time he followed his impulse to speak to her, for he could not make himself depart and return to the safety of home and Christian society.
“‘Dear maiden, he said, your music has charmed my mind. Tell me your name, for I have lived in this village since birth, yet never have I seen you in my life, for I would surely remember one such as you. Tell me whether you are as you appear, or a Spirit beguiling my senses.<
br />
“‘And so it was the girl opened her eyes, yet showed no fear of him, though he had caught her alone and immodest save her cascading red hair. Her eyes were like emeralds, and he felt his heart captured yet again.
“In truth, I am of each world, boy, she answered him. For my mother is the one called enchantress by the people of the village. None know of me, for she keeps me hidden and forbids me speak to any man or woman or child. I may speak only to the animals of the forest, the birds of the trees, the fish of the sea. She would not wish you nor anyone to visit me, but for myself, I wish to know you, for loneliness is as painful as death. Only promise you will tell no one of me.”
“‘Here the shepherd boy grew frightened, for the priest of the town called the enchantress a witch and consort of Satan, and the people believed him, though they each had cause at times to seek out the favor of the enchantress—always at night, always in secret—for charms, cures, and divinations of the future.
“‘Though he feared, his ardor for the young maid was even greater, and they spoke that night of secret things—of curses and spells, spirits and devils, and the boy’s curiosity grew yet more aroused than his aching heart, and he thus began to love her with all his being.
“‘When the sun rose, she bid him depart before her mother called for her. He refused to leave without a kiss, and the daughter of the enchantress resisted only for the sake of propriety, for she had begun already to love him as he did her. She granted the kiss at last, and then he was away as she insisted, though neither truly wished to part.
“‘He thought of nothing but the fire-haired maiden as he tended his sheep. When the sun fell into the night, he heard again the music, and returned again down the cliff to the unholy cave, and again they spoke until the return of daylight. They kissed once more, and he took with him a length of red ribbon from her hair, and she took with her a button from his shirt, that they would each have an article to remind them of the other.
“‘On the third night, the boy heard no music, but climbed down to the cave in hope of seeing her. Indeed he saw her, the goat-horn silent on her lap, and she looked at him and said nothing. He asked for the meaning of her silence.