Call of the Wilde

by Jenn Stark

  Then again, this wasn’t your ordinary tattoo parlor.

  “She isn’t here.”

  I nearly jumped out of my skin at the unexpected interruption. Spinning around, I took in the gaunt, wiry man standing behind the counter, his long hair pulled back with a leather cord. The hair looked thinner than when I’d seen Jimmy Shadow the last time. Actually, everything about the man seemed a little more wan than usual.

  “You okay?” I asked, with my usual tact. “Because you look like crap.”

  He grinned, shrugged. “Hard week, busy week. A lot of ink for a lot of people who maybe shouldn’t be getting it quite yet. I’ll recover.” He gave me a slow perusal, and once again I remembered what I was wearing. “Your ink looks good.”

  “Oh. Yeah,” I said, glancing down at my right arm. “I haven’t had to use the one to locate Nikki, fortunately.”

  He shrugged. “You will. As to the other, it’s clear you have used it recently. Am I right?”

  I blinked at him. “Um…maybe,” I said, remembering my visit to the other side of the veil.

  “Yeah. Probably best if you don’t use that one again anytime soon, given what’s waiting out there for you.”

  “Ah…Right.” And exactly how much did Jimmy know about what lay beyond the veil?

  I’d received a couple of tattoos here already, both at the hands of the store’s proprietor, an extraordinary air brush and tattoo artist known to the world as Blue, and to a very much smaller subset of the world as Death. Up until recently, she’d been one of the oldest seated members of the Arcana Council, but with the new additions of the Hierophant and now Hera, she was going to start experiencing Middle Child Syndrome any moment now.

  I peered past Jimmy to the sterile-looking hallway beyond. “Has she been here recently, working on-site? Or is she gone, gone?”

  “Well, she ain’t dead, if that’s what you mean. At least not any more than usual.” He grinned at his own joke, displaying a crooked set of teeth, yellowed from tobacco. “But she ain’t been here. With the Magician bringing back the old members of the Council, it’s starting to feel claustrophobic.”

  I lifted my eyebrows at that. “She knows Hera?”

  He shrugged. “She didn’t want to talk about her, so I’m going to take that as a big ol’ yes. And when Death knows someone and actually has a reaction to her, it usually ain’t a good thing. But she took off when they came into town. Piss poor timing too, given the influx of business.”

  I used that opening to pursue the reason why I’d come over here, other than for Nikki to pawn me off on a babysitter and act like I didn’t realize that’s what she was doing. “We’re worried about Dixie and who might be visiting her,” I said. “You see anything unusual going on over there, different cars, too many cars, too few—anything out of the ordinary?”

  “I’ve been busy,” he said, but there was something in his voice that made me peer harder at him.

  “Uh-huh. You can’t tell me that, standing where you do, in between clients, you don’t spend most of your time staring at that parking lot, waiting for something different to happen.”

  He looked up at the ceiling, the move so unexpected, I looked up there too. It was a ceiling. Not a particularly clean one. “Jimmy?”

  He shifted his gaze to the far wall. I didn’t know the man that well, but I was surprised at the prevarication. Death, like the Devil, was a big fan of transparency, though their reasons for that transparency were vastly different. For Death, the truth was simply the path of least resistance, the way forward for the committed seeker. Her task was to help such seekers move along that path, and so: truth. The Devil preferred sharing the truth mainly because he liked to see the world burn.

  But Jimmy wasn’t a Council member, he wasn’t immortal, and, to the best of my knowledge, he was about as Connected as my stiletto. He was also the world’s worst liar, if his sudden all-encompassing study of his own bitten-down nails was any indication. “It’s important. I wouldn’t ask otherwise,” I pushed, adding as much sincerity to my voice as I could. “We’re worried about what she’s gotten herself into.”

  “Not really my place to spy on my neighbors,” Jimmy said. “Blue’s a big fan of keeping your nose out of other people’s business.”

  And instantly, I got it. “Death told you not to talk. She’ll be mad if you share what you’ve seen.”

  He made a face. “Not mad. When you’re Death, you don’t get mad. But she’ll know. All that ‘Ask not for whom the bell tolls’ shit, it ain’t far from the truth. She hears. Not everything, but enough. And I am not about to drop the ball while she’s outta town.”

  I nodded, my gaze narrowing on him. Death was a member of the Council, and the Council—especially Armaeus, but all of them to some degree or another—was committed to staying out of human affairs. That Death had found herself across the parking lot from some human blunder about to go pear-shaped wasn’t her fault, but spilling it might well be in opposition to her Council promises. Death wasn’t a huge fan of following other people’s rules, but she did have a very defined sense of her personal code of honor. This could be triggering that.

  Still, I didn’t have a lot of time to mess around. “I’m going to ask some questions, and you’re going to look around. Up is good, anywhere else isn’t. Fair enough?”

  “Maybe.” He didn’t look especially happy, but Jimmy had clearly seen something that had upset him.

  I got right to it. “There’ve been new cars here. A lot of them.” He glanced up, and his glance stayed fixed on the ceiling as I continued. “All hours of the day and night. High-end cars. Men and women.” I paused. “Well dressed.”

  He seemed to consider that. “All types of folks,” I amended, and he pinned his gaze back to the ceiling.

  “And you didn’t like their look.” Still up.

  “Because they looked like thugs.” Wavered, then dropped.

  “Because they were carrying weapons,” I tried again. The gaze was now definitely on the linoleum. I felt like I was playing Marco Polo, and going in the wrong direction. Jimmy’s face was set in a scowl, his lips turning down in an almost mulish pout. Something about these people deeply bugged him, and Jimmy really didn’t seem like the judgmental type. “Because of something they carried with them.” Wobble. “Because of something they were.” More wobbling, and I blew out an annoyed breath. Then I got it.

  “You could tell they were drugged.”

  His gaze met mine, and then sailed upward again. I considered this. If Dixie was holding court with a bunch of junkies, that could be bad. Still, it matched with her MO as the fraudulent kingpin. “These were regulars to the chapel, folks you’ve seen a lot?” I asked, but to my surprise, Jimmy’s gaze didn’t remain on the ceiling. It hung there, then shifted to the side, and I frowned. “Some of them were new.” Back up. “And they all showed up acting high?”

  Once again, Jimmy’s gaze shot to the floor. And stayed there.

  Okay, so some of them did. Considering a good chunk of the Connected community was constantly searching for ways to augment their abilities, I shouldn’t judge. What people did on their own time was their own business. But it was enough to know that—

  “Sara.” Jimmy’s voice cracked as he used it, and I glanced back at him. He was still staring at the floor.

  “Oh fine,” I snapped, annoyed he wanted to continue the game. “So they didn’t all show up acting high.”

  “None of them was an act,” he gritted out, his exasperation clear.

  “Fine. They were all crazy high, mad as hatters. But they didn’t show up that way. Instead, what, they all left that way? You’re telling me that whatever they got from Dixie jacked them to the moon?”

  Resolutely, with great weight, Jimmy lifted his gaze to the ceiling.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Not exactly a font of information before, Jimmy became resolutely tight-lipped with this last revelation, but a text sixty seconds later
from Nikki made me groan. He looked over, suddenly panic-stricken.

  “Bad news?” he asked, too quickly.

  I scowled at him. If I were to believe him, Dixie was the one drugging the supplicants coming to her door, but how different was that from her own account? Not very. It wouldn’t take a lot of effort to fool Jimmy. He was prey to his own list of abused substances. Still, he was a good guy and had helped me before when I needed it. Was helping me now, even if I didn’t fully believe what he was saying.

  “Not bad, just tedious.” I waved the phone at him. “She wants me to stay put here for another half hour. You got any customers you need to deal with or paperwork you gotta do, knock yourself out. I’ll keep a lookout.”

  He shrugged. “Was going to close early anyway, and this will keep eyes off the place,” he said, reaching over to flip the switch that powered the outside lights. Death and the Hermit and Hello Kitty still blazed with light, but the OPEN sign now dimmed. “Besides, you need a touch-up. It’ll only take a few minutes.” He pointed to the band on my arm, and I glanced down at it. The band had been inked by Death, not Jimmy, but she trusted him with delicate work, so I had no concerns about his ability.

  As he turned toward the back, however, I hesitated. There still was the issue with the pain. I wasn’t a big fan of pain. “Like, touch-ups how?” I asked, trying to keep my voice steady. His only response was a bark of laughter.

  “Come on,” he said. “I’ll be sure to use the biggest needle.” Jimmy wasn’t a big fan of sissies.

  Reluctantly following him past the counter and into the back of the tattoo parlor, I eyed the spotless corridor, always a surprise after the cluttered front office. Jimmy stopped at the third door and pushed it open, and I saw with relief that the usual appearance of the room held. I’d been in here on occasion where there was nothing visible but a huge, ugly grate set into a concrete floor, the dentist-style chair for the client, and the rollaway ink station. This time, the chair and station were there, but the floor was covered in a porous outdoor carpet in a bright and cheerful blue, and the walls were lined with filled bookshelves, stuffed with items intended to distract nervous clients.

  “Lemme get my tools.” He gestured me to the chair. “Be right back.”

  “Those aren’t good enough?” I asked, but he gave the set by the chair only the briefest of glances.

  “Not for this.” He stepped back into the hallway, then returned a moment later, carrying a needle gun that looked like it’d been crafted in the Middle Ages.

  “Is this the part where I stroke out so you can work on me in peace?” I asked, not bothering to mask the rising hysteria in my voice.

  He rolled his eyes. “This is the part where you stop being such a wuss. I’ve used this gun with children. It’s less painful than the others.”

  “Oh,” I said, but I wasn’t entirely mollified. I watched him nervously as he readied the gun, checking nozzles and fittings and plugging everything in. When I laid my arm on the armrest and he leaned over it, I was startled at how closely he peered at Death’s newest band. I would have thought it’d be my first tattoo that he’d be touching up, since that had been done well before the second.

  “I didn’t think so. She started, but she didn’t finish,” Jimmy muttered to himself. His voice held a note of wry understanding, as if Death had done this sort of thing before.

  “She told me she’d finished,” I said, trying not to sound defensive. I needed to be confident in this particular band and its professed abilities.

  “She had, so far as she went. She just didn’t go as far as she could have, arguably as far as she should’ve, given what you are. The Council doesn’t know whether to protect you or hang you out to dry, but I ain’t got no such qualms. Sometimes all other paths are closed to you, and you need to open your own doors.”

  “You know, I think I preferred it when you talked in eye rolls.”

  Jimmy rasped a laugh at that, but then quieted as he prepped my arm. “There’s been some bad chatter out on the Strip, you should know. About you.”

  That surprised me. “I haven’t been around enough recently to piss anyone off. Who’s been talking?”

  “That’s what’s strange. It’s not coming from any one place. A mention here among the customers, a snatch of conversation I pick up when I’m out on a smoke break. But it’s like people are looking over their shoulder for you, like you’re some kind of threat.”

  “Connected people?”

  He shrugged. “Dunno. Maybe gangbangers, for all I know. If so, it’d track. Those guys should be scared of you.”

  “Yeah…” I rolled the idea around in my head until Jimmy picked up the wicked-looking needle gun.

  “Look off to the other side,” he said. “There may be a little blood with this.”

  “A little—what?”

  Then he pressed the needle against my skin, and I blacked out.

  The problem with getting a tattoo from one of the artists at Darkworks Ink, whether Death or Jimmy, is that there was generally a pile of magic getting pumped into you along with the ink. I remembered this hazily a few moments later—what I thought was a few moments anyway, as I groggily fought my way back toward awareness. I also was forced to reconsider my assessment of Jimmy’s Connected abilities. It was possible I’d underestimated the man.

  I’d definitely underestimated his gun, in the most nonsalacious way possible.

  “Wondered when you’d be back,” Jimmy said with a chuckle that contained far too much amusement. He’d finished doing whatever he’d needed to my arm, if the bandage wrapped loosely around it was any indication. “Keep that clean for the next twenty-four hours. Leave the bandage on if you can.”

  “Doesn’t really go with my dress,” I grumbled. “What’d you do?”

  “Added a few more lines, connecting the dots where they needed connecting. Death got distracted when you were here before, didn’t catch herself before she laid down the opening of the path. Or, maybe she’s a big ol’ marshmallow after all. Either way, because she started it, I could finish it.”

  “Right.” I straightened in my seat. My arm still hurt. A lot. “So this means what, I can find Nikki faster if I ever need to?”

  “I told you, she finished that part. I just cleaned up the pathways and put in some nice flowers and maybe another door or two along the way.” He gestured to my throbbing limb. “That’s going to hurt for a while, but you’ll get over it.”

  “Well, gee, with that kind of post-op instruction, I’m sure I’ll do just fine,” I said waspishly. He rolled the inkstand away and helped me to my feet. I swayed, but just a little. “I keep thinking this process will stop hurting so much.”

  “And I keep thinking you’ll grow a spine. May we both continue living in eternal hope.”

  I followed him up the narrow corridor, surprised when we cleared the doorway to see Nikki lounging in one of the folding chairs. She stood when she saw me, and I winced. “Did I keep you long?”

  “Just got here a few minutes ago, Jimmy said you were still baking.” She eyed my bandaged arm. “Let me guess, Tinkerbell?”

  She swung back to Jimmy and gave him a jaunty salute. “Thanks for taking care of her. When’s Death getting back?”

  Dr. Pain lifted one bony shoulder. “I don’t keep her social calendar. She’ll come back when she’s ready to come back.” His tone had gone mulish again. Maybe it was something to do with the front office. He really was a lot more tolerable when he had a needle gun in his hands. Then again, maybe the bar lifted for what you were willing to put up with from a man who was wielding a needle gun.

  “Here we go,” Nikki said, as outside, a sleek limo pulled up. When I offered my credit card to Jimmy, he shook his head.

  “I was finishing what needed finishing. There’s no charge for that. Besides,” he grinned. “It’s always funny to watch you pass out.”

  With that, Nikki and I turned to go, but a weird tension in the room
made me look back at the last minute. Jimmy stood there, his gaze pinned to the ceiling again.

  Nikki shifted beside me as she peered up as well. “Um…” she began, but I touched her arm.

  “You want to tell us something else.” Up. “Some trouble.” Up. “Trouble for us.”

  Waver. I frowned.

  “Trouble for me?”

  Jimmy’s gaze stayed on the ceiling a moment more, then dropped. But he wasn’t staring at me now. He was staring at Nikki. “Tell her,” he said flatly. “I’ve said all I can.”

  My own eyes pinged wide, but Nikki clamped a hand on my arm, angling me out the door. “I will,” she said to Jimmy. Then to me: “Time to go, dollface.”

  A moment later, we slid back into the limo. I was still more than a little dizzy and lifted a hand to forestall Nikki’s grand revelation until my head stopped swimming.

  “What’d he do to you, for real?” she asked, now clearly nervous.

  “Nothing more involved than the usual,” I said, trying to shake off the dizziness. “I don’t like needles.”

  “Yeah, well, I don’t like Chick-fil-A but I don’t pass out every time I see it.” It wasn’t a fair comparison at all, but Nikki kept talking, apparently convinced that my time for convalescence was over.