Ink Exchange tf-2

by Melissa Marr

  Leslie punched the digits in and slipped the phone back into her pocket. Forestalling any more objections, she said, "I need to go, or I'll be late for work."

  Seth opened the door and stared out at the empty railyard. It looked as if he waved at someone, a sort of 'come here' gesture, but she saw no one.

  "Are you all eating 'shrooms or something, Seth?" She tried to make her voice teasing, not wanting to fight, not after he'd shown her such kindness.

  "No shrooms." Seth grinned. "Haven't licked any toads, either."

  "So the staring off into space thing everyone's doing?"

  He shrugged. "Communing with nature? Connecting with the unseen?"

  "Uh-huh." Her tone was sarcastic, but she smiled.

  In a brotherly gesture, he put a hand on her shoulder— not restraining her but holding on to her firmly. "Talk to Ash soon, okay? It'll make a lot more sense."

  "You're freaking me out," she admitted.

  "Good." He gestured toward the edge of the yard again and back at her. "Remember what I said about Irial. Get away from him if you see him."

  Then he went back inside his train house before she could think of what to say.

  When she walked into her house, Leslie wasn't really surprised to see the grungy crowd in the kitchen with Ren.

  "Baby sister!" Ren called in a way that told her he was in the up part of his high.

  "Ren." She acknowledged him with as friendly a smile as she could muster. She didn't look long at the people with him. Not for the first time she wished there were an easier way to determine whether they were just getting-high friends or if one was a dealer—not that it mattered. When people were high, they could be unpredictable. When they weren't high but jonesing for whatever they used, they were worse.

  Her brother complicated things by dabbling with too many drugs and therefore too many circles of druggies. Today, though, there was no need to guess what they were using: the sickly-sweet smell of crack filled her kitchen the way the scents of home-cooked meals once had.

  A skinny girl with lank hair grinned at Leslie. The girl was sitting astride a guy who didn't seem to be high at all. He didn't share her pinched look, either. Without looking away from Leslie, he took the pipe out of the scrawny girl's hand and put the girl's hand on his crotch. She didn't hesitate—or look away from the pipe he held out of her reach.

  He's the one to fear.

  "Want a hit?" He held the pipe out to Leslie.

  “No.”

  He patted his leg. "Want a seat?"

  She glanced down, saw the skinny girl's hand moving there, and started to back away. "No."

  He reached out as if to grab Leslie's wrist.

  She turned, ran up the stairs to her room, and closed the door against the laughter and crude invitations that rang through her house.

  Once she was ready for work, Leslie slid open the window and slung a leg out. It wasn't a huge drop, but when she landed wrong it hurt pretty badly. She sighed. She couldn't waitress with a sprained ankle.

  I could go back in, just run down the stairs and out.

  Carefully, she dropped her bag to the ground.

  "Here goes."

  She sat with both legs dangling from the window, then twisted so her stomach was on the wood and she was facing the house. Slowly she backed out, bracing herself with her feet on the siding and gripping the wooden window frame with her hands.

  I hate this.

  She pushed off, bracing herself for the impact. It didn't come. Instead she was caught in someone's arms before she touched the ground.

  "Let go of me. Let go." She was facing away from the person who held on to her. She kicked backward and made contact.

  "Relax." The guy holding her lowered her gently to the ground and stepped back. "You looked like you could use help. It's a big drop for a little thing like you."

  She turned to face him and had to crane her neck to see his face. He was an utterly unfamiliar older man, not grandfather old, but older than most of the people who hung around Ren. He had a different look, too. Heavy silver chains dangled from both of his wrists. His jeans were faded and ripped in the calves to reveal the tops of scuffed combat boots. Tattoos of zoomorphic dogs covered his forearms. She should be afraid, but she wasn't: instead she felt still, calm, like whatever emotions churned inside had ceased to connect with the world around her.

  She motioned to the tattoos on the man's arms. "Nice."

  He smiled in what seemed to be a friendly way. "My son did that. Rabbit. He has a shop—"

  "You're Rabbit's dad?" She stared. There was no family resemblance that she could see, especially when she realized that this meant he was also Ani and Tish's father.

  The man smiled wider still. "You know him?"

  And his sisters.

  "Look like their mothers. All of them. I'm Gabriel. Nice to meet…" He scowled then, causing her to step backward and stumble—not in fear, not even then, but in wariness.

  But his scowl wasn't directed at her. The creepy dealer from the house had stepped around the corner. He said, "Come back inside."

  "No." She collected her bag from the grass where it had fallen. Her hands shook as she clutched it and tried not to look at the dealer walking toward her or at Gabriel. Fear surged. Delayed and dulled as it was, it still made her feel like running.

  Is Gabriel here to see Ren? Rabbit never talked about his dad; neither did Ani and Tish. Is he a drug dealer too? Or just an addict?

  Gabriel stepped in front of the dealer. "Girl's leaving."

  The dealer reached out toward Leslie. And without thinking, she grabbed his arm, wrapped her fingers around his wrist and held it immobile and away from her body.

  I could crush him. She paused at her thoughts, at the weird calm settling back over her, at the weird confidence. I could do it. Break him. Bloody him.

  She tightened her grip just a little, feeling bone under the skin, fragile, in the palm of her hand. Mine to do with as I want.

  The dealer wasn't fazed by her grip, not yet. He was talking, telling Gabriel, "It's cool, man. She lives here. It's not a—"

  "Girl's leaving now." Gabriel looked at Leslie and smiled. "Right?"

  "Sure," she said, looking dispassionately at her hand curled around the dealer's wrist. She squeezed harder.

  "Bitch. That hurts." The dealer's voice grew shriller.

  "Don't cuss in front of the girl. It's rude." Gabriel made a disgusted noise. "No manners these days."

  Something's wrong here.

  Leslie tightened her grip again; the dealer's eyes rolled back in his head. She felt bones splintering and saw white through broken skin.

  I'm not strong enough to do that.

  But she stood there, holding the dealer's wrist in her hand, still squeezing. He'd passed out from the pain, dropped to the ground. She let go.

  "Where you headed?" Gabriel handed her a dark rag.

  She wiped her hand, watching the immobile man at her feet. It wasn't sadness or pity she felt. It wasn't… anything. It should be, though. She knew that, even if she didn't feel it.

  "Why are you here?"

  "To rescue you, of course." He grinned, baring teeth that looked like he'd filed some of them to points. "But you didn't need rescuing, did you?"

  "No." She nudged the dealer with her foot. "I didn't. Not this time."

  "So let me give you a lift, since my rescue services weren't needed." He didn't touch her, but put a hand behind her as if he'd rest it on the small of her back.

  Not lying. His words felt true, not whole, not all there, but not lying.

  She nodded and walked away from her house.

  Some part of her thought she should be angry or frightened or ashamed, but she couldn't feel those things. She knew that somehow she had changed, as surely as she knew Gabriel hadn't truly lied.

  He led her around the side of the house to a screaming-red Mustang, a classic convertible with black and red seats and vibrant detailing on the exterior.

  "
Get in." Gabriel opened the door, and she saw that what she'd initially thought were flames on the sides of the car were actually a throng of racing animals, stylized dogs and horses with odd musculature and what looked like smoke writhing around them. For a brief moment, the smoke seemed to move.

  Gabriel followed her gaze and nodded. "Now that I did myself. Boy might look like his dam, but he's got my art."

  "It's gorgeous," she said.

  He slammed the door behind her and went around to the driver's side. After he slid the key into the ignition, he gave her a smile that was the exact same look she'd seen on Ani's face before she did something inevitably unwise. "Nah. Gorgeous is how fast she moves. Hook your belt, girl."

  She did, and he took off with a scream of tires that could barely be heard over the roar of his obviously modified engine. She laughed at the thrill of it, and Gabriel gave her another Ani-ish grin.

  She let the rush roll over her and whispered, "Faster." That time it was Gabriel who laughed.

  "Just don't tell the girls you got to go for a ride before they did, okay?" She nodded, and he accelerated until he topped out the speedometer and delivered her to work remarkably early— and laughing.

  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.