Nightmare Ink

by Marcella Burnard

  The door opened a crack. Nathalie sidled through an opening just big enough for her body. “Steve’s calling the vet.”

  “Thanks.”

  “No problem,” Nat said, grinning. “I might have suggested that a Seattle police officer requesting a house call might help.”

  Ikylla, as if she’d recovered her strength now that she was clean, or maybe because Isa’d waxed sentimental on her, stiffened and struggled to escape.

  Nathalie took her and freed the cat from the towel.

  Gus stood up with his front paws against the bathroom counter where Ikylla took up position. He poked his nose at her. She touched her nose to his forehead.

  “What?” Nathalie asked him. “You two have a mutual protection pact? Or are you jealous that Ikylla whipped that thing’s ass while you bravely barked at it from the sofa?” She pulled the plug on the rapidly cooling bath. “Time to get you clean and into something a little less revealing.”

  Isa snorted.

  Between them, they got her undressed.

  “You’ll be happier with a shower so we can get your hair washed,” Nathalie said, “but you’re going to have to let me in there with you.”

  Isa froze at the prospect of having anyone that physically close.

  Had Daniel meant to condition her to equate anyone within arm’s reach with pain?

  The Ink trickled into her awareness, keenly interested in what had pushed so automatic a quiver through her.

  “You can’t wash your hair,” Nathalie went on as if Isa needed a recitation of everything she couldn’t do. “And you look like you’re about to drop. We can’t have you falling, Ice. Steve made me promise.”

  “Straight guys are so predictable.”

  Nathalie grinned and shook her head. “He wishes. But even if you said you loved me and couldn’t live without me, I wouldn’t take you up on it while you were three shades of pale. So let me scrub the dried up gunk off of you before we find out that shit’s poisonous or something.”

  She turned on the tap, adjusted the water temperature, and pulled the diverter to activate the shower. The first blast of spray took Isa’s breath with cold, but it heated up, and she turned to let the warm fall of water beat her shoulders.

  Nathalie closed the shower curtain.

  The tattoo rose up against the inside of her skin.

  What is that?

  “I’m taking a shower. It’s water.”

  He groaned. Pleasure flooded her, not quite arousing, but intense and foreign.

  She started.

  The shower curtain rattled. She thought it was Nathalie, but a reddish-brown snout pushed in between the wall and the shower curtain.

  “My very own peeping Augustus,” she said when his brown eyes met hers.

  “Wow,” Nathalie said as she pulled open the curtain to climb in, still clothed. “And she thinks I’m the pervert.”

  “I do not,” Isa protested. “This just isn’t. . . “

  “What? Right? Decent?” Her neutral tone told Isa how much damage she could do if she wasn’t careful.

  “Modest,” Isa corrected, hanging her head so the water ran down her face but she could still breathe.

  Silence.

  “Modest?” Nathalie repeated, stretching the word into arc of surprise. “Turn around.”

  When Isa presented her back, Nathalie scrubbed soap into Isa’s hair.

  “Privacy was a big deal where I grew up,” Isa said. “No communal bathing. It’s not you.”

  “Thanks, I think.”

  Suds and unspeakable brown ooze sluiced down her body and then the drain.

  “Hand me the soap.”

  Nat didn’t even protest.

  The gauze did fine scrubbing her arms and legs, and she discovered that her right fingers would bend at least a little. She dropped the soap a lot.

  He didn’t say anything, but she sensed the tattoo’s bewilderment, even if she couldn’t comprehend the source of it. The water on her skin entranced him. He seemed drunk on the sensation.

  Nathalie applied a washcloth to Isa’s back, something that seemed to send the tattoo even further into his daze. It spilled over into her, urging her to subside into the ministration.

  “Hold up,” Isa gasped. “This is wigging the Ink.”

  Don’t stop.

  “I stand corrected. He begs you not to stop.”

  “Just my luck,” Nathalie said, “turning on a demon of the wrong sex.”

  Isa smiled at the note of false resignation in her voice.

  Nathalie held on to her elbow when Isa finally stepped out of the shower. She wanted to follow, but Isa waved her back with orders to scrub clean first. She wrapped towel around Isa’s shoulders before retreating into the water.

  Isa expected her passenger to protest the end of the shower.

  He didn’t. He was gone. Not in her head. Not sharing her sight.

  Which meant the headache wrapped around her temples was entirely her own. Apparently, they’d exhausted the energy his healing in the ER had supplied.

  Huddled in the towel, she sank to the floor.

  Gus insinuated himself into the curve of her body where he lay down with a sigh.

  Ikylla sat on the bathroom counter, her back to them, pointedly licking herself dry. Her wet fur bristled out in all directions.

  Isa dozed with the sound of the spray in her ears and Augustus warm against her.

  As sleep rose over her head, she heard the tattoo murmur, My name was taken from me.

  “I’m sorry.”

  I don’t want your pity. I want your life.

  “Freedom.”

  Freedom, he echoed with such a note of longing underpinning the word that it made her heart ache. Surrender to me.

  “Not today. And until I do, I need a name for you. How about Murmur, since it’s what you do?”

  He bled shadows of confusion into her chest. He’d expected derision. Hate. His confusion sank with her into sleep, along with the whisper of Surrender.

  Then Nathalie, already wearing a pair of Isa’s sweats, was shaking her awake so she could pull yet another set of sweats—these with the cuffs cut off of the arms—onto her.

  “Let’s get the bandages off your hands,” Nathalie said. “They’re soaked. I’ll ask Ikylla’s vet to wrap you up again after she’s seen to the princess.”

  She unwrapped the gauze enshrouding Isa forearm to fingertip. Isa’s swollen, twisted hands looked dead. Pasty. Cold. Her pulse thumped.

  At Nat’s call, Steve appeared in the doorway, his lips pressed tight and lines of worry creasing his forehead. He scooped Isa up as if she weighed nothing and carried her to the sofa despite her protest.

  Judging from the jingling of tags, Gus followed.

  Muted voices sounded in the kitchen. Shards of glass crunched beneath hard-soled shoes.

  “Is the body gone?” Isa asked. “Or am I getting used to the stink?”

  “Tagged, bagged, and downstairs,” Steve said, settling her on the couch and spreading her wet hair over the arm so it wouldn’t get caught beneath her. “It was the only way to get any work done without three quarters of my staff losing lunch.”

  “The vet for Ikylla?”

  “My officer went to pick her up.”

  “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome,” he said, then held up a hand when she opened her mouth again. “Don’t even try to get rid of me. I’m staying. It’s not formal police protection. I need statements. And both of you need rest. Once she’s told me what happened, Nathalie’s taking the bed where I don’t have to check on her.”

  “Or wake me every few hours to feed me,” Nat said, then yawned so hard her jaw popped. She retreated to the kitchen.

  Steve and his officers had been busy. Most of the flowers and vases had va
nished. Taken as evidence? Or simply trashed so they could work?

  Gus jumped up and stretched out beside her, half on, half off of her. He rested his chin on her shoulder. Ikylla joined them, foregoing drying her fur in favor of curling up on Isa’s stomach, her back against Gus.

  Nathalie came back, a plate of sandwiches in hand.

  The food restored Isa. She’d been running on empty, and she surprised them all by eating an entire sandwich piled high with roast beef and chicken. Even if Steve had to feed it to her a bite at a time.

  Murmur stirred as if the food had restored a measure of his strength, too.

  Not good. If he gained more strength than she did, he’d escape. And kill her in the process. How much stronger did he have to be to do that?

  Nat picked at her sandwich. Halfway through nibbling a piece of bread crust, she froze. The blood drained from her face.

  “Uh-oh,” she breathed. In a whirl, she dropped her sandwich and her plate, and raced for the bathroom.

  Isa heard the unmistakable clunk of hard plastic hitting cold porcelain and then the sound of Nathalie emptying her guts into the toilet.

  Symptom of Infernal slime poisoning, the tattoo volunteered.

  “Steve, that thing scratched Nathalie,” she said in a rush. “Murmur thinks she may have been poisoned by it.”

  Steve rose, frowning. “Murmur?”

  “The tattoo. “

  “The tattoo thinks?”

  “Could we focus on the poison part and help Nathalie?” she shrilled.

  The front door opened. Steve’s officer, Jackie Pattaja, led Ikylla’s vet into the apartment.

  Gus slapped his tail against the back of the sofa, but didn’t shift an ounce of weight. The cat didn’t even swivel an ear at the newcomers. Not at all usual for Isa’s vigilant feline. Isa’s breath went shallow.

  Ikylla’d been covered in slime and had her fangs buried in the Infernal’s throat.

  Nathalie retched again.

  “Thanks for coming out, Doctor. Your patient is on the sofa,” Steve said, heading for the bedroom. He nodded at Officer Pattaja. “Come on, Jackie. We may have a medical emergency developing.”

  As Nathalie groaned into the echo chamber of the toilet, the officer, and the veterinarian grimaced. Jackie followed Steve into the bedroom.

  The vet, a cheerful fireplug of a woman with gray hair that stood out in a halo around her head, carried a leather satchel over one shoulder and what looked like a beat-up canvas tool bag in her other hand. She set her things down beside the scarred oak coffee table and scooped Ikylla from Isa’s stomach.

  Ikylla put up no fight when the woman settled her on the coffee table and reached for a stethoscope.

  Gus sat up watching every move the vet made.

  Isa shifted to sitting, hands hanging useless and fear making the sandwich weigh heavy in her stomach.

  A pale, tight-lipped Steve stalked out of the bedroom. He met her gaze for a split second before he looked away and marched out the front door.

  Isa wrapped her arms around her chest.

  “Ikylla has indeed ripped out a claw,” the vet said. “She also has a fever. How long has she been lethargic?”

  “Since she killed the thing.”

  Steve came back in. “Nat’s pretty sick. The scratch looks like hell. She won’t let us call an ambulance. We have a house call doctor en route.”

  The vet frowned and looked over her shoulder. “Mind if I have a look at the animal that caused all this trouble? I may need to report this to the state.”

  “Please do,” Steve said. “I’d be relieved to have you identify it for us. The only other option is that I have someone breaking every Acts of Magic law on the books without being detected. I’ll have someone take you down when you’re ready.”

  Steve clearly didn’t want to believe what Isa had said about the Infernal.

  Murmur curled her lips in derision.

  She shook her head as the veterinarian set up a bag of fluids, lifted the skin at the back of Ikylla’s neck and inserted the needle. Ikylla hissed, but didn’t otherwise move.

  Isa wiped cold moisture from her cheeks with the sleeves of her sweatshirt.

  “Subcutaneous fluids,” the vet said, glancing at Isa. “I’ll give her a dose of long-acting antibiotics and some nausea meds. I’m betting on a protein-based venom, like a spider bite. We don’t see many cases in Seattle, but on the other side of the mountains, cats sometimes tangle with black widows and end up envenomed. The symptoms are similar, so I’m starting there.”

  “When we’re finished here, I’ll get some samples from the animal that did this to a local lab,” the woman said. “If I’m wrong or if there’s further treatment necessary, I’ll call immediately. But I do think Ikylla will be just fine. Your friend may have a rougher recovery. Humans aren’t as resistant to protein-based poisons as cats, but once the doctor gets here, your friend should be okay, too.”

  Worry dissolved, weeping relief into Isa’s veins.

  Murmur pressed hard against her spine, retreating from the weight of unshed tears.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Neither the veterinarian nor the doctor who came to treat Nathalie could identify the Infernal.

  They agreed on protein-based venom, however, and Nathalie ended up being treated very much like Ikylla had. A shot of antinausea meds, a short course of antibiotics, and strict instructions to report to a hospital ER if her symptoms didn’t improve.

  The house call doctor wrapped Isa’s hands for her before departing.

  Steve came back from seeing the doctors off. The muscles in his jaw rigid, he studied Isa for several seconds. “What does Daniel gain by sending something like that creature?”

  Isa shook her head. “Don’t know. He isn’t the man I thought I knew.”

  It was a message, Murmur said through her mouth. ‘I know where you are. Escape is an illusion.’

  Her diaphragm kicked.

  “If all he wanted was to score a psychological hit, the flowers would have done the job,” she answered aloud. “The Infernal was more than that. It was aimed at you, wasn’t it?”

  I will not be his obedient hound, Murmur snarled inside her head.

  That sounded good.

  I’ll destroy you in my time, he said aloud. Not his.

  Steve glared at her throat, where Murmur’s emerald eye gleamed. “You can’t have her.”

  Murmur laughed. Isa clenched her teeth to prevent him from doing it in Steve’s face.

  “Look, Nathalie and Ikylla are resting comfortably. It’s two AM,” Steve said, scrubbing his hands over his face. “Don’t you think it’s time you got some sleep? I’ve got the watch.”

  She’d returned to her nest of pillows and blankets so the vet could put Ikylla in her arms. Her brown tabby and white girl snored softly on Isa’s chest.

  Isa closed her eyes.

  Let go. Slip away. Surrender.

  “Give it a rest, Mr. Mesmero.”

  Steve’s footsteps came close. Calloused fingers smoothed her hair from her face. Sensation tingled in the wake of that caress.

  “I won’t take ‘no’ for an answer again,” Steve said. Warm lips pressed against her forehead—the one part of her not marked. The one part of her that still belonged wholly to her. Could she say that with the demon inside as well as etched on her skin?

  Nightmares ambushed her the moment she succumbed to sleep. She stood in Nightmare Ink’s doorway. Zoog lay dead and skinned on the floor. Except that in her Ink-tainted nightmare, he rose, tears of pain and accusation flowing down the exposed muscle and bone of his face. He reached raw fingers for her.

  Murmur held her under the surface of sleep. She battered her bruised mind against the black lid he used to trap her. In her dreams, she ran from Zoog’s animated corpse straight into Daniel’s pri
son. The ring of the metal door slamming shut rolled around her skull, matched by the wail the Ink refused to let her voice.

  Fangs pressing gently into her chin finally coaxed her free.

  She woke to the gray light of dawn in the window and Ikylla holding her chin in a love bite while she purred.

  She let go.

  “Hungry?” Isa whispered at her.

  The cat leaped to the back of the sofa, still purring and kneading her paws.

  Gus lifted his head and perked his ears. Isa sat up. Steve slept in her beat-up tan recliner. When Gus hopped down and shook, tags ringing, Steve’s eyes opened.

  “Hey,” he rasped. He righted the recliner with a thump, yawning.

  “They’re hungry.”

  “Good sign,” Steve said. “Let me check on Nat. Then I’ll feed them if you’ll also let me make coffee.”

  He made breakfast, too. Soup for Nathalie, eggs and toast for them. He walked Gus and scooped Ikylla’s litter box.

  The Ink snickered every time Isa chafed at being useless.

  She had to do something about her hands. Murmur’s magic had healed everything but her hands when she’d been in the ER. Based on that, she should be able to heal her hands with magic. Right?

  Murmur raised one of her eyebrows.

  “I have to get to the precinct,” Steve finally said. “Troy’s on his way. Since we have yet to recover your belongings, I’ll bring you a new cell phone when I come back this afternoon. Don’t open the door to any more flowers.”

  “Thanks.”

  He locked up behind him.

  Isa went to the bedroom.

  “Hey,” Nathalie said. She sounded hoarse. “How’s Ikylla?”

  Favoring one paw, the cat came when Isa called and jumped onto the bed. She head-butted the hand Nathalie held out to her. Nathalie smiled.

  “You okay?” Isa asked. “I want to go to the shop for a few minutes.”

  “Better than okay,” Nathalie said, levering herself to sitting. “I want to go with you. I am so bored. Look. I can stand. I’ve had two bowls of soup and kept them down.”

  “If you want to go,” Isa said, “you’re well enough as far as I’m concerned. But I know a bunch of people who’ll be really put out if you kill yourself falling down the stairs.”