Mystic Ink (2 page)

The power of the ocean surged through Nix’s veins. She could command water at will. There were limits to her power on dry land, so she always kept water supplies nearby. The ball in her hand came from the employee water cooler. The jug would have to be refilled later. But she didn’t give a crap. The dirty Satyr was getting a bath.

“Nix! Wait.” Cal came up behind her, but was smart enough to not touch her. She couldn’t stand Satyrs and this one in particular was a real pain in the ass.

Devlin Ward stood still as a statue, his eyes fixed on the liquid orb in her hands.

“What do you want, Devlin?” Nix dialed down her temper. She didn’t want Cal running back to her father reporting she was unstable. Like most of his kind, Devlin was a slob. He wore rumpled clothes and sported a mop of brown curls, dangling in different directions. A five o’clock shadow and bushy sideburns rounded out his unkempt appearance.

“I’m here on
official
business. So I would appreciate it if you would direct your anger elsewhere.” Devlin’s shoulders un-bunched and he stood taller. “The neighborhood watch committee has asked that you please do something about your alley.”

“Really? Are you implying that I’m killing mortals and hiding them behind my dumpster?”

“No. Of course not,” he replied. “But Fourth of July is approaching. Dead bodies attract negative publicity and scare away business.”

Nix wanted to laugh in Devlin’s face. He owned a grimy junk shop—Fawn’s Pawns—over on Cottrel Street, a few blocks away. She doubted there would be a big tourist rush for second-hand goods of dubious origin.

She also tried to ignore the odor he emitted. Satyrs and Nymphs were natural adversaries. In order to trap a Nymph, a Satyr would use an enticing scent as a lure. For Nereids, it was the delicious aroma of salty air and sweet coconut. Once a Satyr got hold of a Nymph, he would rape her repeatedly and try to keep her as a love slave.

“The local police are handling the matter.” Cal spoke from behind Nix. Devlin’s eyes widened and his face paled. When Nix turned around, Cal’s expression was neutral. Jason swept around the workstations wearing an amused expression.

“Is that all you wanted to say?” Nix asked. “I have clients coming in soon.”

“That’s it.” Devlin nodded.

The door chime jangled.

Mary Swain had finally arrived. Nix’s prissy bitch receptionist wrinkled her nose at Devlin. While sauntering into the backroom, she said, “Morning, Cal” and ignored everyone else.

Nix shot Cal a look. What made him so damn special? Mary had barely said two words to her in two weeks. Nix signed her paycheck, for Zeus’ sake. Uncle Memphis had stipulated that Mary, Jason, and Basil must remain part of the staff. The only explanation offered was that they would be great assets to her. If Nix had known that Mary would have a bug up her colon on a daily basis, she might not have agreed.

As near as she could tell, Mary was not part of the Greek Pantheon of Gods. The current theory between Nix and Jason was that Mary was part of the Egyptian Pantheon. They based this hypothesis on Mary’s black hair and ageless café au lait skin. Mary was also partial to heavy dark eyeliner that accentuated her deep brown eyes. Jason swore to Nix that tattoos were hidden underneath Mary’s silver cuff bracelets: The Eye of Horus on her right wrist and an Ankh on her left one. He had seen them one day when she slipped the bracelets off to apply hand lotion.

Devlin cleared his throat. “The block watch appreciates your attention to this matter.” He escaped out the door before Nix could hurl the water ball at his curly head.

“You really need to work on your people skills,” Cal commented.

“Well, he’s not a person. He’s a goat bastard.” Nix inhaled and exhaled, then sent the water to the potted plants outside the front door.

“Technically, he’s part fawn, part man,” Cal said, the reasonable calm in his voice irking her.

“I don’t care. He’s still half beast.” She picked up a broom and swiped it across the already clean floor, trying to brush away the creepy crawlies on her skin. She couldn’t explain her aversion. Satyrs were just . . . ewww.

“You really should give him a chance, Nix,” Jason piped in from the workstations where he was disinfecting the counters. “Devlin’s a pretty good guy. Don’t lump him in with the rest of the bad apples. He’s not like the others.” He sprayed down the chairs. “I know for a fact that he goes to the shelter on his days off to feed and play with the animals.”

Nix snorted. “He’s probably looking for his next bed partner.”

“There hasn’t been a known case of Satyrs attacking Nymphs in the last hundred years,” Cal added.

“Gee. What a coincidence. Wasn’t that around the time The Delian League offered membership to the United States Government?” Nix’s father had invited the U.S. because the fledgling nation espoused the ideals of the ancient Greeks—to defend freedom and promote democracy. “The Satyrs in this country know they’ll get their furry gonads handed to them if they put one hoof out of line.”

“You’re so cynical,” Cal said. Nix tried not to stare at the curve of his pecs. He worked out regularly, judging by the definition in his arms and abs. Why did he have to wear such form fitting T-shirts? And why was she scoping out his body? Granted it was a hot body.

Her phone rang. Saved by the bell, thank the Gods. She needed saving from herself.

When she read caller ID, she almost let it go to voicemail. But if she did, Doris would just keep calling. It was kind of hard to tattoo someone when her phone was ringing every five minutes. “Hello, Mother.”

“I can’t believe you haven’t called me yet. I told you to call. It’s been two weeks. I must know. Is Calder Quinne as much of a dreamboat as everyone says he is?” her mother asked in a breathy tone. Nix could almost feel her mother quivering with anticipation.

“I’m getting ready to open the shop. I’m a little busy here.” Nix had no intention of indulging her mother’s curiosity. Definitely not with Cal standing a few feet away, chatting with Mary at the receptionist desk. “I can’t talk now . . . if you know what I mean?” Honestly, like the hotness of Calder Quinne was the most important thing in the world. Not.

“Oh. Of course, dear. I understand. He’s standing nearby. All right then. I’ll call you later after my appointments. Bye, dear.” Her mother always had appointments: the hair salon, manicures, pedicures, waxing. You name it, she did it. Nix couldn’t relate to her mother’s Manhattan lifestyle. Way too shallow and self-indulgent.

Aside from dying her hair a garish shade of black, Nix spent almost zero time on her personal appearance. She bathed daily, but she was lucky if she remembered to comb out her hair before running downstairs to open for the day. Which reminded her . . . she still had a phone call to make. And shit, an hour had already passed since the body was removed.

“Jason, I’ll be right back.” Nix passed through the break room, unlocked the door marked ‘Private’ and took the stairs up to her apartment. She needed to call Charon before there were any more interruptions. Her first appointment wasn’t due to arrive for another twenty minutes. She was inking a full back tattoo of a dragon fighting with a tiger. Today she would start adding the color, so she wouldn’t get the chance to make the call for several more hours.

Charon answered on the first ring. “Again, Nix?” His raspy voice sounded resigned, like the whole thing was somehow her fault. “And I suppose the mortal officer of the law took the body again?”

“Yes.” Nix refused to feel guilty about the situation. All she wanted was to run the shop and enjoy her leave time. Was that really too much to ask?

“Meet me in the alley.” The connection ended, leaving dead silence.

Charon was already waiting in the alley by the time Nix made the one-minute trip out of the building. He was alone this time, no Cerberus. A pity, because she liked the three-headed dog.

“Nix, how many times must I stress that the body should not be moved?” He wheezed like a bottled up steam valve. “Without the body, I can’t trace my way back to the soul.” Charon’s perennial gray hoodie was pulled over his face, leaving his features shadowed.

“The soul hasn’t appeared in the Underworld?”

Charon looked at his feet, his hands tucked deep into the hoodie’s pockets. Nix hoped the hands stayed hidden, because one time, they had come out—while he gesticulated about how she shouldn’t let the mortals take the bodies—and they were hideous. She shuddered. Rumor had it that no one knew what Charon actually looked like except Hades. Thank the Gods for that. Seeing his creepy, cadaver hands once was one occasion too many. He finally answered, “No.”

Interesting, yet disturbing
, she thought. “Have any of the souls shown up yet?” Now that she thought about it, she hadn’t seen any souls traveling to the Gate since the bodies began appearing. A worm of dread burrowed into her stomach. “What’s going on?”

Charon took an eternity to answer. “Nothing good. Hades is investigating this more actively now. ” He flashed back to the Underworld, leaving her alone.

“That’s great. Thank you so much for the useful information!” she yelled to the end of the alley, where the Underworld Gate resided. “I don’t need this shit.”

Nix stopped. She was doing it again. Talking to herself. A car door slammed shut in the parking lot next door. It was her client. Good. Something to think about besides where the souls might be. Though, it was very strange . . . where could they be?

Nope. She wasn’t going there. She was off duty. Let someone else deal with the problem.

Chapter 2

Cal stood on the balcony of his rented condo and watched the sun sink past the horizon. He took a long swig of beer, not tasting it. The stunning vista of Long Island sound only reminded him that he was alone. Nix would have appreciated it. She would have—

He shut the line of thinking down. No point in wishing for what he couldn’t have.

At least he had survived another day, his dignity still intact. Nix was none the wiser about his true feelings, and he didn’t shame himself by trying too hard to please her. Her icy reaction to his presence seemed to be melting. A bit.

I asked for this
.
It could be worse. She could still be dating Adonis. The prick
.

He had wanted the assignment and now he had to deal with the consequential feelings. Man, he was whacked in the head. But then again, he was a glutton for punishment. So was Nix. Maybe that was why they were meant to be together.

His lips curved into a small smile as he remembered the first time he had ever seen her.

Nix had been a new trainee at war camp. Full of defiance, a regular spitfire, and nothing like her other Nymph sisters. New recruit orientation had barely been completed before she and Nate Adonis had exchanged barbs.

On the verge of graduation, Cal and his best friend, Talus, nominally put up with Adonis’ presence. More out of classmate loyalty, not because they actually liked the guy. Nate, Son of Apollo, was like most Demigods—a conceited ass. Adonis had zeroed in on Nix’s sisters, Chloe and Tabby, like a lion singling out the weakest prey. Cal and Talus had, long ago, outgrown picking on the younger gods. But not Nate. He took on more than he could chew that day.

Cal grinned at the memory of Nix blackening Nate’s eye. She called him a coward in front of the upperclassmen. Nix would have given Nate a serious run for the money on just anger alone, since she had no real combat training.

Unfortunately, Teacher Shyama, an angry tiger deity from India, caught Nix. Nate, the sneak, had slipped away with Nix’s sister, Portia, before Shyama could notice him. Nix alone was whipped—a common discipline in camp. Gods who couldn’t stomach the harsh training or camp lifestyle were summarily banished. And rightly so. Their world was brutal. Only those who could defend humanity from supernatural threats were admitted into the Delian League.

Cal had stood and watched as Nix took the beating. Each lash of the multi-tailed whip had cut into her flesh, tearing it raw, spraying silvery blue blood. The pain must have been incredible. He could vouch. He’d had plenty of firsthand experience. About five strokes later, Nix cried out in agony. Anyone would have.

He had admired her. Not for her unashamed crying, but for her strength in the face of unyielding pain. Even under the excruciating onslaught of blows, her spine had never bent and she had remained upright and rigid on her knees. The righteous fire in her eyes had never diminished.

That wouldn’t be the last time Nix’s mouth or behavior resulted in punishment. Nymphs, almost universally, were fun-loving, docile females. The Nereids, in particular, had a reputation for being laid back and doing anything to please their father, Nereus. She had even refused to answer to her given name Eudora. Nix had freely challenged her teachers and classmates alike on matters large and small.

“Incredible,” Talus, his best friend, had murmured under his breath. “How can she still be standing? She is either stubborn or stupid.”

“No. Not stupid,” he’d replied. He already knew what he wanted. “Talus, mark this moment. One day, I will know this Nymph. She will be mine,” he had vowed.

And for a brief, glorious time, Nix had been his to love.

Shit. That was a long time ago. And Talus—it hurt too much to think about. He tamped down the loss and finished the beer. The sky had darkened, the last bits of light nearly extinguished. He left the balcony, stashing the empty bottle on the cold, granite countertop. The shiny surface reflected a wavy image back at him. He knew there were dark circles under his eyes. Lack of sleep would do that to anyone, even a Demigod.

Nix didn’t seem to care. She barely noticed him, except to scowl at him. Whenever he tried to capture her gaze, she always looked away or found a reason to leave the room.

It had been a rough two weeks for him. Trying to keep it cool and pretend that they had never met. The whole time he wanted to scream. Nereus had given him strict instructions—no mentioning past missions. Of course, his boss had no idea how much of a past Cal had shared with his daughter.

A few times, he had comments on the tip of his tongue that were too personal and would have raised Nix’s suspicions. He had nearly blown it at their first meeting when he blurted out,—“You dyed your hair black.” He had smoothed over the gaffe by explaining that he had seen her before at League meetings. Nix seemed satisfied and unconcerned. Which was a good thing. She was sharp and could ferret out duplicity in an instant. It made her a great Destroyer, but also made his mission tricky. He would have to continue to think before he spoke and not let himself get tangled in their shared past.

It wouldn’t be easy. Nix was just as beautiful and ethereal as he remembered. Her eyes bottomless pools of blue, reminiscent of a tropical sea. Her tanned skin soft, supple, and so touchable. He could still remember the taste . . . the smell of her sweet flesh under his tongue. When he first saw her, it was all he could do not to reach out to her, to grab her and crush her to his chest and ask if she could remember anything, anything at all.

A loud rap got his attention. He opened the door and found a delivery box. Before touching it, he examined it, using his senses to be sure it wasn’t booby-trapped. He had enemies, and he didn’t need to give them an assist by being stupid.

Once he was satisfied the box was legitimate, he brought it inside. The package was most likely from Nereus. The old man had asked him to review some of the old Destroyer case files for signs of post-traumatic stress in his daughters. The Delian League still used paper since it was harder to mess with than computer records. Cal suspected Nereus couldn’t be bothered to convert the information over.

He was still puzzled by Nereus’ request. Why did he want Cal to evaluate the files? Cal had pointed out that there were experts better equipped to do the assessment. Nereus had replied cryptically that Cal was meant to be involved in the events about to unfold. That was the problem working with Nereus—he had the gift of prophecy. It was impossible to naysay him because, in the end, his visions were always right.

After several hours of reading, Cal stretched out his back with a long pull, then put the files aside. Work could wait. He wanted a shower to ease his tense muscles. The information contained in the Destroyer archives was a revelation. He had been a covert agent for centuries, sometimes for mortals, but most often for The Delian League. Needless to say, he had been around and was not naïve when it came to the activities these groups engaged in. But even he was surprised by the League’s level of infiltration and manipulation in mortal affairs.

Political events from the Twentieth Century bore the marks of the Gods’ interference. The ascension of the United States as a world super power was a prime example. Even in the late 1800s, the signs of influence were there, for those who looked closely enough. Destroyers had been used to target specific officials or to seduce powerful men—royalty and tycoons alike. The United States was carefully positioned to assert world dominance when the right war arose.

When he read between the lines, he could see a Destroyer’s involvement in the assassination of Archduke Ferdinand, the catalyst that led to World War I. And later during World War II, Destroyers had ferried key scientists out of Nazi Europe; the same men who later worked on the Manhattan Project, ushering in the atomic bomb. The Destroyers’ identities were not included so he had no idea which of the daughters had been involved.

His mind kept circling back to Nix. Her file was in the box, but he wasn’t ready to read it. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to know who she had seduced in the line of duty. That bothered him more than the assassinations, so he left the folder on his desk. She had always told him that her greatest fear was that she was being used for nefarious purposes. So far the U.S. had proven to be a just nation, but he was disturbed by how easily the Gods could still sway human events. In some ways, it was like Age of the Gods had never ended.

In the bathroom, he stripped off his clothes, leaving them in a neatly folded pile on the toilet lid. Old soldier habits never died. He stepped under the shower’s pounding jets and ran the soap across his pecs. Suds and water sluiced down the ridges of his abdomen, then split into a parallel course down each leg. As the warm spray massaged his muscles, he put world events out of his mind and thought about Nix. The cascade of water reminded him of the cold waterfall in the hills of the Poconos where he had first kissed her.

Remembrances of her sleek, tight body, naked in the waterfall, brought his cock to life. She was blond then, her hair like spun gold as it had plastered down her back in the running water. They had found the secluded spot while scouting the area for a place to camp for the evening.

The year: 1899. The area: still wild and largely unpopulated. Rich mortals owned the only residences, the mountain retreats, or cabins, as they called them. Cal and Nix had been combing the area for days trying to locate a socialite who had run off with a rich tycoon. The hapless mortal female had no idea she had chosen the company of a notorious Satyr. One who was wanted on two continents for human and Nymph trafficking.

Nix had explained at the start of the mission that she had an axe to grind with the Satyr. She never said which sister it was, but she explained that one of them had been captured and raped by the same miscreant. When they had finally captured the Satyr—well, he got what he deserved. Too bad Nix had no memory of that event either.

Through the spray of the shower, he could hear his cell phone ring on the bathroom vanity. He turned off the water and grabbed a towel. “Hello?”

“What did you think of the files I sent over?”

Cal could hear the wind blowing roughly in the background. Nereus must be calling from the beach or his boat. He didn’t bother to ask where Nereus was. He wouldn’t answer.

“It’s a lot of information to digest,” Cal said, hoping Nereus wouldn’t ask specific questions about the contents.

“Have you read Nix’s file yet? She’s my favorite, you know.”

“No. Not yet.” Interesting. Nereus made a point to ask about Nix specifically. “I thought all your daughters were your favorite, Sir.”

Nereus chuckled. “Don’t wait too long to read her case file.” He hung up.

Nix woke with a start, her cheeks damp and her throat sore, as if she had swallowed a rock. She’d been crying again and she had no idea why. The sheets were in a tangle around her legs, the recipients of a good overnight thrashing. A damp sheen coated her skin. For a single fleeting moment, she thought she saw a face . . . of someone . . . important? Then, it was gone, replaced by a hollow ache in her chest and a feeling of despair.

When the dreams had first started, she told herself it was probably the residual effect of having her memories wiped. It was mission related, probably a fever dream, like a phantom limb that still tingled after it was amputated. But honestly, it felt more personal, as if something precious had been taken from her. And it was getting worse.

She wasn’t about to say anything about it. Not with her father and the council on a tear looking for Destroyers ready to snap. No way. She wasn’t about to be locked up or put into stasis or whatever it was they did to Destroyers who cracked up.

No more sleep for me this morning
, she thought, resigned. She sat up and attempted to untangle the mess of sheets. Daybreak was near. Dim light peeked from behind the shades, making the windows appear soft and gray. After a few hard swallows, the tightness in her neck and throat began to diminish, but not the feeling of loss.

From the apartment’s living room came the dulcet and slightly creaky sound of Basil singing, “Yo, ho, ho, and a bottle of rum” to himself. Jason had played a pirate movie for the bird and he had been singing and cackling catch phrases for most of the week.

Most days it would have annoyed the hell out her.

Not today.

She silently thanked Basil for the reminder that whatever had happened in the past, she still had something to look forward to every day. She had the shop to run and a chance, at least for a while, to be her own person before duty called again.

Nix pulled her arms overhead and stretched herself out. She tilted her head and focused on a small framed picture on her bedside table. The charcoal sketch had been one of her first, back in 1789. A momentous year for her—she discovered her talent for drawing and the guilty pleasures of the tattoo shop, courtesy of her Uncle Memphis. The portrait of Uncle Memphis was one of the few likenesses he had allowed her to capture. Tall and imposing, his face was all sharp angles and smooth planes. Dark hair and dark eyes complemented his olive skin. Memphis was her mother’s half-brother. His birth mother was a closely guarded mystery. The only conclusion Nix could draw was that it was either a shameful or forbidden union. Nix was guessing a combination of both circumstances since most of the family treated him like a pariah.

Nix couldn’t care less who his mother was. She loved him regardless of his heritage. Memphis had seen her potential as an artist early on. He had encouraged her to draw everywhere and anytime she could. Even in war camp he demanded that she send him regular sketches. During breaks from camp, he introduced her to body art and his glorious shop Mystic Ink.

Sadness washed over her. The shop was hers now. That meant her uncle was probably dead or never coming back. Nix brushed at a tear before it escaped from her left eye. He would come back. He had too. As much as Nix loved the shop, she loved her uncle more. In the entire world, he was the only one who really understood her.

Not true. The doubt lingered in the back of her mind. A face surfaced . . . Like the phantom dreams, the image was a wisp, gone as soon as she tried to grasp it.

Basil chirped out the theme song for Popeye, giving Nix a fit of giggles. She covered her mouth with her hand, not wanting to egg the bird on further. She surrendered to the morning, freeing herself from the rumpled linens and rolling out of bed.

Nix greeted Basil before heading to the shower. Maybe a long hot one would ease the loss in her heart, but she doubted it.