Stained (2 page)

“Where do we go, the morgue?”

“No, I’ve brought you pictures,” he said, as his face closed up. He pulled away. Thorn knew that he was holding something back. He was guarded around her. It was more than the cop thing of keeping too much evidence a secret. It was something more. Keeping his body tight and distant. He did make it clear he meant business, though, by looking her directly in the eye.

“I understand,” she said, meeting his gaze. “I remember Detective Scettico. He helped me with a break-in we had a few months ago.” Thorn wrapped her now cold fingers around the warm mug of coffee. Scettico seemed to hate her before they’d even met. He’d had something against female tattoo artists, Thorn thought, against females in general.

“Let me show you those pictures.” He laid them face down, trying to prepare her. “The weather and animals did a number on it.”

He turned over the first 5x7. She picked up the picture, unable to hold back a gasp. The tattooed flesh had been cut up. The skin was green and bloated, but she recognized the tattoo immediately. She had worked it on a witch a year ago. Thorn felt the blood run from her face as she took in the pictures. She breathed slowly and calmly to settle herself. She knew this witch.

“Are you okay,” Sé asked.

“I just need a minute.”

It shocked her to know the young witch had died, and someone had mutilated her this way. The witch, Willow, had wanted the typical protection symbols, but also a love spell worked into it, so she would be unaccountably irresistible. Thorn had cautioned her about this but the witch was strong magickally and confident she could defend herself. It was clear from the pictures Thorn now held in her hand that the magick symbolism was missing. It had been cut off the body. The witch had recently been giving Reese, one of her artists, some trouble. She claimed Reese had made a pass at her girlfriend but Reese was committed to Gwynn. Once Thorn had explained this, Willow backed off.

Witches and vampires came to Thorn to be inked, as she was able to invoke spells into her artwork and ink. She’d weave talismans into the tattoos, infusing them with magick. These were the late-night patrons, who paid so well. She could also bespell ink, so a vampire could be tattooed. Normally, they healed too fast and the ink disappeared. She was the only one who could make it work, that she’d heard of, and she had vamps coming from all over the world to get tattooed.

“This is my work.”

“What can you tell me about it?”

“Part of it’s missing.”

“You’re sure about that? So many tattoos, you remember all of them?”

“Some are more memorable than others. This is one of those. There were some distinctive symbols that have been removed, just those specific symbols. It was very carefully done too.” Thorn pointed to the missing skin, which hadn’t disrupted the unmagicked design.

Sé gathered up the pictures and studied her. “What did the symbols mean?”

Thorn laughed. “Detective, they’re just symbols.”

“I know that, and you know that, but our killer seems to think otherwise. You must know what they mean, Thorn.”

“She had a symbol for protection and for love woven together. Funny, the protection thing didn’t work too well for her, did it?” Thorn said. She let out a big breath.

“No, it didn’t.” He looked at the pictures a moment longer before he put them away. “Where did you learn to be a tattoo artist?”

Thorn’s face froze. Was this just curiosity or still part of the interview? “I was an artist first. Then I studied the art of tattoo in Japan, New Zealand, England, and all over the States.” Thorn shifted in her seat and took a sip of her coffee. “Tattooing is an old art.” She studied his eyes, trying to determine how much to tell him. “Its history is a mix of mysticism and magick.”

“Why do you think someone would want to cut these symbols off a person?” Sé asked.

“I have no idea, Detective. Why would anyone kill?” He lingered, looking past her. She needed him to go. She had a client coming in at three a.m., A vampire. One of the special clientele she kept separated from her everyday customers. There was blood involved, and she didn’t want to produce undue temptation from other humans being near. Besides the fact that the mixing of human mundanes and vampires, was strictly forbidden in her licensing agreements, with the vampire council. And she needed some time to recover from this shock.

“I didn’t ask why someone would kill. But I guess you’re right,” he said. “We never really know why these guys kill, and even less why they mutilate. Thanks for your time, Thorn.”

He met her eyes and then, as if needing to prolong the conversation, he thanked her for the coffee too.

She walked him back out of the shop and saw him to the door. He gave a little wave as he strode into the night and she locked the door behind him. She stood in the doorway for a few minutes watching his figure get smaller as he faded amongst the shadows. The street was dark, hiding the homeless that used doorways for shelter once the sun went down and the shops closed up. The scent of rain was on the wind. This made her think of Sé again and she smiled to herself.

“Trouble, that one.”

“Oh Raven, I can look at least, can’t I?”

“Our kind, don’t mix well. Trouble.”

“Clap your trap, Raven. I think I need to do some investigating of my own. Let’s go hunt.”

CHAPTER TWO

Unseen and untouched, stay away, go away, stay unseen, until I reveal you.

Thorn and Raven left through the side door, via an unlit alley, rank with the smell of overflowing garbage, to retrieve her motorcycle, a black shiny Ducati. She used a ‘stay-away’ spell on it to prevent people from realizing it was there. She threw one elegant leather-clad leg over the bike to straddle it. She had grabbed a strip of leather by the door, to tie up her long onyx hair. Her eyes flashed in the moonlight, the night was still too dark to reveal the violet color they were if in the sun. Raven cawed softly. This was their favorite time of the night. Raven loved to hunt and scavenge and she lived to ride.

She revved her bike into submission, getting a feel for the engine.

“Where to go? What do you feel like tonight, Raven?”

“Not much time. People’s Park good. Rats.”

“Yes, there are plenty of rats for you there. Okay, People’s Park it is. Not much of a run on the bike tonight. You’ll barely be able to stretch your wings.”

She eased out of the alley. The nice thing about living above her shop was the lack of neighbors to disturb in the night. She cruised down Telegraph, her thighs caressing the powerful motor, on her way to the iconic People’s Park, a famous little piece of land that had been won at a high cost. The Park had changed over the decades.

In 1969, Ronald Reagan, then governor of California, veiwed the plans of local residents and members of the Free Speech Movement to create a park for the people as an example of the University’s lax attitude towards student demonstrations. He saw the situation as a way to deliver on his campaign promise of cracking down on political activism on campuses. Reagan assigned Edwin Meese III to handle it. Meese assembled an army of almost 800 state, county, local law enforcement officers. Meese told them to use whatever methods they chose against the crowds. The situation escalated from peaceful gatherings to a full scale riot.

When the confrontation came to a head, one person was killed, a bystander blinded, and over 120 Berkeley residents were treated for head trauma, shotgun wounds, and other serious injuries. The police didn’t escape unscathed either. Nineteen officers were treated in emergency rooms as well.

In the end the community’s will prevailed and People’s Park was part of the result. Thorn knew that now the Park was co-managed by the University of California, Berkeley and various community groups. The park had become home to the homeless. The People’s Park had become a park for disenfranchised people.

Raven dropped to her handlebars as she pulled into the shadows alongside the Park. Thorn shut down the Ducati and placed the key snuggly into her pocket. She summoned another ‘stay-away’ spell, pulling slightly on her inner magick. It tugged from deep inside her, as she envisioned purple energy surround her bike.

Being a witch had given her many skills, some of which she would use tonight. One of those powers included glamouring people, when she looked them in the eye. She planned on asking some questions while Raven scavenged. She couldn’t get the dead witch out of her mind. She owed it to Willow, to find out what she could. Now, she would pick her quarry.

Finding a sleeping woman some fifty feet away, she materialized beside her in a blink of an eye. Thorn leaned down and gently woke her up. When the woman’s eyes were open she spoke to her.

“What’s your name, dear childe?”

“Peggy,” she whispered.

“Peggy, I’m going to ask you some questions.”

“Yes.”

“Good.” Thorn made Peggy more comfortable. “Have you seen anyone unusual lurking around the streets at night, childe?”

“Yes, a man. Talks funny, like a leprechaun, dresses in fancy clothes and does terrible things to us.”

An Irish accent. The hair on the back of her neck rose sending a current of unease through Thorn. She instinctively looked around her, scanning the bushes and trees.

“Does this man have a name?”

“Don’t know.” Peggy shivered. “Don’t wanna know.”

“Thank you, Peggy, rest now.” The sounds of the night mingled with those of people sleeping under trees and bushes. People rolled over, snored or shuffled about. Her excellent hearing alerted her to Raven gorging himself on some dead animal. She waited, pacing back and forth, for him to come back. The wind came up and the smell of unwashed bodies wafted by.

Just as quick as she was there, she was gone, and back at her bike, leaving the woman holding twenty dollars. Raven flew to her, having feasted on a dead rat. Raven was sated and Thorn had gotten as much as she was going to get tonight. They started for home and her three a.m. appointment.

Why would someone cut out those talismans? It had to be something dark. Too many questions on her mind and now she had to go to work.

Raven was happily cleaning his feathers while Thorn went upstairs to her apartment. The neatly appointed space always gave her comfort, it was her sanctuary. She worked hard to keep the outside world from intruding. No one had ever been there, save for the workmen before she first moved in. She moved quickly now. She wanted to brush her hair out before her appointment and eat something. As she entered the high-ceilinged space, a sense of calm soothed her soul. The walls were a deep russet that accented the ebony leather furniture. Tribal art surrounded her. She had several pieces worth a great deal of money. She didn’t care, their value was in her aesthetic. Thorn crossed the glowing bamboo floors to her room, and checked the curtains to make sure they were drawn tight, out of habit. She needed her sleep during the day, because of her nocturnal lifestyle, and she was a very private person.

Her boar bristle brush was on the old vanity she’d picked up at a late-night auction. The vanity didn’t match the bed but she liked the way they looked together. The pieces fit in an eclectic way. She brushed her thick black hair until all the tangles were gone and it shone. Replacing her brush, she turned to go downstairs, catching a glimpse of her reflection in the mirror, or what amounted to her reflection. It was more like a murky shadow, fuzzy on the edges, the glass was old and the reflective backing chipped away. She was almost late now. She grabbed a banana to eat, and hurried downstairs to unlock the front door.

Just in time. Richard was waiting for her. She knew the legendary vampire looks were mostly glamour to attract donors, but Richard wasn’t bad-looking on his own. Tall, with blonde hair, and the requisite dark eyes. His body was well-developed. Her vampire and witch clients had a longer wait time than her human ones. The energy that went into their tattoos wore her out and she only scheduled one appointment a week. They came from all over to see her. She was the only one she knew who specialized in the art. She let him in and noticed he was rosy-cheeked which meant he’d just fed. This was one of her stipulations and one of the reasons she scheduled them for three a.m. It gave her clients time to hunt.

“Hi, Richard, please, have a seat,” she said, as she pointed to her chair. Thorn went to the counter and took his artwork out of a folder. “I’ve got a design drawn up that I think you’ll like. How does this dragon look?”

“It’s incredible. You drew just what I described and more,” he said, looking at her and waving his hand across the drawing. He even showed a little fang. “I also wanted a talisman for wealth and protection and if you could work it into the dragon that would be great,” he said. He was excited. Most of her vamps were. The idea of having a tattoo was a new concept for them.

“Sure, I think we can do that. What color did you want your dragon to be?”

“Green and gold,” he said, obviously having already thought about it. “I’d like it on my forearm.”

“Good choice. Green and gold stand for wealth and protection, in the color world as well, so it will be doubly powerful. Why don’t you roll up your sleeve and we’ll get started.”