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54
Giovanni’s Tattoo
YVESWICH, STATE OF KER
Loren sat in the truck, watching as Darien bit the tags off her new winter jacket—a puffy white thing that promised warmth in this bitterly cold city. It was nearly spring, but that didn’t seem to matter in Yveswich. The day was overcast, and the sprinkle of rain that misted the streets was half-frozen, the dip in temperature fogging up the truck windows.
They were parked out front of Giovanni’s Tattoo. Jack and Kylar had come along for the ride and were in the back seat, talking about the time they’d all gone snowboarding at a winter sports resort called Frostfire Ridge.
Darien handed her the jacket, and she put it on. The outer material was cold and slippery, but the inside was fuzzy and well insulated. She zipped it up and tucked her hands into the sleeves.
“Better?” Darien asked her, his eyes more gray than blue in this light.
She nodded.
“Good.” He opened his door, Jack and Kylar doing the same, the former still laughing as they recounted a memory of the Devil named Travis bailing on a black diamond slope. She’d always wanted to try snowboarding, but they were making it sound petrifying. Loren undid her seatbelt and got out too.
She’d learned from all their driving that the districts in Yveswich were divided into zones, and you could tell which one you were in by the way they chose to design it. In Neutral Zones, bits of all of them could be seen—traffic lights that were shaped like flames, lightning bolts, and trees; water fountains with elaborately carved statues of Caligo, goddess of water, mercy, and rebirth; street lamps crafted from ancient bone for the Hollow. There were bridges of red brick lined with enchanted torches for the Dunes; sidewalk art of Obitus for the Hollow; creeping ivy for the Labyrinth; lightning displays in shopping centers for the Eyrie; and artificial waterfalls for the Riptide, as if the city didn’t already have enough of those.
But right now, they were in a Gray Zone, so the architecture was dark and eerie, the roads lined with the arching bones of some long-dead leviathan.
Of course, there were also monuments to honor the mayor himself—a few statues and a lot of murals. Most of the ones Loren had glimpsed were vandalized. City workers were gathered around to fix them, either with magic if they were magic-born, or with paintbrushes if they were mortal and unfortunate enough to be assigned such a painstaking duty.
It was a truly fascinating city, but it didn’t stop Loren from missing home. From missing Dallas and Sabrine and her classes at Angelthene Academy. She still couldn’t remember that part of her life—the months that she had supposedly spent studying at the school for magic—but because she had always dreamed of going there, ever since she was a little girl, she found herself missing it anyway. She wondered what the headmaster and professors thought of her absence, if they would be forgiving enough to let her come back.
Surrounded on all sides by Darkslayers, Loren crossed the slick sidewalk and entered Giovanni’s Tattoo. The warmth that wrapped around her as soon as she stepped over the threshold was welcoming, but the buzzing of the guns immediately made her heart skip a beat. All her loathed tattoo appointments that stretched back to when she was a little girl were, unfortunately, unforgettable.
A male hellseher with a gray ponytail and beard stood behind the desk, his weathered hands flipping through an appointment book. He looked up at the sound of their entry and greeted them with a kind smile. “Welcome. Kylar, nice to see ya.”
“Hey, Giovanni,” Kylar said with a smile equally as bright, the diamond in his tooth winking like a tiny star. “Guys, meet Giovanni, ink master and goddamn genius.”
Jack grinned. “Giovanni the Genius. Has a nice ring to it.”
His curled moustache lifted with a smile. “Who’s getting the old stick and poke today?”
Kylar and Jack stepped aside like curtains parting.
When Giovanni caught sight of Loren, no longer hidden by the wall of Darkslayers, his head tilted ever so slightly, but he maintained his amicable smile.
Darien’s hand slid across the small of her back. “This pretty lady right here.” This time, when Loren’s heart skipped, it had nothing to do with the buzzing of the guns, and she found herself disappointed when Darien pulled away and shifted his hands into his jacket pockets. The coat he wore today was made of black canvas, a heavier and warmer article compared to his usual leather one.
“Come on in.” Giovanni stepped out from behind the desk and beckoned them to follow. “I can squeeze you into my schedule right now, as long as you don’t want a back piece.”
“No, not a back piece, thank you,” Loren said. She moved with the guys as they followed Giovanni to a private room in the back. He patted the headrest of a big leather reclining chair in the center of the room. “Have a seat. Make yourself comfortable.” As soon as she had her jacket off and sat down, he rolled over a stool and started gathering his things—tray, ink, gloves, disinfectant. “What are we doing today, Miss?” He took a seat on the stool and wheeled himself closer.
Darien said, “She has a medical tattoo that tells us when her blood sugar is low. We need another that’ll tell us when she needs a treatment at Caliginous on Silverway.”
Giovanni’s gray eyes widened ever so slightly. He glanced at Kylar, who gave the barest shake of his head.
“And conduit tattoos,” Loren added. Four pairs of eyes were now staring at her. The conduit tattoos were her idea. She hadn’t told anyone that she wanted them, or why.
According to what her unlikely new friends had told her, she had magic. And it was her body’s inability to handle it that had nearly killed her. What if an emergency happened, and she had to use her magic again? She couldn’t remember how, but…it wasn’t a bad idea to take precautions.
Darien shifted on his feet. “Loren, your solar amulet is a conduit.”
Giovanni’s eyes flicked about the group, the crease in his brow deepening.
Loren knew it was a conduit; they’d told her so her first night out of her coma. But unless you were a venefica using a stave, tattoos were more effective than physical conduits—everyone knew that—thanks to the ink’s direct contact with the skin and bloodstream.
