“Nice of you to finally join us,” Simon said from the kitchen.
I looked up to see Emma and Simon sitting with steaming mugs at the small counter.
“Please tell me that’s coffee,” I groaned. I felt like my mouth was filled with sand. Maybe it was.
“It’s tea, but don’t worry, I have black tea, not just the herbal kind,” Emma said.
Thank all that’s holy. I would have preferred coffee, but black tea with lots of sugar could give me the jolt I needed just as well. “How’s Cal?” I asked. “Did we help? Any improvement?” I stood up with a lurch and headed to the kitchen counter.
“Slow down zombie girl,” Emma said. “Have you looked at yourself? You danced your butt off and passed out. You’re so pale even a ghost would be scared. Come sit while I make you some tea.”
I turned to Simon and tried, and failed, to raise one eyebrow questioningly. He seemed to get the message though. Who knew he’d be the reasonable one? Maybe while I slept aliens came and switched their brains. Stranger things have happened. I should know.
“Cal’s vitals are stronger now, love, so yes I think your dance helped,” Simon answered. He even seemed to be giving me most of the credit. Oh yeah, aliens definitely switched their brains while I was out.
“He’s right,” Emma said, shrugging. “Cal’s temperature and blood pressure are back to normal and he seems stable, but I’m sorry hun, he hasn’t woken up yet.”
“That’s okay,” I said, with a gleam in my eye. “I know what I have to do.”
“What are you planning to do?” Emma asked. She looked worried. I must really look as bad as she said.
“I need to see a man about a tattoo,” I said.
*****
After Emma got over the initial shock, and I had slugged down a half dozen mugs of tea, we started working on a plan. According to Simon this spirit-ink dude wasn’t easy to come by. He was often away in reclusive meditation and there was a ritual that had to be performed in order to get the tattoo. How did I know this wasn’t going to be easy?
Simon “put out feelers” in the wolf community and, for now, we had to sit back and wait. Have you ever had to sit at the sickbed of someone you love? Idly sitting there, watching their chest rise and fall with the incessant ticking of the clock, is one of the most helpless feelings and I had already done this once this month. Granted the first time wasn’t nearly as serious, but if I could do something to turn back time and prevent all of Cal’s injuries I would. With inactivity came thoughts of who had done this to Cal and the old anger began to creep in. The red hot anger reached my heart and turned to fiery rage. It took all of the control that Simon had recently taught me, and the yoga breathing exercises I had learned while attending classes with Cal, to grab hold of that burning ember and extinguish it. Anger would only help our enemies and Cal would never forgive me if I lost myself to revenge.
I could almost hear Cal’s voice chiding me and reminding me of his favorite philosophy, ahimsha. Ahimsha, or devanagari in Sanskrit, meant to do no harm. Cal had always been drawn to Eastern philosophies and I remember the day he excitedly told me about ahimsha. This philosophy was not just a declaration of nonviolence, it was a way of viewing the world. Cal was always like that, eager to find beauty in all things. Like how he found beauty in me.
No, I wouldn’t succumb to the rage inside of me. Wasn’t that the road to madness? In fact, it was probably what led to all of this pain in the first place. Simon, when asked, had told me that the man who committed these crimes had been driven mad when he was abandoned at the time of his wolf awakening. The man’s ravings had been corroborated with what others could add to his story. His father had died when he was just a boy and when he was a teen his mother left him for a man. How alone must he have felt? How scared?
With no one to explain to him the changes in his body, he must have been frightened out of his mind. Apparently he became so paranoid of discovery that he withdrew from the human world entirely. With no school and no job he drifted, always keeping to the shadows. Living on the waste of human society, making his home in sewers and caves, he became more feral. He also became more and more convinced that his mother had left him because of his wolf side, the part of him that he relied on more each day to survive. The paradox of his self loathing and need for survival fed his madness and his desire to seek revenge on others of his kind. He became a werewolf killer.
I think I understood Cal’s attraction to ahimsha. The more I thought of the killer, whose name I learned was Nathan, the sorrier I felt for him. Circumstances had left him a homeless teen with no family. His wolf transformations were confusing and terrifying, making him too afraid to turn to anyone for help. How could I stay mad at a little lost boy who was scared and all alone?
So instead of plotting revenge I traced the lines of Cal’s tattoo with my fingertips hoping that we would soon get a call from the spirit-ink man. The tattoo was a black tribal armband, an infinity design of a wolf chasing a scarab beetle. His spirit chasing my spirit which, since they danced together in a circle, one leading to the next, meant my spirit was also chasing his. Like now. Pressing my hand against his warm decorated skin, I said a silent prayer that my spirit guide would be right. Please let this work.
I was so absorbed in my own little cloud of misery that I hadn’t even realized Emma had left until I heard her return. Pushing through the cabin door with her arms loaded with groceries she headed to the kitchen.
“A little help here?” Emma asked, pushing shopping bags at Simon. They were the reusable tote bags, of course. Emma would never kill a tree or contribute to global warming by using paper or plastic. Ever.
Simon just rolled his eyes and grudgingly accepted the bags as Emma turned to retrieve the ones she had left just outside the door.
“You went shopping?” I asked. Okay, I had been a bit out of it, but I really didn’t remember her leaving and was pretty sure we hadn’t discussed a shopping trip.
“Hey, I’m not good at waiting around,” Emma said, shrugging. “I brought my cell just in case, but figured we could all use some real food so I bought stuff to make dinner.”
“You’re my hero,” I said, grinning.
“Plus, didn’t you say you told the rents you were going apple picking with me today?” she asked. “I grabbed two big bags of organic apples, so you can bring a bunch home with you. They’ll never know the difference.”
As she talked Emma handed items to Simon and he put them away. They may argue with each other, like non-stop, but those two really worked well together when something needed to get done. I covered my grin with a cough.
“Cool, can I have one now?” I said, realizing that I was starving. When was the last time I ate?
“Sure thing, catch,” Emma said, tossing me an apple.
I grabbed a paper towel to wipe it off and caught a look from Simon. The apple may have been organic, but that didn’t mean it was bug poo free, just pesticide free. I wiped it off and took a huge bite. Most delicious apple ever.
Emma did the same, but apparently wasn’t sharing in the apple bliss. Her nose wrinkled up and she spit her bite into a napkin. Looking down at her apple she made a face.
“Gross,” she said.
“It’s just a worm, kitten,” Simon said, looking over her shoulder at the worm.
“Well, he’s compost now,” Emma said. “I’m not eating this one. Our little friend here had it first.”
“That’s what you get for buying organic,” Simon said, smugly.
“Oh Simon, shut up,” Emma said, rolling her eyes.
“You know, I’d eat it if I thought it would keep you away, doc,” Simon said.
Emma put her hands on her hips and faced Simon, ready for a huge argument I’m sure, but Simon’s phone started ringing.
“Saved by the bell,” I said. “Or rather, saved by the annoying ring tone.” Was that a Spice Girls song? Really?
Simon tensed up and began pacing the floor speaking into his phone i
n a low growl. After a few minutes of pacing he hung up.
“Looks like you won’t have to wait after all, love,” Simon said.
“Was that the tattoo guy?” I asked, holding my breath.
“That was our man and he agreed to come do your ink tonight,” he replied.
Tonight? Oh my God, was I even ready? “Okay, but I thought he had this long waiting list or something,” I said.
The vampire bats were back to fluttering in my belly and I started to feel sick. I’ve never been a fan of needles and, though I liked the finished product, the thought of actually getting a tattoo made me dizzy.
“Well kitten, I reminded him who his alpha was and he moved you to the top of the list,” Simon said. “I’m curious though, where are you going to get your ink?”
“Yeah Yuki, I was wondering too,” Emma said. “You probably don’t want it where your parents can see it.” Leave it to Emma, always the sensible one.
“I’m getting it where no one will ever see it,” I said, grinning.
Simon’s eyes gleamed and he leaned in across the counter. “Really?” Simon asked. “Where then?”
“Down boy,” Emma muttered.
“My ankle,” I said, pleased with myself. “Have either of you ever seen me without boots to my knee? No one ever sees my ankles. Perfect hiding spot.”
Simon looked disappointed which made Emma laugh with pure evil glee. While they discussed the spirit-ink man and tattoo art I finished my apple and started unlacing my boots. How bad could an ankle tattoo hurt anyway?
*****
Okay ankle tattoos hurt, a lot. Did you know you have like a gazillion nerve endings there? Yeah neither did I, until a dude stuck a bunch of needles in them. Not my finest moment.
“Ouch,” I muttered, again, gritting my teeth.
I felt sweaty and nauseated and was having trouble holding still. So not bringing the tough girl ninja chic vibe to the table today. Spirits of the dead? Crazy werewolf murderers? I can face these paranormal beasties no problem, but come at me with little pointy objects and I go all rubbery. I guess even Superman has his kryptonite, right?
We all sat around the kitchen table which was covered in gauze pads and a plastic biohazard bucket where Phil, the spirit-ink man, flicked his used needles. The whole process was evidently fascinating to Emma who asked incessant questions about “blood-borne diseases”, “bacteria”, and “autoclaves”. They were currently in a heated discussion over the differences between varying brands of antibiotic ointments, since apparently some brands would cause the ink to weep from the skin. I tried to tune them out by tracing the biohazard symbol with my eyes, but my attention continued to be drawn to the little metal pots of ink.
Phil was a tall, lanky man with long black hair which he drew back into a pony tail before scrubbing his hands and pulling on surgical gloves. I had managed to settle into the reclining chair that Simon had pulled up to the table and remain calm until I heard the snap of the surgical gloves. My fight or flight response kicked in and I nearly launched myself out of the chair and out the door, but I reigned in my fear…until Phil pulled his tattoo gun out of the case and began attaching the needles. I gulped in air and tried to find my happy place. Cal is dying and this could save him, so suck it up and deal. Oh yeah, I was a hero, larger than life.
Simon was entertained by my discomfiture over having a leg and foot exposed. I was so used to wearing thick tights, leggings, and fourteen eye boots to the knee that I felt naked. And everyone was looking at me. Simon’s comments about getting a tattoo on “virgin skin” didn’t help either. Fortunately Phil distracted Simon with a copy of Inked magazine. Simon seemed interested in the Inked Girls, though that didn’t stop the occasional cringe-worthy grin at my bare ankle. Jerk.
According to Phil all of his inks were mixed beneath a full moon, something that I imagine involved a great deal of restraint on his part due to the lunar pull on his wolf spirit. He also maintained that all of his inks were vegan. This, of course, made Emma bounce up and down with glee. No animal-based glycerin carrier solutions for these inks. Check. Got it. Well, not really, but on with the show folks. In theory, I appreciated the detailed info about Phil’s spirit-inks and his sanitary protocols, but in practice I just wanted this whole experience to be over with.
I was trying, really trying, to not puke on anyone, but no promises. The longer they continued talking about blood and needles and ink that would remain forever under my skin the more likely it was that someone was getting splattered. Forever. Tattoos were forever. No take backs. I mean sure, I could have some crazy expensive, and probably painful, plastic surgery or get another tattoo to cover up this one, but since this design was already black it would be difficult to pull off. No, I was probably going to have this forever and a part of me felt a warm, pleasurable satisfaction knowing that. A matching symbol of our love displayed in ink on skin.
Phil continued to explain the ceremonies involved in making his inks as he finished the line work on my tattoo. He talked over the buzzing of the tattoo gun, but his voice seemed hushed and reverent. To Phil the entire process, from mixing ink to the finished tattoo, was a ritual with deep spiritual significance. Calvin and I were binding our spirit animals in a sacred act of love, similar to marriage or matrimony, an eternal union. The vibration and burning sensation of my ankle suddenly seemed far away as I thought about how Cal must have felt when he decided to get his tattoo. He must have been very much in love.
A cool mist hit my skin, interrupting my thoughts, as Phil spritzed something from a spray bottle onto my ankle.
“Soap,” Phil said.
Whatever was in the spray it felt good. My eyes were drawn again to the little pots, “caps” Phil had called them, of spirit-ink. They looked relatively normal, but just as my eyes began to drift away I would see a swirling movement within the ink. I also smelled a hint of lavender and honey that seemed to drift in and out with the motion of the ink. Were there actual spirits trapped in the ink? The thought made me feel queasy. Like I wasn’t already.
I began shifting around in my chair, but stopped when Phil gave me a reproachful glance. I bit my lip, trying to hold myself still. How should I ask him about the movement in the ink? Did anyone else see it, or was it some weird extension of my psychic spirit link? I swallowed hard and cleared my throat.
“So, uh, what does the full moon ceremony do to the ink anyway?” I said.
I tried to sound nonchalant, but my voice came out a bit shaky. Hopefully Phil would just think it was from my squeamishness around needles. I wanted answers, but I didn’t want him to know how much I had seen. I picked at my nail polish, which was beginning to look like a UPC symbol of black polish and white nail, and pulled my eyes from the ink caps sitting open on the table. What if there really were spirits of the dead trapped inside? Would I make him stop? Could I walk away from the one thing that may help Cal survive?
Phil didn’t look up from his work, but I did notice a sly flick of his eyes toward Simon. Interesting. If Phil wouldn’t fess up, then I could turn my attention to Simon.
“You should ask Cal that question,” Phil said. He was busily shading in the wolf on my ankle and I realized that the time for subtleties was past. If I didn’t get answers soon, it would be too late to back out of this tattoo.
“STOP,” I said.
The buzzing of the tattoo gun faded away, but Phil looked hesitant. There was something manic in the gleam of his eyes and he hadn’t stopped looking at my ankle. Gripping the chair arms, I raised my one booted foot to his chest and shook my head.
“Back away Phil,” I said. “No way are you sticking any more of that ink under my skin until you explain what’s really going on. Spill it.”
Phil closed his eyes for a moment and I increased that pressure against his chest, but then he sighed and leaned away, hands raised in the air.
“Okay, maybe I haven’t been totally straight with you,” Phil said. He looked resigned, perhaps a bit beaten, and I wondered
why he would keep something about the ink secret from me. What the heck was in that stuff?
Emma walked up beside me and crossed her arms. “Dude, you are so busted,” she said.
Phil looked over at Simon who looked unusually tense. Simon was rubbing his arms and his face had turned ashen. He nodded to Phil then walked quickly to the front door. Hand on the door knob, back still to us, he said, “Tell them everything.” Then he was gone.
“What was that all about?” Emma asked.
“That’s Simon’s story to tell,” Phil said.
“That’s funny, I could have sworn he just said to tell us everything,” I said. My voice was hard and Phil flinched.
“I guess he did at that,” Phil said.
*****
I expected there to be lots of skeletons in Simon’s closet, but I hadn’t counted on a tragic tale of love. Simon just didn’t seem the type. Maybe his playboy exterior was just a mask to hide behind so no one would ever get close enough to hurt him again. Just when I thought I knew Simon, I realized that I never really knew him at all.
According to Phil, Simon had fallen for a werewolf girl when they were both still in their teens. The two of them were in love and completely inseparable. When the girl, Meredith, decided to attend the University of Edinburgh right after high school, Simon went with her. They had plans to get married after graduation and underwent the spirit-ink tattoo ceremony before leaving the United States. Simon and Meredith had a bright future together, but it wasn’t meant to last.
Simon had more control over his wolf spirit, but Meredith was still young and had to shift into her wolf form a few times a month, especially around the time of the full moon. Since they did everything with each other, they usually shifted together and roamed the nearby rolling hills and fields. One full moon Meredith challenged Simon to a race, and shifting into her wolf form, ran to the North. Simon pursued. Unfortunately they hadn’t realized how long and how far they had run. As the sky lightened they entered the area of Perthshire, where over a dozen estates held hunts for live game. At dawn shots rang out and Meredith lay bleeding. Simon grabbed her and managed to drag her away from the hunters, but it was too late. Meredith, Simon’s one true love, lay dead.