Whisper Kiss

  Rox pivoted quickly and he knew she was shutting him out. "Yeah, well, we all do what we can." She marched away, leaving Niall to do what he wanted.

  He followed her, still looking.

  Behind the reception area was a corridor complete with a copier and what Rox said was a stencil- making machine, then a line of a half-dozen rooms. In each room, one or two tattoo artists could work. There was a black padded couch in each room like a massage bed as well as several smaller padded stands and a couple of chairs, lots of lights, and drawers of tools.

  As in many hair salons, each artist had customized his or her space. The walls in Rox's workroom were painted burgundy, and on her side of the shared space, those walls were covered with thumbtacked sketches. Rox offered no explanations. She pulled out a sketchbook and sat down at the drawing board, ignoring him.

  Niall wondered about Rox's own tattoos. He'd glimpsed some script on her shoulder the night before, but hadn't taken the time to read it. And he'd seen the broken heart on her cheekbone. That one was hidden today, lost beneath a black curlicue of eyeliner. He'd seen another tattoo through those fishnet stockings the day before. Did she have more tattoos? How many did she have?

  Where were they?

  What images had she chosen? Did they all have meaning, like the heart? Were they specially chosen as reminders, like the tattoo she had given Thorolf? Niall wondered.

  She didn't look inclined to confide in him.

  Niall wasn't interested in being shut out and he knew the firestorm was on his side. He moved closer, savoring the golden heat that grew more radiant with every step.

  "You'd better stay on the other side of the room," she said without looking up. "Everyone will notice the sparks." She shrugged. "Then they'll want some."

  Niall smiled at the creative way she had found to ensure that he kept his distance. He wasn't fooled, though. He knew that Rox was aware of him and that the firestorm was winning.

  Chapter 10

  Niall smiled and backed up a bit. "But what are you doing?"

  Rox sat back, gesturing to the drawing. "This is the sketch for a sleeve."

  "What's a sleeve?"

  "Tattoos covering the skin from shoulder to wrist." Rox grabbed her portfolio and opened it, showing him a photograph. "This is the other sleeve I did for Chynna."

  Roses tumbled down the arm of a young woman in a tank top, looking so lush that they could have been a photograph. There were close-up images of the dewdrops on the petals and several small insects hidden in the leaves.

  "You can almost smell them," Niall said with admiration.

  "That's what Neo said."

  "Who's Chynna?"

  "My partner. Actually she started Imagination Ink, then let Neo and me buy in recently." Rox indicated her sketch. "Now she wants the other sleeve to be similar, but she already has a couple of tattoos on that arm." Niall saw that Rox had those designs on tracing paper, as if she had traced them from Chynna's arm. One of them was the logo of a heavy metal band, while the other was a cute fairy. He found himself moving closer, fascinated.

  "You need to integrate them into the design," Niall guessed.

  "And I don't like where they are." Rox grimaced. She put the tracing paper over the sketch, showing Niall how the images worked together. "I don't like what they are, either."

  "Can't you cover them with another image? Or remove them?"

  "Removal is painful. I think the fairy can be worked out. See? If I put a rose right beside her, a darker one, that would make her smaller. Her face could be peeking out from around the flower."

  "Like the insects," Niall said with a smile. It was an ingenious solution. "It fits."

  "Plus it's the tattoo Chynna really likes, and the face is her favorite part. Otherwise, I'd bury the fairy in the middle of a flower. She's faded enough that it could be done."

  "Do all tattoos fade?"

  "Only the crap ones." Rox raised her brows. "Like this one. I'll redo the part that's going to survive." She tapped her pencil. "But the band logo is solid black. It'll never be covered."

  "Can you make it into something else?" The angular lines of it reminded Niall of his mother's garden at their country house, of the roses she had grown that could have modeled for Rox's rose tattoos.

  "Sure. But what?"

  "Well, some roses grow on a trellis," Niall suggested. He took her pencil, ignoring the spark, and sketched lightly on her tissue. "You could maybe turn it into a grid, like this. I'm no artist. . . ."

  "But that's brilliant!" Rox's face lit up. She seized the pencil and made magic of Niall's idea. She worked over the sketch rapidly, adding bits of a black trellis throughout the sleeve, so that the covered logo looked like just another glimpse of the structure. She glanced up at him, her eyes dancing. "Thank you! I've been sweating this for more than a week."

  Niall saw her pride in her work, and her pleasure in what she could do. She was enticing when she sparkled like this and he bent his head, intending to capture a small reward for his contribution.

  Rox looked as if she would welcome his kiss, then suddenly her eyes flashed and she pushed him hard in the chest. Niall took a step backward, then heard the footfall in the corridor that he should have heard sooner.

  His heart sank with another reminder that the firestorm--and his fascination with Rox--left him vulnerable, which was the last thing he needed. He had to find the shadow dragons, before one of them found him.

  Niall had only just retreated to his corner and leaned against the wall, arms folded across his chest, when company appeared.

  "Got one for you, Rox," the arrival said, sticking his head around the door frame. He was a slim guy in his thirties with dyed black hair and lavish eyeliner to rival that of Rox. His earlobes held large earplugs that could have been made of ebony.

  "My partner, Neo," Rox said. "This is Niall, Neo."

  Neo gave Niall an appreciative once-over. "Sister Rox sticks in her thumb and pulls out a plum," he said, then grinned. Before Niall could reply, he continued speaking to Rox. "This lady wants a memorial tattoo. Name's Laurie and she's asking for you specifically."

  Rox nodded. "Okay."

  Neo considered Niall again. "I gotta say, Rox, that this one looks like he has it together more than your usual projects."

  "Maybe I'm not a project," Niall said quietly.

  "Oh, like a date?" Neo grinned. "Then you're the one with the odds stacked against you. Sister Rox is the last bastion of chastity on the old East Side. . . ."

  "Don't you have something to do, Neo?" Rox demanded. Her face was red. "Like maybe in LA? Or Hawaii?"

  Neo laughed, as untroubled by her manner as Niall was. "Just sayin'." Neo winked at Niall. "Rox is the most disciplined person I know."

  "Nothing wrong with discipline," Niall said. He was enjoying this conversation and what it told him about Rox.

  "Nothing at all," Neo agreed, ignoring Rox. "As long as everyone understands the deal from the outset."

  Rox was annoyed. "Neo! There's a kid named Barry in the restroom. He's going to work here, help out. Maybe you could show him around."

  "He's the project," Niall said softly. "Probably needs a meal."

  "Got it," Neo said, leaning in the doorway, his gaze bright with curiosity. "So, tell me where you two kids met."

  "I thought customers came first," Rox said.

  Neo swore as he remembered the waiting client and darted down the corridor.

  "What's a memorial tattoo?" Niall asked.

  "A tattoo to honor someone who's died," Rox said in an undertone. "Probably half the tattoos we do are memorials. It's bread and butter."

  Then she stepped forward to greet the client who appeared in the doorway. "Hi, I'm Rox. It's Laurie, right? Come on in and tell me what I can do for you."

  Niall was intrigued by the change in Rox's manner. She was effusive and friendly, more approachable than she had been when he had met her.

  He settled back in his corner, pleased to have the chance to watc
h her doing what she did well.

  Something was wrong.

  Erik Sorensson, leader of the Pyr, studied Ginger's spreadsheet on his laptop screen for what had to be the hundredth time. He needed every talon he could muster in the war against the Slayers, and Ginger had the expertise to track bloodlines well.

  The Slayers would be tougher to document, as they deliberately tried to hide themselves from the perception of Erik and other true Pyr. Erik also tried to keep his mind from following the dark paths the Slayers regularly trod. On the upside, the Slayers could no longer breed.

  They could, however, recruit. It was entirely possible that some of the missing Pyr had turned to the darkness, which was news that Erik refused to anticipate until it was confirmed on a case-by-case basis. It would be bad enough to confront the loss then. He didn't like the length of the list of potential shadow dragons, even though Niall was eliminating the ones he found. Donovan was working through the list, too, visiting sites to confirm those Pyr who remained dead.

  Why did the shadow dragons reveal themselves at intervals? Erik shared Niall's frustration with that fact, and couldn't explain it, either.

  It didn't help his mood that Erik could feel the distant blaze of a firestorm. He'd felt it since shortly after the eclipse had ended the previous day.

  Erik didn't like coincidences--that the Pyr who had volunteered to eliminate the shadow dragons was having a firestorm before those shadow dragons were all found and dispatched smelled like trouble to him.

  That was nothing compared to the irritation of his laptop.

  This latest version of Ginger's spreadsheet, like all the others, had been returned by Ginger with questions. She wanted death dates and birth dates, names and birth-places of sons, last- known locations for each, et cetera, et cetera. The level of detail was impressive, and Erik was glad he remembered as much as he did.

  But there was a note in red on this one. Obviously, this was a detail Ginger had requested before, and Erik hadn't yet supplied it. The odd thing was that he couldn't read her note. He could see the red type from the periphery of his vision, so he knew it was there, but when he looked straight at the screen, the cell appeared to be empty. Erik knew it had to be right in the middle of the screen with Ginger's question in red type, but he couldn't read it because he couldn't see it.

  He tried, over and over again.

  Was there something wrong with his laptop's display?

  Erik was nearly ready to chuck the expensive piece of junk at the wall, when Eileen unlocked the door to their apartment. She looked weary when she nudged open the door with her boot and Erik went to take their daughter, Zoe, from his partner's arms. The toddler was sleeping, as boneless as a rag doll in Eileen's embrace.

  But considerably heavier.

  "The sitter said she was chattering all day, but she's slept the whole way home," Eileen said, dropping her satchel onto the floor and stretching her shoulders. "How did I end up with so much stuff tonight?" she asked no one in particular. "I'm going to rent myself a forklift instead of taking public transit."

  Zoe, twenty months old and more adorable to her father with every passing day, sighed and dozed on his shoulder. Her hand curled, her grip tightening and her fingers entangling themselves in his T-shirt. He felt her relax even more, just as she always did when he carried her.

  Her hair had darkened even from birth, becoming the same inky black that his own had once been. Yet it was clearly going to be curly like Eileen's. Zoe's eyes were also resolutely blue, like her mother's.

  Eileen smiled and kissed his cheek. "Did you get a lot of work done today on that pyrotechnics project?"

  Erik glanced toward his desk with some guilt. The whole reason Zoe had gone to a sitter and Eileen had done research in the library on a Sunday was to give him a chance to work, but he hadn't accomplished anything, thanks to his various irritations.

  "No, actually, I was quite ineffective today." He heard the annoyance in his own voice, and shrugged at Eileen's glance.

  "That's not like you." She grimaced. "But then, I was running in circles all day today, too. Maybe the stars are aligned against us. Or maybe they just don't approve of people working weekends."

  "There was a partial eclipse yesterday."

  "Is that why you've been out of sorts this weekend?"

  "Part of the reason. It presaged a firestorm, too."

  "Whose?"

  "Niall's."

  "Delaney's firestorm started on a partial eclipse." Eileen went into the kitchen and took a bottle of mineral water from the fridge. She took a glass out of the cupboard and, at Erik's nod, added a second. She sliced a lime, then poured the sparkling water over it in the glasses. She took a sip and sighed with appreciation.

  Erik leaned in the doorway with their dozing child. "But Delaney had been a shadow dragon. He'd drunk the Elixir. I don't understand why Niall's firestorm would be linked to a partial eclipse." Erik frowned at the murmur of distant old-speak, knowing that Eileen was watching him. "Fortunately, Rafferty and Sloane are already there. Thorolf, as well." He still felt restless and impatient, lacking a piece of the puzzle.

  Never mind his stupid computer.

  "But there's more than that, isn't there?" Eileen flashed him a smile, and Erik was glad his mate understood him as well as she did. "Are we going to the firestorm?"

  Erik glared across the room at the laptop.

  "You have that contract," Eileen noted.

  "Fourth of July. It's just over a week away, a huge display, and I'm not as organized as I'd like to be."

  "Which means you're probably as organized as normal people manage on their good days," Eileen said wryly. "You are the high master of controlling all the variables, my love."

  "It only makes sense," Erik said. "Pyrotechnics aren't toys. . . ."

  "And you've never had a single injury on your team. I know." Eileen raised a hand and smiled. "It's all good." She opened the fridge, pulling out dishes of leftovers and setting them on the counter. The toddler awakened, predictably, and began to bounce in anticipation. "Well, Zoe's got to eat, no matter what you decide."

  "Could you do me a favor?" Erik asked as he bounced their daughter. "Would you look at the file displayed on my laptop and tell me what the red type says, please?"

  Eileen glanced across the room. "I can almost read it from here."

  "I can't read it at all."

  "You're joking." She smiled at him. "Are you going color-blind after all these centuries of perfect vision?"

  "Very funny." Erik wasn't in the mood to be teased.

  Eileen abandoned Zoe's dinner and crossed the room to peer at the display. "This is that file you're working on with Ginger, right?" She didn't wait for an answer. "Mmm, Ginger wants to know about any sons Gaspar might have had, what surname he assumed, if any, and when he died." She glanced back at him and smiled. "She sounds a bit impatient, as if she's asked you this before and you've ducked her."

  "Gaspar," Erik repeated as he frowned. Gaspar had been one of his father's compatriots, and a member of the original high circle of Pyr. He had a glimpse in his mind's eye of that Pyr, then couldn't recall what he had looked like.

  Or even that he existed.

  "What was the name again?"

  Eileen gave him an odd look. "Gaspar."

  The memory flicked briefly, then disappeared. Erik's annoyance grew as he forgot the name once more.

  Eileen was watching him, probably seeing more than he suspected. "You really couldn't read it?"

  "I can only see the red type from the corner of my eye. When I look straight at it, it disappears."

  "That's weird."

  "It is, indeed." Her comment made Erik wonder whether there was anything magical at work. He returned to the desk and tried to see the red type, but no luck.

  "It bugs you, doesn't it?"

  "It has nearly driven me mad."

  "I can imagine, but I don't think you're quite there yet." Eileen heated up Zoe's dinner in the microwave and Erik p
ulled out the high chair. Zoe clapped and chattered as he set her in her chair, so adorable that the sight of her nearly broke Erik's heart.

  If anything ever happened to this child . . . He couldn't even think about the possibility. She gave him one of those intent looks, as if she could sense his concerns, then smiled sunnily.

  Was she trying to reassure him?

  Erik fastened on her bib as she fidgeted, clearly hungry. She clapped her hands when Eileen presented her dinner and took her spoon in her hand with such resolve that Erik's mood was lightened. "She's determined to eat like an adult," he marveled. Zoe concentrated, putting her spoon into the vegetables slowly.

  "As stubborn as her father," Eileen teased.

  "Not her mother?"

  She grinned. "So, what about Gaspar?"

  Erik was puzzled by the reference. "Who?"

  "Gaspar!"

  Gaspar. "That's the thing," Erik admitted. "We've just exchanged one frustration for another."

  "You don't remember? But you remember everything, Mr. Mind-Like-a-Steel-Trap." Eileen laughed. "You could give me some of that, you know, one day when you decide you have overstock."

  "You don't do so badly yourself, Dr. Grosvenor."

  Zoe, two spoonfuls successfully delivered to her mouth, cast the spoon at the floor and reached into the vegetables with her bare hands. Her dinner was smeared across her face in a heartbeat, her eyes dancing with delight, and Erik could only hope that some made it into her mouth.

  Eileen rolled her eyes. "Just don't throw any of it," she admonished, getting another spoon and feeding the little girl with experienced ease. Zoe shoved the occasional fistful into her mouth, even so.

  Eileen continued her conversation with Erik. "Then why did I spend all day chasing my own tail around the library, following lead after lead after lead and getting nowhere? The strange thing is that it was all about Venice. Venice! Everything led to Venice, as if that made any kind of sense when I was trying to research the various urban legends of sewer dwellers."

  Venice. Something shook free in Erik's memory, then disappeared as surely as if it had never been there. It could have been coming to the surface of a dark lake, then sinking without leaving so much as a ripple.