Her throat cracked and made a rasping sound. Neon lights flashed against her skin, hot pink and pale blue, until Gio pulled the plug on the “open” sign and leaned his bulk against the glass door rather than locking it.
Under the gazes of Gio, Diana, and Haugh, she struggled to speak. And to remember that these were the people that had helped her. Taken her in, provided hearth and home, trained her in a new career when her prospects had poured into the sewer drain along with her art supplies and her mother’s ashes.
This was the first they’d asked her to repay that debt. Consequences are a form of debt, her mother’s memory whispered. And you owe them just the same.
“I don’t understand,” Seraphina said, and this time her voice only cracked slightly. Her position in the tattoo chair felt vulnerable, surrounded by larger than life people – gods? – she’d just found out had been alive for centuries. “You want me to what?”
“It’s for your protection,” Diana said, sweeping silver hair over her shoulder. Ageless eyes the color of liquid moonlight bored into hers, and now Sera realized that her friend had always – until now – made an effort to blink normally.
“We didn’t think they were still looking for us,” added Gio, looking every inch the ancient warrior despite jeans and a leather jacket.
A snort from the corner where Haugh lurked, too dim to see clearly. “We were careless, you mean. We thought there weren’t enough of us left to bother with.”
“Just a quick protection charm,” Gio said. “And some self-defense training in the back room with me. Every morning from now on.”
“Hopefully it’s nothing to worry about and they leave town quickly.” Diana rolled her eyes at another snort. “It’s happened before. Prague, and that Paris suburb—”
“For every Prague, there is a Budapest.” Haugh’s tone was flat.
At that, Gio finally locked the door.
Diana pressed her lips together and gave a curt nod, then turned to the chair. “Sera – Seraphina, angel, I promise that this is only to help. It’s strange, and I’m sure it’s frightening.”
“A protection tattoo, with our magic imbued.” Haugh rustled in his corner, as if about to stand before thinking better of the idea. “Right now, you’re a crack in the armor. A vulnerability.”
“Nice,” Gio muttered less than quietly. “I see why we left it to you to persuade her.”
“I’ll do it,” Sera said, but the words stuck in her throat. She tried again. “I’ll do it. You’ve been so kind, and it’s the least I can do.”
“This isn’t payment,” Diana admonished her gently. “Nothing of the sort between friends. We’d have found another way if you weren’t willing. But it will help us, and I appreciate you agreeing.”
An hour or so later, Sera stared at the design on her wrist, a layer of protective seal and ointment distorting the pattern as glowing ink – imbued with Diana’s moonlight and an undetermined darker magic she thought might be Haugh’s, all traced with a line of invisible fire from Gio – began to fade into an ordinary black.
Or so she thought.
The tattoo on her wrist began to move, turning across her skin like a living thing. Patterns stretched, warm and comforting, like a cat after a nap in sunlight, exploring her wrist as though it was saying hello.
It was the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen, and she’d spent her life surrounded by artistic prodigies, visiting art from long-dead masters of their craft.
“Teach me,” she whispered. Her gaze ripped away from the intricate pattern dance faintly tickling her wrist and shot to each of the three in turn, pleading. “Teach me how to do this. Please.”
***
