Thorn noticed the broadness of Sé’s shoulders as he studied the paintings. The way his hair fell across his eyes made her wonder if it was as silky as it looked. Before she got too worked up, she pulled two mugs down and a canister of coffee beans. She ground the beans she’d picked up at Peet’s and scooped the fresh grounds into her French Press. When the water boiled she poured it in. The strong aroma of French Roast permeated the room.

  “Mmmm,” Sé said, with a lopsided smile. His smile transformed his face from tired cop to sensuous Irish rogue, his eyes sparkled, and his dimples showed.

  She carried two steaming coffee mugs across the hardwood floors. She put them down on the table, took a seat, and asked, “Do you follow any local artists?”

  “A few. No one in this media,” he said, as he took a mug. After a sip, he asked, “How long have you been tattooing, Miss Thorn?”

  “Please, it’s just Thorn. I’ve been doing this for six years now. How can I help you, Detective?”

  “I’m a homicide detective. My partner, Detective Scettico, and I, are working on a case that involves a tattoo. A very intricate, tribal-looking tattoo. I asked around and was told you specialize in tribal tats. Is that so?”

  “I like to do them. I do a lot of them.” She crossed her legs, letting the butter-soft leather slide across itself. “I don’t know if that qualifies as being specialized in something.”

  “I’d like you to look at the tattoo and tell me if you recognize anything about it.”

  “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.”

  STAINED A

 

 

  Jessica McBrayer, Sucking in San Francisco

 

 

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