could be purchased at the local ingredients shop. Some things had to be acquired through a series of back-alley transactions and black-market connections.
“If you need any help, just give a shout,” she offered as I turned toward the back room again.
“I’ve got it.”
“Gage …”
I stopped and turned half around to see where she was standing, one hand on the glass top of the counter in the lobby. “Thanks for not getting shot.”
“No problem. I hear the job market is a killer right now.” I winked at her, a wide, devilish grin crossing my mouth.
“Asshole,” she mumbled under her breath as she turned back toward the stereo she was fiddling with. I didn’t miss the smile that graced her lovely face. Before I could escape into the back room, Beethoven was blasted through the four speakers that were spread around the main tattoo room. I suppressed a laugh when I heard Trixie cursing Bronx’s taste in music. By the time I had shut the door, she had hooked up her own MP3 player to the speakers and Dropkick Murphys was filling the air. Trixie had a thing for both punk bands and bagpipes.
3
ASIDE FROM NEARLY being shot in the alley, it was proving to be a slow night. Trixie and I finished the inventory in record time as the parlor remained dead for the first few hours of the night and I passed the next hour on the phone lining up sellers for the few hard-to-get items that I needed to put back in stock. Nothing that had to be acquired through the black market, but not all were through the most reputable channels. Just people who were willing to take some risks for the right price. One of the things I had learned quickly when I opened this shop was that in order to get the necessary and best resources it was all about the connections you made.
I had finished up my phone calls when Bronx lumbered through the front door and shrugged off the massive black leather trench coat he wore despite the heat. But then, even with the sun down, most trolls had a lingering fear of their skin being exposed to the sunlight. Hanging it on the coat stand near the front door, he grunted once at me in greeting before scowling up at the speakers still blaring the Dropkick Murphys throughout the parlor. I smiled as I leaned down behind the counter and picked up Trixie’s MP3 player. I skimmed through her hundreds of artists and albums until I finally settled on a “Best of” Pink Floyd collection. It was a nice in-between band that both Trixie and Bronx could live with for the next couple of hours before the bickering began about music choice.
“Killjoy,” Trixie grumbled behind me from where she was lying back in one of the chairs with her arm thrown over her eyes.
“It can’t be that bad if it’s on your MP3 player,” I replied as I stepped back so that Bronx could enter the back room.
As I moved back to my position in front of the glass case, the front door flew open and four people rushed inside. By the horrified, panicked expressions twisting their faces, I knew they weren’t in the market for new tattoos. In fact, a couple of them gazed around the lobby for a second, looking confused as to where exactly they were.
“What’s up?” I asked, coming around the glass case to approach the front window where the four people were huddled together, staring down the street. I was trying for easygoing, but my question came out tight and tense. The door opened again and two women darted inside. Beyond the front window, I could see more people running up the street and slipping into any store that was open.
“One of them is down at Cock’s Crow,” one woman whispered. As she spoke, she backed away from the window so that she was nearing the shadows of the far corner of the lobby.
One of them.
At that utterance, it felt as if every muscle in my body tensed painfully. The world lived in daily terror of seeing one of them. Damn warlocks. Fucking witches. Because of them, fields had been dug up for enormous mass graves during the Great War. Because of them, both unicorns and dragons were now extinct, while others dangled on the cusp. Because of them, we all lived in fear.
“Gage?” Trixie’s unsure voice snapped me from dark thoughts, jerking my head around to find her standing in the doorway between the lobby and the tattooing room. She had turned off the music, blanketing the shop in silence. Bronx stood behind her, a heavy hand on her slim shoulder.
“Bronx, take these people out the back door and direct them down the alley.”
“The tunnels?” the troll asked, dropping his hand from Trixie.
“If they want, but I think this is just going to be an isolated incident,” I said with a frown. I knew the warlocks and witches were aware of the tunnels, because I had learned about the tunnels from them. The only good thing was that they didn’t know all the entrances or where all the tunnels led. They had been built under all the cities and into the countryside over the past couple of centuries as a means of escape.
I glanced back out the window, looking down the now empty street toward the Cock’s Crow bar. Right now, nothing was happening on the street, but I could make out a form hovering near the entrance to the bar. It wasn’t over yet. “Take Trixie with you to the tunnels.”
“I’m staying,” she declared, snapping my eyes back to her. I bit my tongue, fighting the urge to tell Bronx to flip her over his shoulder and carry her out of the shop. I wanted her safe and nowhere near another warlock or witch if I could help it. I knew why someone had appeared down at Cock’s Crow and I didn’t think anyone else would be affected, but I didn’t want to take chances with her safety.
Turning back toward the people gathered in the lobby, I raised my voice. “Everyone follow Bronx! He’ll show you how to get safely out of the neighborhood. Don’t come back until you hear on the news that everything is clear.” I looked out the window again, staring down the street as I listened to the thunder of feet across the hardwood floor toward the back room. Their whispers were rough and tinged with fear, which only made me angrier. These monsters didn’t deserve to be feared. They were bullies, mocking everyone with their powers.
When the slam of the back door echoed through the silent shop, I pulled open the front door and stepped onto the first concrete step so that I could better see what was happening. I held open the door with my right hand while I leaned against the doorjamb. The night air was silent and thick, as if even Mother Nature was holding her breath, waiting for the evil to leave our midst. The only small relief I could find in this was that for once they weren’t looking for me.
“Why do you think they’re down at the Cock’s Crow?” Trixie asked from over my shoulder. I hadn’t heard her approach. I looked around to find her standing in the open doorway just behind me, staring down the street.
“They’re looking for Dolan,” I said, wishing she would at least go into the back room where no one could see her.
As if cued by some higher force, the warlock standing in the open doorway of the bar stepped aside in time for a large creature to come stumbling out into the middle of the street followed by a witch. Despite the dim light, I could see their arms extended toward the minotaur, keeping him under the point of their wands.
“Why?”
“He … He’s been selling fix out of the bar.”
“What?” she nearly shrieked.
Jerking around, I grabbed her arm and prepared to shove her back inside the parlor. “Keep your voice down. I really don’t want them coming here.”
Trixie winced, her eyes darting to the window to check that no one was approaching us. “Sorry.” I released her with a grunt and turned back to where I had been just moments before, my gaze locked on the three figures in the middle of the street.
“How do you know?”
“I make it my business to know what kind of neighborhood I’m in. It makes it easier to protect yourself.” Rather, it made it easier to judge whether a warlock or a witch might have a reason to stop in this