Teen Hyde (High School Horror Story #2)(27)

I let my head rest against the rusty railing. “Those guys were assholes.” Like that was a response.

Lines of graffiti sullied the carcasses of empty grain carts. Lena’s breathing was loud. The metal siding of the mill groaned eerily as if it were a part of the conversation. Holes in the roof let in light from the moon and stars.

Lena held her can of beer out to me. “To us,” she said, meeting my gaze and holding it.

“To us,” I repeated and we clinked cans and each took a long sip.

I noticed the three stars tattooed on her wrist. She seemed so young and insubstantial to have something as permanent as a tattoo. “Where’d you get that?” I pointed.

She turned her wrist over and looked down at the stars drawn in navy blue ink against her pale skin. “A girl I know.” She touched the tip of her finger gently to the center of each one. “So that I’ll always have three wishes. In case I ever need them,” she explained. “You know how it goes. When you wish upon a star…” Her voice took on a melody and she whistled another bar of the song.

I watched as she idly traced the outside of the ink and felt interest grip me. Maybe it was that two-thirds of my can was now empty or maybe it was that I needed to feel the rush of last night in some lasting way. Whatever it was, the yearning for something crazy found its foothold.

“I want one,” I said. “Take me.”

“To get stars?”

“No, to get a tattoo. Will this girl you know, will she give me one even though I’m too young, too?”

Lena stood up straighter. “You’re serious.” Her eyes shone.

“Deadly.” My mouth spread into a wicked smile.

“You’re a little bit insane, Marcy. You know that?” She dropped her empty can on the floor and crushed it underfoot.

“Oh, trust me, I’m more than a little bit.”

After another beer each, Lena and I headed the short distance back to where my car waited, a healthy buzz vibrating through us for encouragement. I drove and she directed me. She kept casting me sidelong glances like I might chicken out. She didn’t know me. I didn’t chicken out. When we arrived at the location, it was a freestanding shop with a slanted roof, neon signs, and a mural of a skull and roses painted on the side.

“They’ll be open at this hour?” I asked, following her around to the front door.

“They’re open at every hour.”

A cowbell clanged on the door as we let ourselves inside. Dozens of framed drawings hung on the walls of the store where no one was waiting. I wandered over to study some of the artwork. An assortment of faeries were depicted in a cluster. As I stood examining them, I saw that none of them looked like a typical fairy from a storybook. Black tears ran down their pointed noses and miniature faces. Violent holes tore through the delicate netting of their wings. A shiver raced through me.

“Wren?” Lena called, moving deeper into the store past black leather chairs that reclined like at the dentist’s office. “Wren, are you here?”

I leaned in to see a curved scythe clutched in the hand of one of the illustrated faeries. A thin trail of blood dribbled from the lethal point.

I heard footsteps and turned to see a short woman with breasts that spilled over the top of her shirt and sleeves of tattoos that ran from her knuckles up to her neck. A deep shade of plum painted her lips. Lena greeted her with a hug. The artwork adorning her body moved with her, giving it the appearance of animation.

“So you’re in the market for your first tat?” the woman who must be Wren asked.

“Does anyone have this one?” I tapped the glass covering the faerie with the sickle-shaped sword.

Wren came closer and peered over my shoulder. “Keres? No. Not yet.”

“Is she yours?”

Wren murmured an affirmation. “Do you want her? It’s an interesting choice.” She seemed to appraise me, looking for what damage I must have suffered to want the violent faerie marked on my body forever.

I stepped away from Keres but spared another appreciative glance for her. “Not yet. Maybe someday,” I said. I loved the faerie, but I’d save her for once I’d earned it.

“Okay, then. What can I do for you today?” She crossed the room, pulled a cart of equipment over, and sat down on a stool next to one of the reclining chairs.

I passed Lena and took a seat on the cracked leather. “Just a line for now. Here on my wrist.”

Wren raised her pierced eyebrow. “A line? That’s it.”

“It’s more than that. It’s a tally mark. One for now. More for later. That’s what I want. Can you do it?”

Wren grunted, but took out a silver tool that looked like a gun with a needle on the end. “I’ll try not to take it as an insult to my talent.”

Lena edged closer and put her hand on the headrest behind me. “You can hold my hand if it hurts.”

I didn’t tell her that I wanted it to.

Wren wiped my skin with a swab of alcohol and dipped the needle into a pot of black ink. She flipped a switch and the gun buzzed like a mosquito. The needle plunged into the bulge of veins at the base of my wrist. I gritted my teeth to keep from flinching. The sharp point bit into my flesh. I felt Lena’s sharp intake of breath beside me.

Wren expertly traced a line half an inch long on my wrist and then retraced it. Too quickly it was over. She swiped cotton over the spot and the excess ink smeared and then disappeared. “A line. Just like you asked for.” Her tone was flat. Unimpressed. “Thirty bucks.”