Ink Exchange (Wicked Lovely 2)

Off to the side, the would-be customer paused to look at a couple of the rings in the glass case.

With an uneasy shrug, Rabbit said, “Told you before. You want custom work, you bring me an idea. Something. I can’t design without references.”

The bell clanged as the man left.

“So help me find an idea. Please? You’ve had my parental consent form for weeks.” She wasn’t backing down this time. Getting ink felt right, like it would help her put her life in order, to move forward. It was her body, despite the things that’d been done to it, and she wanted to claim it, to own it, to prove that to herself. She knew it wasn’t magic, but the idea of writing her own identity felt like the closest she could get to reclaiming her life. Sometimes there’s power in the act; sometimes there’s strength in words. She wanted to find an image that represented those things she was feeling, to etch it on her skin as tangible proof of her decision to change.

“Rabbit? I need this. You told me to think. I’ve thought. I need…” She stared out at the people passing on the street, wondering if the men who’d…if they were out there. She wouldn’t recognize them since Ren had drugged her before he gave her to them. She pulled her gaze back to Rabbit and was uncharacteristically blunt, telling him what she couldn’t tell Aislinn earlier: “I need to change, Rabbit. I’m drowning here. I need something, or I’m not going to make it. Maybe a tattoo isn’t the right answer, but right now it’s something I can do…. I need this. Help me?”

He paused, an oddly hesitant look on his face. “Don’t pursue this.”

Ani and Tish peeked around the corner, waved, and wandered over to the stereo. The song changed to something darker, with heavy bass and growling lyrics. The volume grew loud enough that Leslie could feel the percussion.

“Ani!” Rabbit shot a frown toward his sister.

“Shop’s empty now.” Ani cocked her hip and stared at him, unrepentant. She never cowered, no matter how grumpy Rabbit sounded. It wasn’t like he’d hurt her, though. He treated his sisters like they were the most precious things he’d ever seen. It was one of the things Leslie found comforting about him. Guys who treated their family well were safe and good—guys like her father and brother, not so much.

Rabbit stared at Leslie for several seconds before he said, “Quick fixes aren’t what you need. You need to face what you’re running from.”

“Please? I want this.” She felt tears sting her eyes. Rabbit suspected too much, and she didn’t want pep talks. She wanted something she didn’t have words for—peace, numbness, something. She stared at him, trying to figure out what to say to convince him, trying to figure out why he wouldn’t help her. All she had was “Please, Rabbit?”

He looked away then and motioned for her to follow him. They stepped through the short hallway to his office. Rabbit unlocked it and led her into the tiny room.

She stopped just inside the doorway, less comfortable but still okay. The room was barely big enough for the things he had crammed into it. A massive dark wood desk and two file cabinets took up the back wall; a long counter cluttered with various artists’ tools and media stretched the length of the right wall; the third wall had a matching counter with two printers, a scanner, a projector, and a series of unlabeled jars.

He pulled another key out of his pocket and unlocked a drawer on the desk. Saying nothing yet, he pulled out a thin brown book with words impressed into the cover. Then he sat down in his chair and stared at her until she felt like running, as if everything she knew about him had faded and he were somehow unsafe.

This is Rabbit.

She felt embarrassed by her brief fear. Rabbit was like the older brother she should’ve had, a true friend. He hadn’t ever offered her anything other than respect.

She walked up to the desk and sat on it.

He held her gaze and asked, “What are you looking for?”

They’d talked enough that she knew he didn’t mean what sort of picture, but what it represented. A tattoo wasn’t about the thing itself, but what it meant.

“Being safe. No more fear or pain.” She couldn’t look at him when she said it, but she had said it. That counted for something.

Rabbit flipped open the book to a section midway through and sat it in her lap. “Here. These are mine. They’re special. They’re like…symbols of change. If the one you need is in here…just…do any of these feel like what you need?”

Images cluttered the page—intricate Celtic patterns, eyes peering from behind thorny vines, grotesque bodies with wicked smiles, animals too unreal to look at for long, symbols her eyes darted away from as soon as she glanced at them. They were stunning and tempting and repulsive, but for one image that set her nerves on edge: inky-black eyes gazed up from within black-and-gray knotwork surrounded by wings like coalescing shadows, and in the middle was a chaos star. Eight arrows pointed away from the center; four of these were thicker, like the lines of a spiked cross.

Mine. The thought, the need, the reaction were overpowering. Her stomach clenched. She pulled her gaze away, and then forced herself to keep looking. She looked at the other tattoos, but her attention returned to that image as if compelled by it. That one’s mine. For a moment, some trick of light made it look as if one of the eyes in the image winked. She ran her finger over the page, feeling the slick-smooth plastic sheet covering it, imagining the feel of those wings wrapped around her—somehow jagged and velvety all at once. She looked up at Rabbit. “This one. I need this one.”

A strange series of expressions came over Rabbit, as if he weren’t sure if he should be surprised, pleased, or terrified. He took the book and closed it. “Why don’t you think about it for a few days—”

“No.” She put a hand on his wrist. “I am sure. I’m past ready, and this image…If it’d been on the wall, I’d already have it on me.” She shivered, not liking the idea of anyone else having her tattoo—and it was hers. She knew it. “Please.”

“It’s a one-time-only tattoo. If you get it, no one else can, but”—he stared at the wall behind her—“it’ll change you, change things.”

“All tattoos change

people.” She tried to keep her voice even, but she felt frustrated by his hesitation. He’d been stalling for weeks. This was her tattoo, right there within reach.

Studiously avoiding her gaze, Rabbit slid the book into its drawer. “Those things you were looking for…those changes…you need to be absolutely positive those are the ones you want.”

“I am.” She tried to get him to look at her, bending down so her face was closer to his.