It had only been over two years since Zindelo and Nadya Corsi had left for Europe, but I had a hard time remembering their faces. ‘Roma?’
‘Some people consider the term “Gypsy” disrespectful,’ Hugo continued. ‘It’s a name given to us by the gadje, the non-Roma. The truth is we’ve been called lots of things: Travelers, Black Dutch, Tinkers, you name it. But Gypsy suits us just fine.’ He crossed his arms, looking proud. ‘You could say we move in different circles.’
James cuffed me on the shoulder. ‘That just means we do our own thing around here.’
I glanced at my brother, feeling the sting of betrayal. ‘Why haven’t you ever told me?’
‘You never asked,’ Hugo replied lightly, but his smile faded as he caught my look. ‘I picked my own time to tell you, Sebastian. Who we are…our lineage…it isn’t something to be taken lightly. It’s important that this remain a secret from anyone outside of the Roma.’ The corner of his mouth tightened. ‘We keep a low profile.’
‘Who is we?’
Hugo flicked his head at the others. ‘Clans are made up of different Gypsy families, with one head family usually in charge. We all belong to the same clan: the Corsi.’
I stared at the men; the ones I’d come to regard as family. I’d never seen them so serious before. Suddenly, they didn’t look like the same ragtag gang of tattoo artists who hung around my brother’s apartment and doted on me like a kid brother.
‘And the flower?’ I asked again, holding up my arm.
‘The dandelion’, Hugo corrected, ‘is symbolic. It’s been used by all the Outcast clans for centuries. It represents persistence and survival.’
‘So it’s a good thing, right?’
Hugo laughed; an oddly choked sound. ‘Of course it is, Sebastian. Why else would I have given it to you?’
‘I don’t know. Payback, maybe? For all the times I bugged you about getting a tattoo?’
‘It’s an important part of our heritage,’ he explained. ‘I wanted to wait until the right time, that’s all.’
I studied my foster brother, trying to take it all in. Thinking of Hugo as a Gypsy was just, well, weird.
He knelt next to my chair. ‘But keep that heritage bit to yourself, Sebastian. There’s a lot more of us than you might think, and not all clans get along.’
‘What, like rival gangs or something?’
Vincent snorted from across the room. ‘Hardly.’
‘We just like to stay out of each other’s way,’ said James.
‘I’m starting to get that,’ I replied, looking at him dubiously.
‘But it’s nothing you need to worry about,’ Hugo interjected. ‘Just don’t go telling all your friends that you live with a bunch of Gypsies, okay?’ His smile returned. ‘Low profile, remember.’
‘A funny request, coming from a guy who named his shop the Gypsy Ink.’
He looked smug. ‘Ever heard of hiding in plain sight?’
‘Okay, okay,’ I relented. ‘I’ll keep your little secret. But I do have one question.’
‘Shoot.’
‘If you’re Gypsies, what does that make me?’
A singular look came into Hugo’s eyes. ‘Does it really matter?’
I frowned. ‘No, I guess not.’
‘Good.’ Hugo held out his hand. ‘Then welcome to the clan.’
I was pouring a glass of orange juice the next morning when Hugo shuffled into the kitchen. He was rarely ever up before nine, and it was only a little after seven. ‘Hey,’ I murmured, cautiously. Hugo was about as much of a morning person as I was.
He almost smiled, which I took as a good sign, so I proceeded to make myself a heaping bowl of cereal as he fumbled with the coffee maker. I curled up at the kitchen table, and after Hugo poured his coffee, he joined me.
‘So how’s the tat?’ he asked over the rim of his mug. I set down my spoon and pulled up the sleeve of my shirt. Hugo gave it a casual glance, and then a double take. He lowered his mug. ‘Whoa,’ he breathed, suddenly awake.
‘Okay, not the response I was expecting,’ I said, checking out my arm to see the cause. The top layer of skin had peeled away during the night, leaving the design intact, glaringly detailed against my pale skin. I shifted my glance to Hugo, bewildered. ‘What is it?’
Hugo took my wrist, held it closer, and examined the tattoo with an expert’s eye. ‘I’ve never seen a tat heal this fast,’ he commented. ‘There’s no redness, no swelling.’ He ran a finger over the dandelion. ‘Is it tender?’
‘Nope.’
Hugo dropped my arm – almost too quickly – it seemed. ‘Guess you’re a fast healer, kid.’
‘Or maybe I just heal faster than Gypsies do,’ I ventured. ‘We should run a study or something.’ My brother returned to his coffee, ignoring my attempt at humor. I gritted my teeth, still not completely over my feelings from the night before. Hugo had always been pretty guarded, but I didn’t think he’d keep me in the dark about something he considered this important. ‘Sorry,’ I said after a few minutes of silence, choosing to push away the left-out feeling. ‘It’s just that I’m having a hard time believing you guys are Gypsies.’
‘Why? Everyone has a heritage, Sebastian. We all come from somewhere.’
I jammed my spoon into my cereal. ‘Yeah, I guess you’re pretty lucky to know yours.’
I could feel Hugo’s eyes on me, but I didn’t press the issue; either about my foster brother’s Gypsy roots or the lack of my own. I was dangerously late for school already. I polished off a third bowl of cereal without saying another word. Hugo still hadn’t finished his coffee by the time I dumped my leftover milk and grabbed my backpack.
‘Well, I’ve gotta get to school.’
‘Yeah,’ Hugo replied, staring hard into his mug.
I paused in the doorway and tilted my head, trying to figure out if I was being paranoid or if Hugo was acting a little strange. With it being so early in the morning, it was difficult to tell. ‘Okay, well, I’ll see you this afternoon, I guess.’
Hugo snapped out of his preoccupied silence. ‘I expect a full report later on about this whole audition thing,’ he said with a wide grin.
I groaned. I’d almost forgotten about my impending torture. ‘Well, don’t get your hopes up. There won’t be much to report.’
As soon as school ended, I raided the vending machines. My nerves had returned, and with them, my appetite. Lunch had been the equivalent of eating rubber. I polished off three packs of crackers on my way to the auditorium, and was opening my fourth when a sharp pain cut through my wrist. I dropped the package, and wrapped my fingers around my tattoo. Maybe I wasn’t as quick a healer as Hugo thought.
I spread my fingers and examined the dandelion. It looked exactly the same as it had at the breakfast table, but my skin throbbed like bad sunburn. I shook out my arm, collected my spilled snack, and opened the front doors.
No one was in the lobby when I arrived, and I was glad for the chance to collect my thoughts. But just as I leaned against the wall,