I had way too many chores already.
After dinner, I bagged everything up and hauled it out to the dumpster behind the strip mall. The air was cool, and a gentle breeze rustled through the treetops. The stars were barely visible through the haze of city lights. I loved the night. Everything was quiet, peaceful. Comfortable. I sighed contentedly, despite the fact that I was carrying smelly trash to an even smellier dumpster.
When I returned, the crew had cleared out, but Hugo was waiting for me. He motioned me to follow him down the hall. Something about the way he squared his shoulders as he stepped inside his workroom made me uneasy.
‘Sit down, kid.’ He patted the second-hand dentist’s chair he used for costumers. ‘I think it’s time you had a little initiation.’
My eyes widened. ‘Are you serious?’
Hugo had always been against my getting a tattoo, which was a little hypocritical of him, in my opinion. I was the legal age, and I was planning on going into the business after graduation. I couldn’t see his hang-up. But every time I mentioned it, he’d tell me there was no need to rush. A tattoo artist telling someone not to rush into a tattoo? Something had to be wrong with that picture.
I eased into the room with about as much confidence as a rat approaching a chunk of cheese in a trap. ‘So what’s changed?’
Hugo positioned his rolling chair, and a strange look flashed across his face, followed quickly by a cool smile. ‘I thought you might need a little good luck for the audition tomorrow.’
I settled into the orange fabric of the dentist’s chair and regarded my brother suspiciously. This wasn’t the Hugo I was used to; the one who treated me like a kid. Auditioning for a high school play didn’t seem important enough to change his strict opinion. But here he was, setting up his workstation for my tattoo.
My tattoo.
‘Wait.’ I sat up rigidly. ‘Just what exactly did you have in mind?’
Sure, I wanted to be inked, but I hadn’t actually decided what I wanted yet. Hugo didn’t answer. He meticulously poured ink into small containers and then mixed the colors. He used black and white, as well as a shimmering silver ink I didn’t remember seeing in his supplies.
‘What’s that?’ I questioned, pointing to the ink.
‘It’s a new color I’ve been wanting to try,’ he said, flatly, absorbed in his preparations. Okay, so maybe I wasn’t a rat. I was a guinea pig. But all the guys in the shop had been the test subject for one tattoo project or the other over the years. Looked like it was my turn now.
When Hugo was ready, he grabbed the pen, his demeanor business-like. His foot hovered over the pedal. ‘Ready?’
‘No stencil sketch? No Sharpie drawing?’
In all the times I’d watched Hugo at work, I had never seen him simply take the needle to skin. He put a hand on my shoulder. The smile that tightened his lips was genuine enough, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.
‘Trust me,’ he said. Hugo’s eyes glazed as if he was concentrating on something only he could see. He shoved up the left sleeve of my jacket and flipped my arm over, exposing the pale skin along the inside of my wrist. ‘Now, hold still.’
I swallowed hard. ‘Don’t do something stupid, please.’
Hugo didn’t respond. He was already focused on his task. His foot pressed the pedal, and the familiar hum of the pen filled the air. I looked away, setting my jaw in preparation. The initial touch stung, the needle moving in and out of my skin so fast that my arm tingled. The tingle grew into pain which intensified as Hugo began to carve a design into the tender flesh of my wrist.
Adrenaline kicked in, engulfing my body in an exciting buzz. But my arm ached, sort of like the time I’d hit my elbow weird on the edge of the counter while dodging one of James’s wrestling moves. It made my eyes water, and I couldn’t decide whether I wanted to laugh or let out a string of unpleasant words. Though I was tempted to watch the process, I focused on the wall. At last, the mechanical drone of the pen ceased. The wheels of Hugo’s rolling chair squeaked as he pulled away from me.
‘You’re done.’ He sounded oddly relieved. ‘Go ahead, check it out.’
The tattoo was black and gray – Hugo’s specialty – but I was startled by the design. Permanently inked into my wrist was a dandelion flower. Each gray petal was painstakingly detailed and eerily lifelike. The stem and two jagged leaves wrapped around the outside of my wrist. Of all the things I thought Hugo might be putting on my skin, this image didn’t even appear on the radar. I could feel my brother waiting for my reaction.
‘What is this?’ I asked, stunned.
Hugo tossed a wad of paper towels into the trash. ‘I think my artwork’s pretty decent. Can’t you tell?’
‘I know what it is, Hugo. I mean, why this? I was expecting tribal artwork or, at the very least, something black and tacky. But…a flower?’ The shock was wearing off. Had my foster brother seriously just inked me with a dandelion?
‘It’s what you’re supposed to have.’ The tone of Hugo’s voice squelched my rising irritation. ‘Don’t doubt your brother, Sebastian.’
James’s bearded face appeared in the doorway. ‘Look who’s finally been initiated, Vince!’ he boomed over his shoulder. ‘Sebastian’s gotten his first ink!’
Vincent entered the room and grabbed my arm. His gaze flicked briefly to Hugo, who was leaning against the wall, watching silently. I felt that vibe again, as if there was something they were keeping from me. My shoulders tightened.
‘So what’s really going on, guys? Is this some kind of joke?’
‘Not at all,’ Hugo replied. ‘We’ve been talking about your apprenticeship for a while. And I’ve finally decided that you’re ready.’
I blinked, still leery. ‘That’s it?’
‘I was going to surprise you next week, but in light of your audition tomorrow, I thought you could use a little good news. So, what do you say, Sebastian? Are you ready to join us?’
‘So that’s what all the weirdness has been about? All the talking behind my back was because you were keeping this a secret?’
James snapped his fingers. ‘Yep, you got us.’
I stared at my new tattoo. The elegant detail Hugo crafted into it made the dandelion look ancient, not just minutes old; as though I’d always had it there, perched gracefully along my wrist. ‘So what does this dandelion have to do with being an apprentice?’
The others looked at Hugo, but he kept his gaze on me, regarding me carefully. ‘Not much, actually. It’s more a matter of clan tradition.’
‘Clan?’ I glanced around the room, but the others continued staring at my brother. ‘Am I missing something here?’
‘We’re Gypsies, Sebastian,’ said Hugo.
‘Well, that explains a lot.’
‘I’m serious.’
‘Gypsies?’ I repeated, sitting up straighter. I thought about the shop, its name, and all the paraphernalia. Even the folk music they’d occasionally play in the lobby. I’d always assumed it was just a theme; a gimmick for the tattoo parlor. ‘You mean like, real Gypsies?’
‘Yeah,’ he replied. ‘Like real Gypsies.’