“Thor’s hammer.”
Leo cocked his head. “You’re sure you don’t know Norse mythology?”
Rhea grinned. “Marvel Comics. And the other?”
One of Jörmungandr’s coils was visible under his sleeve at his right biceps. Leo pushed the sleeve up to reveal the coiling solid cuff. “The Midgard Serpent.” A look of apprehension and surprise flashed in Rhea’s eyes. “I know what you’re thinking. I have all these Nordic tattoos. I promise I’m not a Nazi skinhead. I’m just proud of my Swedish heritage. And apparently, as you’ve already noted, fairly stupid.” He smiled wryly. “I never realized most of these symbols had been co-opted by white nationalists. I tend to keep them covered most of the time.”
“I wasn’t thinking that.” Rhea’s look was guarded. She was so thinking that. “But now that you mention it, I can see where someone might make that mistake.” Uh-huh. “I have to say, though, that scruffy puppy-dog hair pretty much ruins the skinhead look for you. If that’s what you were going for, it’s another big fail.” Her laugh, letting him know she was cutting him slack, was infectious, and he found himself smiling at the warmth in her eyes. A smile he realized was probably only adding to the impression he wasn’t the brightest bulb in the pack.
But Rhea had switched into business mode. “Before I put you to work, we should probably talk pay.”
Leo rolled down his sleeve over Jörmungandr. “I was thinking maybe we could work out a deal. I’d be happy to exchange some work for touch-ups. Maybe some new ink, too.” Why had he added that? He didn’t want new ink. He didn’t even want the ink he had. But it did need touching up. In fact, it was what had brought him to the shop in the first place. Before he’d seen the Help-Wanted sign, the name of the place had caught his eye, and he’d figured it would be as good a place as any to get the work done. It wouldn’t be wise to put it off any longer. Like the nightly ritual, he knew the marks helped him keep his equilibrium, though he wasn’t sure why. It was a stupid idea, anyway. She’d probably think he was some kind of scam artist.
But Rhea cocked her head, considering. “The first gauntlet would probably take less than an hour, maybe two for the second, and the cuff might run a little longer. Let’s give it a conservative estimate of six hours for the three. Anything else you want, we’d have to negotiate based on the size and complexity and whether you want original artwork or have something of your own in mind. Normally, I charge one fifty an hour, with a one-hour minimum. So let’s say ten hours of work equals one hour of tattoo work. That would take you through the end of the year and my official opening. We can decide on any additional commitment after that.”
Leo’s eyes widened at the dollar figure. “Fifteen dollars an hour? That seems awfully generous.”
Rhea shrugged. “To be perfectly honest, there’s no way I could pay you in cash right now, so let’s just say I’d be giving you a good deal on the ink. Besides...” That devilish half grin she’d given him through the window earlier turned up the side of her mouth. “You don’t know what I’m going to have you doing.”
What she had him doing, it turned out, at least for that first day, was little more than counting inventory and learning her booking system. When she ran out of things for him to do, Rhea offered to start working on his touch-ups while he was still on the clock. He hadn’t expected her to start right away, but he certainly had no objection. It wasn’t like he had anywhere to be. As long as he was back at the motel before nightfall, everything would be fine.
* * *
As soon as Rhea’s fingers brushed his ink, there were whispers of visions. Her gift had initially manifested as shared visions with her clients, a kind of psychic reading, and she’d done a few for family and friends. But her skills had recently expanded to include the delivery of more immediate images that popped into her head without the client even being aware of it—and without her wanting to see them. Ever since she’d gotten images from some creep thinking about pushing her head into his lap, she’d been very careful not to indulge in the latter type.
She tried to keep her mind occupied by focusing on the physical anchors of the here and now—the sharp scent of the alcohol as she swabbed Leo’s skin, the soft snick of the razor as it traveled over the blond hairs on his arm, the warmth of Leo’s body heat as she leaned in close to examine the lines she’d be tracing. And the scent of his skin, like amber-resin oil and pumpkin spice and—Wow.
Rhea got up and busied herself readying supplies to get herself under control. What the heck was that about? He was kinda hot, sure, but not so-hot-that-smelling-him-makes-you-wet hot. Except, clearly, he was.
She worked to keep from blushing as she gave him a smile after setting up the machine and ink caps. “Okay, ready?”
Leo smiled back, and it nearly melted her. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”
She managed to act like a normal person as she sat and got to work on the outline. When the needles made contact with Leo’s skin, the image bombarded her psyche: blood spattered across a dazzling field of snow, like a giant cherry slush spilled on a white rug.
Leo was looking at her funny. “Are you okay?”
She’d taken her foot off the pedal. “Hmm? Yep, sorry, just thinking for a sec. I might want to use round needles for the line work instead of flat. Give it some more depth, since some of these strokes are really fine.” She hoped she wasn’t babbling nonsense. She could barely remember the words as they left her mouth. Rhea took a breath and went back to work. “I’ll start on the thicker lines on the three parallel columns.”
“Staves.”
“What’s that?”
“The columns are called staves, like in the tarot.”
“Oh, that makes sense.” And like the tarot, they were drawing pictures she couldn’t unsee. Running through thick overgrowth in an ancient wood, tree branches scoring limbs and face. After someone. On the hunt. A pause in the here and now to wipe the blood. The enemy emerges from the darkness. Now the hunted. Swinging the blade to block the blow and missing. Stumbling headlong into the snow as the light grows dim.
Somehow, she got through it without botching the original work and actually managed to make the tattoo sharper and bolder while giving the lines a bit more definition and character—a subtle woodiness to the staves, with ridges and bumps of texture in the outlines if you looked closely.
“This looks fantastic.” Leo studied his tattoo in the light, obviously pleased, as Rhea cleaned up.
“I hope you don’t mind the little extras I added. If you prefer the lines smooth, I can go over it again.”
“No, it’s great.” Leo looked up, his eyes shining behind his glasses. “I hope I can earn it.”
“It took me a little longer than I expected, but I’ll honor the estimate. So ten hours of work should do it.”
Leo shook his head. “Nope. I’ll pay for the time it took. Plus, there’s the tip, which you’ve totally earned. This is excellent work.”
Rhea felt her cheeks warm, as if he’d complimented her on her body instead of praising her skill. “Well, thanks. But you don’t have to tip.” Yes, he does, Rhea. Shut up and take the money. Even if the money was paid in labor, she had earned it, and she needed to stop devaluing herself if she wanted to make a living as an artist.
“But I want to. So what would twenty percent bring it to?”
“An hour and a half at one fifty an hour would be two twenty-five—”
“An hour and a half?” Leo’s brows drew together as he drew his phone from his pocket.
“Yeah, I know. Really, I’m absolutely cool with charging what I originally estimated. It’s not