yet,” Serah said. She set her cup of coffee down on one of the empty folding chairs I kept for clients or friends of clients while they waited. She stripped off her coat and tossed it over the back of the chair. Pausing for a second, she then continued to strip off her bulky cable-knit sweater. The heat in the shop was higher than usual because Charise was wearing so little. Once she left, I’d have to turn it back down again so the damn gas and electric bill wouldn’t be through the roof.
“Have you let Gage tattoo you before?”
“No, I haven’t.”
Charise gave an excited little clap and I had to pause as I waited for her to settle down again. “You have come to the best shop in all of Low Town. Gage is a genius!”
“My coworkers are very good too,” I interjected.
“Yes, of course, but you’re the best,” she said, nearly purring as she gave me a little pat on the head.
“Rein it in, Charise,” I warned. Sirens were tricky creatures. Their voices can ensnare a mind and hypnotize a creature into doing whatever they want. In general, they’ve got great control over their gift, but I’ve noticed that when Charise is really happy, her control slips a bit.
“Oh, you’re fine,” she said, pooh-poohing my warning as she turned her attention back to Serah. “Do you know if you want a potion with your tattoo? That could limit what you get. I just went with some art and some light cosmetic potions that Gage is just brilliant at.”
“I think I’d want just art,” Serah said slowly as if she was getting more into the role she was playing for the benefit of Charise. I had no doubt that she had an update to give me on our investigation, but she wasn’t going to say a word about it until we were alone. For now, she was just another customer in Asylum Tattoo Parlor.
“You know, I bet you’d look good with a little bluebird on your ankle or a butterfly on the top of your foot.”
“The top of your foot is more of a summertime tattoo,” I said, not bothering to look up from the canvas stretched before me. Too often people came in with this idea of what they needed to have right that moment without thinking about the long-term aspects. Like the fact that flip-flops were great when letting a tattoo on the top of your foot heal, but they sucked during the winter.
“Oh, that’s true. What about your shoulder? That’s a good spot for a tattoo.”
“What do you think I should get, Gage?” Serah asked.
I looked up briefly to see an expectant look on her face, but I just shook my head at her. “There’s a large flip book under the chair next to you that has a lot of designs. Check that out. I’m almost done with Charise.”
Every tattoo artist around the world was asked that question and I was pretty sure that every last one of us longed to smack that customer a time or two. To me, a tattoo was a reflection of who you were. It should be something important to you or some aspect or philosophy that you valued. As a total stranger, I could no sooner pick out that one thing that you cherished than I could pick the perfect name for your firstborn child or locate your soul mate in a police lineup. Whenever I was asked that, I was tempted to tattoo the person with the contact info for my parlor. If you’re going to leave it up to me, I was going to use your flesh as advertising space, because you obviously didn’t give a shit.
Charise and Serah chatted amiably for the next few minutes as I finished up some shading details on the dragonfly I was doing. Serah flipped through the book of designs she had picked up and was sharing them with the dancer as if she were actually planning to get the tattoo. I appreciated her making the effort to keep the atmosphere relaxed despite the fact that I was itching to know what information she had brought me.
As soon I was finished bandaging up the tattoo on Charise’s left hip, I stripped off my latex gloves and snatched up the cup of coffee that Serah had brought. There was no holding back the moan of delight that rumbled up my throat as the double-shot espresso poured into my body. The caffeine gave me