path. Sofie was right in that I needed to close the door at Asylum and at Simon’s before I made things worse. But just the idea of walking away from this choice left me wanting to scream. If I could control the demon, I could finally get rid of the Towers and keep Trixie. Yet, if I lost control, I’d destroy the world.
“You’ll get rid of the symbol, right?” Sofie demanded, hopping up in the coffee table so that her face was now only inches from mine. Her wide eyes stared into mine and I could even feel a small push in my brain as if she were either trying to read my thoughts or simply give me a mental shove in the right direction.
“Yeah, I’ll take care of it. As soon as things settle down.”
“Sooner than that, Gage,” Sofie said in a warning voice. “Go to the parlor early today. It won’t take long to shut down the spell and cover it up. Less than an hour. I can help you.”
“Yeah, I’ve got it,” I murmured as I raised my mug to my lips again, draining half its contents. “Look, I’ve got to jump into the shower before I head to the shop. You can just stay here today. Or move in. Whatever,” I finished with an absent wave of my hand. Pushing to my feet, I started for the kitchen. I’d fill up one last time before hauling my sorry carcass into the shower.
“You’re giving up?”
Turning, I gave the cat what I hoped was my best cocky smile. “Me? Give up? Never. I’ll figure something out.”
Sofie didn’t look particularly reassured, but then emotions are hard to read on a cat. What she looked was worried. But what was there to worry about? I could handle this. So what if I had to take down the Ivory Towers in order to have my own personal happily ever after?
I had hung myself in my living room so I could beat the Grim Reaper. I’d spent an afternoon with Mother Nature and held the soul of my son so I could save the entire race of elves. I could find a way to stop two killers from destroying Low Town while keeping my girlfriend and our unborn child safe. The only problem was that I had to find a way to do it without involving demons.
CHAPTER 8
Pushing through the day with only two hours’ sleep was no easy thing. My body ached in a dozen places, my eyes burned, and my concentration was shit. I was beginning to think that my age was catching up with me a little bit. I was a whole hell of a lot closer to thirty now than I was to twenty. When I’d first opened Asylum, I could tattoo from midday until three in the morning, and then go drinking with Parker and Bronx until about sunrise. I’d catch a few hours of sleep on the couch before jumping in the shower so I could do it all over again.
Now I was dodging too many creatures eager to kill me while worrying about my girlfriend and paying the bills. Dear God, I was even starting to sound old.
The first few hours in Asylum passed slowly, but I was grateful that my scheduled appointments were on time. I’d completed the sketches earlier in the week so all I had to do was actually stir any required potions and fire up the tattooing gun. After a while, the combination of the steady buzz of the machine and the inane chatter that drifted about the shop as I worked settled my frayed nerves so that I found a shallow pond of inner peace to sink into.
I loved tattooing. Well, maybe not as much as using magic, but there was a comfort in holding the tattooing gun in my right hand and etching a design I’d created along someone’s flesh. I think at first I’d pursued it because potion stirring was something that I was good at. During my time in the Ivory Towers, I had learned a great deal about the magical properties of different ingredients. When it came to stirring a potion for love or luck or just good old-fashioned revenge, I was a natural. It was the actual artistic side of the tattooing that I was forced to work at. That challenge combined with the idea that I was actually helping people with my magical knowledge made it possible for me to finally accept that I’d