“Did it upside down through the pain, but I’m one of the few artists I trust.”
“So you progressed from the shell to Lady Neptune all by yourself.”
“Oh no.” Ursa swatted the air. “I eventually apprenticed with a professional, and once I graduated to tattooing clients, I started guest-spotlighting at different shops so I could take lessons from different artists.”
“Is it possible to get as good as you without professional help?”
“No… I don’t know, maybe? Some people are gifted. Are you talking about those mermaid scales?”
“I am.”
“Oh, those aren’t as good as mine. They are definitely talented, but they weren’t on my level. That artist might have learned on his own, especially if he’d been at it for years.”
“Some of the mermaids went missing about ten years ago, so he’s been practicing for at least a decade,” Bel answered.
“If your killer was dedicated, he very well could’ve honed his skill alone. You can learn a lot online. A lot.” Ursa aimed for the door and gestured for Bel to follow. “Come on. The best way for you to understand it is to try it.”
“You want me to tattoo?” Bel chased after her.
“Practice skin, but yes.” Ursa went to her station and demonstrated a sanitary setup as well as how to assemble the machine and wrap the handle. She then showed her how to print and apply the stencil, a simple pitbull figure at Bel’s request.
“So, you said your killer has been tattooing for years?” Ursa asked as she guided Bel’s vibrating hand along the stencil.
“That’s when some of his earlier victims went missing.” Bel cringed at the glaring mistakes she'd littered the practice skin with despite Ursa’s guidance.
“Well, Neptune’s Ink hasn’t been open that long if you’re thinking of asking for my alibi again.”
“I wasn’t.”
“I didn’t always tattoo in this area, though,” Ursa continued. “I’ve been all over the place. Your killer may have done the same. He might not have taught himself. He could’ve apprenticed in another state long before he moved to this neck of the woods. It might be worth looking into people who weren’t born and raised here… but I’m not the detective.”
“And I’m not a tattoo artist.” Bel removed her gloved hands from the garbled mess that was supposed to be a dog.
“No, but you could be,” Ursa said. “You have a fairly steady hand—probably from your firearm certifications—, but if you practiced, you would get the hang of it, don’t you think?”
“I usually finish what I start.”
“And that’s why you came here. To see if someone could unconventionally master this art. I think we proved our point.” Ursa wiped away the pooling ink to reveal the practice skin tattoo, and without the mess, Bel had to admit it looked slightlybetter. She could at least recognize that the tattoo was of a pitbull.
“Now, I have a question for you,” Ursa continued. “Are you going to let me tattoo you?”
TWO WEEKS LATER
“Okay, that’s enough.”Eamon grabbed Bel’s chair and dragged her away from the desk nestled comfortably in the corner of her library. “You’re going to make yourself sick.”
“It’s early,” she argued. “I have time to work before dinner.”
“That’s not the point, Detective.” He spun the chair to face him. “The colder this case grows, the more obsessive you get, and you’re driving yourself mad. I want you to solve this as much as the next person, but not like this. Not when you’re pushing yourself to an early grave.”
“But we have nothing,” she protested. “I keep going over the evidence, but we’re no closer to solving these cases than we werewhen the Tritons dialed 911. It’s been two weeks since Ondine Mar went missing. She’s probably dead, and now I have yet another set of parents grieving their daughter without answers.”
“You don’t know if she’s dead,” Eamonn said.
“She is. Her case is too similar to Ariella’s. She’s dead, and I’m missing something.”
“It’s a tragedy, but I cannot afford your death.” He grabbed under her armpits and hoisted her to a stand before enveloping her in his arms, and Bel finally registered that he was shirtless… and incredibly sweaty.
“Eamon, gross.” She shoved his slick chest, and for a second, he eased his grip before trapping her back against his body. “Eamon, stop. You’re disgusting.” She shoved harder because, no matter how sexy he was, he was still uncomfortably wet. “I’m serious. Let go.” She put her weight behind her actions, but he only smirked at her.
