The next day I was running errands for my dad, and I glanced across the street at a tattoo parlor. It’d been there since I was a kid, but I’d never paid much attention to it.
I remember crossing the road and dodging traffic. It’d been raining, and I stepped in a puddle. My shoes and the bottoms of my jeans were soaked, and I stood at the entrance to the parlor, dripping water over the concrete.
I remembered the doorbell chiming as I walked in, and beyond that, my memories were hazy. When I walked out, the mark on me mattered. Just as Aunt June said. It was permanent. Orange-and-red flames curled over my left shoulder surrounded by scales. The scales were an odd addition and had me thinking of ancient reptiles which was cool.
It hurt like heck for a few days, and when Aunt June left, we shared a look and she smiled.
I pulledinto the driveway and stared at the house. It had two stories and a porch on either side. There was a turret at the top, a place I’d played the summer that my mom was in the hospital and I stayed with Aunt June. The garden was overgrown, and the rose petals glistened with raindrops from an earlier storm.
This was my new life. After the lawyer called, I’d given notice and packed up my stuff. My parents told me I was throwing away my education and a promising career, but there was nothing positive about sitting at a desk and staring at rows of numbers. I didn’t know what I wanted to do with my life, butthatwasn’t it. And besides, I didn’t look the part, with my shoulder-length dark hair and the prominent gray streaks I’d added on a whim.
I couldn’t give my folks a satisfactory answer, but I felt the same need to grasp at something new, like the day I got the tattoo.
Along with the house, my aunt had left me enough money to live on for a while. Maybe she knew I was still looking for something permanent.
I grabbed the big old-fashioned metal key from the lockbox and opened the door that creaked. I shivered and half expected a ghost to greet me.
Inside, everything was smaller than I remembered as a kid. There were two big rooms downstairs, along with a kitchen, bathroom, and laundry. Upstairs there were three bedrooms and an ancient bathroom, plus a winding staircase to the turret. I didn’t venture up to that highest floor, as it was getting dark and I wasn’t ready for the shadows that held my childhood memories.
The main bedroom had a view over the town to the mountains beyond. I stood at the window, rubbing my shoulder where the flames were hidden under my sweater. The dry air was making it itchy, so top of my shopping list would be body moisturizer. Eight years since I got it and I still had no memory of getting etched.
Perhaps the tattoo represented blowing up my life and moving here. Or maybe it referred to the rest of the chaos, like failing an exam, a break-up that almost derailed my senior year,and falling asleep at the wheel after an all-nighter and totaling the car.
Or was it just a tattoo with no special significance?
I grabbed one bag of clothes, my laptop, and a box of granola bars and peanut butter. The rest could wait because I needed food, a shower, and sleep.
My phone buzzed.
Did you make it?
How did I answer Mom? Yes, I made it to a dead woman’s house that now belonged to me, in a town where I knew no one to start a new life.
Yeah. Grabbing dinner. I’ll call tomorrow.
The appointment with the lawyer was at nine, and I needed to be up early, though I didn’t have far to go.
The sheets in the smallest bedroom, my old bedroom, were clean. The lawyer had arranged that. I’d sleep there tonight. It felt too soon to take over Aunt June’s bedroom, as if I was going through her things before she was really gone.
I got in the car to go get dinner and stopped at the street entrance. A truck with a blue logo drove past as I waited, and the driver slowed down. He rubbernecked so hard I expected him to drive into the fence.
By tomorrow morning everyone would know that June Bartholomew’s nephew had arrived. That was something I’d have to get used to.
As I drove toward the café, I rubbed my shoulder again. The skin under the tattoo was warm. Or was that my imagination?
TWO
DRAY
I wiped sawdust off my hands and stepped back to admire the cabinet doors I’d just hung. The hinges were sturdy and well-aligned. It was a job well done, and Mrs. Arnett would be thrilled when she returned from vacation.
Making my customers happy was obviously a goal for my business, but keeping busy helped with my survival. If I had any downtime, my mind wentthere.
My dragon opened one eye and huffed. A wave of heat swept over my chest as he told me to be patient.
I’ve been doing that for eight years.
It will happen.
