“Infernal,” I corrected her. “That’s what their language is called. You got an idea in mind?”
She took her hands outta her pockets and sat down next to me on the couch. I scooted to the far side, knowing I wasn’t safe enough to be that close, not when thoughts of torture still lingered in my mind.
“I was kinda thinking of a phoenix.”
“Why would you want one ofthoseinked on you?” My upper lip rolled back. “Fire birds are mean, smelly little back-biters.”
“What are you talking about? And you have a freaking black dragon on your arm, so don’t knock my idea!”
“That dragon is there for a reason, and you obviously know nothing about phoenixes.”
I yanked up the right side of my shirt and half-turned so she could see the thick ridge of scarring that ran down my ribs to right above my waistband.
“That’swhat the no-good buzzards do to you. One breath and your skin’s melting.”
“Oh, dude, I’m sorry I stirred up bad memories.” She winced. “A phoenix is a symbol of renewal. In Greek mythology,after they die, they’re reborn out of their own ashes. It seemed appropriate since I’m trying to start over, you know?”
By the time she finished, her voice had faded to a mumble.
“Harker!” Rome barked.
Pulling my shirt down, I tilted my head back and looked up at him. He stood over me with one hand over the bottom of his phone and a fierce scowl on his face.
“Blowing up bridges!” he hissed.
Bridges? What the—
The memory of a fairy pumpkin flashed into my brain.
Oh.
“Mira, if that’s how you think of phoenixes, then that’s perfect. A tattoo should mean something toyou. It don’t matter what anyone else thinks about it. You’re the one wearing it. Now, do you want me to sketch out real life fire birds or these Greek ones?”
“I’ve never seen a real one. What do they look like?”
I didn’t wanna destroy her fantasy image, so I told her to describe her version first.
“Big birds made of fire, or at least their wings are flames. ”
“Sweet. I like drawing flames. We’ll go with that.”
“I’m gonna be demanding,” she warned me. “This is my first tattoo. I want it to be perfect.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
I rolled off the couch to fetch my sketchbook.
“And bring your colored pencils,” she called after me. “I won’t settle for some simple, prison blue outline. I want full color!”
“That’ll take hours!” I grumbled.
“You ain’t got nothing else to do right now!”
I couldn’t argue. Everything was on hold for the moment, and there was nothing I could do about it.
At least it’ll give me something to do other than worry about my girl and plan how I’m gonna kill my enemies.
#
