Amazon Ink

Chapter Fourteen

We went to the cafeteria to talk. It was the closest thing we had to neutral ground. And since it was almost nine by this point, the place was empty. I made myself at home, grabbing us coffee and cream.

“You thinking of adding hearth-keeping to your list of skills?” Zery took a sip of her coffee, black, of course.

In the process of adding cream to mine, I smiled. “I might. Just to annoy Mother, if for no other reason.”

She tilted her head. “When are you going to stop competing with your family?” The question was light, but it hit home. Still, I decided to keep my answer equally light in tone.

“Have you met my family? I have no hope of ever beating them. I might as well get some fun out of annoying them.”

“You don’t fool me.”

I looked at her, surprised and a little frightened, but she kept talking.

“Believing you were in your family’s shadow is the only thing that ever stopped you. You could have been queen. Maybe should have.”

I laughed, spewing coffee across the tabletop. That was a good one. I looked up, thinking to share the joke with Zery, but her expression was set. She was serious.

“Yeah, so what happened yesterday…” I prompted.

She flicked her gaze from her coffee to me and back. For a second I thought she was going to push the whole “living in the shadow of your family” thing, but she didn’t.

“It was a pretty normal day. I went for a run. Spent a few hours practicing. Took a shower. Went to bed. Woke up staked to your front yard.”

That was helpful. “Any details in there you’d like to add?”

She twisted her lips. “I had some drink called wheatgrass for lunch. One of your grandmother’s clients made it. You think there was something in it?”

Besides the green gunk most people cleaned off their lawn mowers?

“How’d you get to the yard?” I asked, ignoring the wheatgrass. For now I had to assume anything approved by Bubbe was safe-magically speaking.

“I walked, I think. It’s pretty fuzzy. I remember feeling like someone was calling me, though. Part of me didn’t want to listen, but it was like I had a thread tied around my heart…tugging me forward.”

“Zery, how’s your givnomai?” Last night blood had stained her shirt over the tattoo, but I couldn’t see the bulge of a bandage through her tee.

She placed her fingers on the spot. “Fine. Why?”

My brows lowered. “It was bleeding. Don’t you remember?”

She tapped the spot again. “Was it? I wondered why my shirt was bloody.”

“You didn’t feel it?”

A hollowness appeared in her eyes. “I was feeling so much. It was hard to sort one ache from another.”

I dropped my gaze to my coffee. Gave her a minute to push past whatever was going on in her head.

“Anyway, when it was all said and done, I was fine. No cuts or bruises even. Pisto didn’t have it as lucky.”

Pisto hadn’t had her lips sewn shut or her feet staked through. Although the magic hadn’t done physical damage to Zery, I could tell there were emotional marks. She wasn’t used to being helpless, to fighting a foe she couldn’t see. It would be hard on anyone, but an Amazon queen?

She covered it well.

“Pisto had welts, but me?” She held up a wrist. Her skin was smooth and bruise-free. “Why is that?”

“Wrong Saka to ask. I’m not the priestess.” I took a drink.

“Mel…”

I set the cup down and jerked up the leg of my jeans. Red, raised stripes marked where the silk had lashed around my bare skin when I’d slipped from spider and almost been caught in the web. “Different kind of magic. The web was priestess magic. It’s elemental, but real. Real wind, real fire, water, or earth. But what was done to you…it was something different.”

“What?”

I took another swallow. “Bubbe’d never seen it before.”

She wrapped her hand around her mug, waited.

“Artisan. It was artisan.”

Her hand moved, jostling her cup. Coffee slopped onto her fingers. She made no move to wipe it away. “Artisan magic can only enhance what already exists. This was something else. Those spikes-they weren’t enhancing anything inside me. Or the stitches.” Her fingers wandered to her lips. I wondered if she was even aware of the action.

“I know. I told you Bubbe’d never seen it before. I hadn’t either.”

She flattened both palms against the table and leaned forward. “Are you saying an artisan tied me out last night? Made me feel like metal was piercing my flesh, like a needle was tugging its way through my lips?”

“Someone with artisan skills, but they’d have to have priestess powers too. The web was pure priestess.”

“No one is that strong in more than one area, except…” The anger in her eyes changed to suspicion. “You got me out when even your grandmother couldn’t. You got past both spells. And in the gym, the way you leapt, and the other day when Pisto went for you…?” She leaned closer; her next words were a low growl. “How many skills do you have, Mel? What have you been doing while hiding up here? Did you really leave because of your son, or did you have some other agenda all along?”

The distrust on her face hurt. It shouldn’t have. We hadn’t trusted each other for a long time, but just as I was ready to forgive her, admit I’d been wrong, she was accusing me of…what?

“I wouldn’t hurt you, Zery.” I expected her to laugh at the very idea. Me be able to hurt her, the Amazon queen? It was ridiculous. But she didn’t. Instead, she stared at some spot beyond me.

“Why would I save you, if I had lured you out there?” I added.

She kept her face turned for another second, then covered it with one hand. When she looked back at me, the wear of everything she’d been through last night, with the dead girls, all of it showed on her face.

“If not you, who?”

I didn’t let my relief that she was willing to let her suspicions go, at least for now, show. “I don’t know. It could be a priestess. Bubbe doesn’t think so, but it could be.”

“Don’t accuse Alcippe.”

Her vehemence startled me.

“I didn’t, but why-”

“If you even make a hint of accusing her, it will backfire on you. I told you, the tribe already suspects you. If it looks like all of this is an opportunity for you to get Alcippe…” She drummed the table with her fingers. “Don’t do it.”

“Even if I think she’s guilty?”

“If you think she’s guilty and you get some real proof, come to me.”

It was a fair answer, but not what I wanted to hear-not now or ten years ago, but this time I swallowed my ire.

“It did kind of ache yesterday.” Zery rubbed her chest, where her givnomai lay hidden under her tee. “I hadn’t thought about it a lot, but now that you mentioned it…”

“How about your back? Your telios? Did you feel anything there?”

A line formed between her eyes. “Maybe a twinge, in the afternoon, but I’d been working out pretty hard that morning.”

I took a breath, pressed my hands flat on the table, and used my best coaxing voice. “Can you go through your day again…with a little more detail?”

“Really, nothing special happened. I told you: breakfast, exercise, spar, lunch, spar some more, then…” She looked at me sideways. “I’ve had a team watching the bar-the one the girls were going to. I had a meeting with them in the afternoon. I had to pull them off. They were…they weren’t getting along with the locals. I needed a new plan. I was thinking of going myself or sending Pisto, but I don’t know that either of us would pass for a twenty-year-old human.”

Like it mattered. Zery could look sixty and college-age men would still flock to her.

“After that meeting, I needed air and went for a walk. That’s where I was when you got back.”

I’d wondered but hadn’t asked. To be honest, I hadn’t wanted to see Zery yesterday. I’d wanted time to sort out my day by myself. If I had searched her out, would I have stopped what happened later?

She interrupted my guilty thoughts by sliding her cup to the side and tacking on, “Oh, and there was the dog too. Maybe he did it.”

I frowned. “Dog?”

“A hound, black and tan-kind of skinny. He followed me home from my walk. I offered him some of the mix we feed our dogs, but he wouldn’t take it. He liked fries, though.” She smiled.

Just a dog. Sounded like the stray I’d fed chips to earlier in the week. He’d run off that day. Curious what had happened to him, I asked, “How long did he stay?”

She held up one hand. “A while. He followed me into the shower. I thought he was going to stay for good, but after I toweled off, he asked to go out and he hasn’t been back. Not that I know of.”

I nodded. Probably out hunting for his next meal. Maybe he’d come back again-if someone didn’t call the city on him.

“So, the dog saw your givnomai. Anyone else?”

She arched a brow. “What are you thinking?”

I explained my theory that the killer was using the power of the givnomai to control the victims. “Who else knows your givnomai, Zery?”

Her expression was guarded. “You.”

I didn’t bother protesting my innocence again. I’d said it. She was either going to accept it or she wasn’t.

“No one else here,” she added.

She was leaving someone out-Alcippe, I guessed.

“Anyone who knows priestess and artisan skills?” I asked.

She didn’t answer, which was answer enough. I didn’t think she was protecting Alcippe, just asserting her power as queen. Her next statement sealed that opinion.

“Let me worry about who has seen my givnomai, but thanks for the tip.”

Sensing this line of discussion was going nowhere else, I turned the conversation to my day at the camp, filled her in on what Dana and the others had told me, which really wasn’t anything Zery didn’t already know. I could have been annoyed that she hadn’t volunteered the information herself, but I was the one who had asked to go to the camp in exchange for talking with Reynolds. Zery had kept her deal with me without betraying any trusts. Plus, from her point of view, there was always the chance I would learn something she didn’t know. It just hadn’t worked out that way.

What I didn’t tell her was that I’d had a run-in with Alcippe. I could have told her the high priestess had questioned her authority, challenged it almost, but after Zery’s warning, I knew anything else I said would just be seen as attacking the high priestess. If Alcippe was involved in any of this, I’d figure out a way to nail her myself.

We were pretty much done and just waiting for the other to realize it when the outside door opened-the one that led to the sidewalk between the gym/cafeteria and the school building.

Peter stepped inside. I knew instantly it was him, by the breadth of shoulders that blocked the outside light.

“Oh, hi.” He smiled that high-watt smile, and my toes curled in my shoes. I needed to see Bubbe about something for my hormones. They seemed to be running rampant lately.

“I heard there was coffee.” He held out a stainless-steel travel mug. “The pot in the shop’s toast.”

“That’s a hundred-dollar coffeemaker.” I pushed myself to a stand.

“Not anymore.” He grinned and headed to the coffeepot. I’d only left about an inch in the carafe. I thought he’d see that and move on, but to my surprise he dumped out the grounds and began making fresh.

“Little hearth-keeper in that one,” Zery murmured. “Not a bad thing, if you’re really going to do this human thing.” She waggled her brows.

I rolled my eyes, but then turned them back toward Peter. He was wearing jeans and a sweater-a close-fitting sweater. And his back was turned to us-my favorite view.

“Looks like he has other assets too,” Zery teased. I chose to ignore the interplay this time.

“He’s a very good tattoo artist.”

“There you go…hearth-keeper, artisan, and an ass to kill for. What more could an Amazon want?” She rapped the table with her knuckles, then shoved her cup toward me and stood. “I’ll leave this with you. Give him a reason to come closer. Maybe he’ll wash up for you too.”

As she left, Peter turned. He should have watched Zery, any other Y-chromosome-carrying human would have, but he didn’t. His chocolate gaze locked on me.

Zery’s words came back to me. If I was really going to “do this human thing” it would make sense for me to date, at least some. I hadn’t had anything more than passing contact with a man since my son’s father. I angled my face, away from Peter.

Michael. I hadn’t thought of him in years. In a way, he was as responsible for me leaving the tribe as the loss of our son and my subsequent betrayal by the Amazons. I’d made the mistake of knowing him, and not just in the biblical sense. He’d been a tattoo artist. We’d met at a rally-kind of a conference for artists. He’d had a gift. When I first saw pictures of his work, I thought another Amazon was at the event. I’d searched him out, sure Michael was some twist on an Amazon name I didn’t recognize, but when I met him, there’d been no mistaking him for a woman-not even a warrior.

I’d been a goner on the spot.

I smiled, a sad twist of my lips. I had a folder with pictures of his work in it somewhere. I’d kept it, but had shoved it deep in a trunk that I never opened. Maybe it was time I dug it out and purged one more ghost from my past.

“Coffee?” Peter held out a fresh mug.

I reached up to take it, but as my fingers brushed his, realization hit me. I knew why Peter’s art had tweaked at me so. Why I’d thought it was familiar.

It reminded me of Michael. Peter reminded me of Michael.

The coffee he’d released to my grip fell to the floor, splattering up both of our legs.

Neither of us jumped. We both just stood there, staring.

I didn’t ask Peter if he knew Michael, didn’t even apologize for the spill. Just turned and walked out of the cafeteria and hightailed it to my truck and then to the bar. He probably thought I’d lost my mind. I was beginning to suspect it myself.

Michael had been from somewhere in Tennessee and had the accent to prove it. From what Peter had told me, he’d spent most of his life in Chicago. Worlds apart. There was, of course, the possibility they were cousins or some other relation, but it was highly unlikely. Much more likely, there was a slight similarity in style and the biggest thing the pair had in common was the attraction I felt for both. After Michael, that was scary.

When I’d been with Michael, I’d come close to breaking a steadfast Amazon rule. I’d come close to giving him my heart. I’d barely walked away. Without his knowledge, I’d kept up with him through online bulletin boards and occasionally an email to mutual tattoo acquaintances. Two years after the rally, a year and three months after the birth and death of our son, Michael had died too. Some freak dog attack.

Still mourning the loss of my son and my tribe, his death had hit me hard-and the worst part was I couldn’t show it to anyone, couldn’t even admit I knew about it. Scandalized as Mother and Bubbe had been when I left the tribe, if I’d admitted to following what was happening with Michael…I smacked the steering wheel of my truck with the palm of my hand.

Liar. It wasn’t Bubbe and Mother who had stopped me from publicly admitting my sorrow. It was me. I hadn’t been ready to face that I had felt a connection to a man. It was just wrong-against everything I’d been brought up to believe.

I’d heard humans talk about Catholic guilt, but it had nothing on Amazon guilt. It was amazing how easily you could say things with your mouth, even believe them with your brain…but your heart, your gut…those two were a lot harder to convince.

I pulled onto Frances Street and found a rare parking spot off street. The bar, actually more of a tavern, opened at eleven for lunch. It was five after. My timing was perfect. I went in and sat at the counter. A bartender, female and somewhere in her fifties, took my order-fried cheese curds and a burger. Major benefit of being an Amazon, no need to watch calorie intake.

When she brought my water, I added a local microbrew they had on tap to my order. It would take a lot of alcohol to affect me, but maybe it would take the edge off my nerves. Besides, it gave me another chance to chat with the bartender.

When she came back, I already had a twenty lying on the bar in front of me. I motioned to the bill. “You can ring me out if you like.”

She cocked a brow. “You in a hurry?”

I took a sip of the ale. “No, but I thought you might get busy. Might as well settle up now.”

She shrugged and went to the cash register.

A few seconds later she was back, my change in hand. “You need anything else, just holler.” She started to turn, but I held up a hand.

“Actually, I was hoping to run into someone here. A boy my niece used to date. Great kid.”

She waited, a noncommittal look on her face. “What’s his name?”

“Tim.” It was all Dana had told me, because it was all she knew-I had asked for a last name. “Works part-time, I think, bartending?”

“Common name.” The woman’s eyes drifted to the door, then jerked back to me. “But we don’t have anyone by it on the payroll.”

“Really?” Dana hadn’t lied to me. She’d had no reason to. “I was pretty sure she said he worked here.”

“A lot of bars around here. She must have been confused.”

“Could be.” I held her gaze. She was lying to me. I didn’t know why, but she was. I wasn’t one to play polite and just let her walk away. “But I don’t think so.”

The door to the bar opened and a group of state workers, easily identifiable by badges and practical shoes, filed in. She made a move to grab a stack of menus. I placed my hand over hers to stop her.

“What gives?”

She sighed, the wrinkles around her eyes relaxing with the breath. “He comes in sometimes. Works a few hours when we’re busy and he needs the cash. I’m a small business owner, trying to eke out a living. Someone’s willing to work for tips-who am I to send him away? You know?”

I did know. I removed my hand and finished my beer.

A man willing to work for just tips-even a young man. That was odd-Amazon-like, even. Cash-only jobs were our mainstay. Anyone’s mainstay who wanted to fly under the radar.

What was up with Dana’s Tim? What was he hiding or hiding from?

He, just like this bar, was a common thread connecting the dead girls and life outside the Amazon camp. I thought of Dana, her hand on her belly and her face alight with joy. The burger I’d just eaten hardened to stone.

I slipped my messenger bag over my head and turned to leave.

“Enjoy your lunch?”

I spun. Detective Reynolds stared at me over crossed arms.

I adjusted my bag so it sat in the small of my back, then smiled. “Hit the spot. What about you? What brings you here? You aren’t following me, are you?” I tried to sound flirty, but failed miserably.

“Should I be?”

Behind him a blond man watched us with interest. I could tell by the travel-worn suits they were together.

“Long drive to stalk one lone tattoo artist, but…whatever.” I dug another five out of my bag and slipped it under my beer mug. I hoped the extra tip would convince the barkeep I was on her side and maybe keep her from telling Detective Reynolds too much about our conversation-in case he asked.

He raised a brow. “Big tipper.”

Ignoring the jibe, I nodded to his partner and made for the door. I only got a few feet.

“You going to be around this afternoon?”

I stopped but didn’t turn. “Should be.”

“Try. I think we might need to have another chat.”

Goody. I couldn’t wait.