Through the Zombie Glass - Showalter Gena. Страница 19

“Quoting romance novels?” Scowling, she leaned back, out of reach. “Lesson of the day—you don’t smell a girl until she gives you permission. Ever. It makes you a creeper.”

He pouted.

I doubted the two were dangerous. I actually thought they were going for sexy and charming rather than disturbing. And maybe I could have tried to reach a verbal resolution with them. Maybe not.

Despite being “okay,” anger still pulled at an already thin tether.

Nope. Wrong. The tether snapped.

I jabbed my palm into his nose, and cartilage shattered. Blood spurted. Cursing, his friend grabbed hold of my arm. To stop me from running—unnecessary—or to stop me from another attack, I wasn’t sure. I only knew he’d made a mistake. I clamped onto his wrist and twisted with all of my strength, forcing his body to turn with the motion to save the bone from breaking.

Before he could lurch free, I kicked the back of his knee, sending him to the ground. An elbow to the temple finished him off, and he collapsed the rest of the way. He sprawled on the concrete, motionless.

Satisfaction filled me, followed swiftly by guilt.

“Come on,” I said. I tugged the lapels of my coat closer as I walked away.

“That was both cool and frightening,” Kat said with a shudder, keeping pace with me. “I don’t know whether to pat you on the back or run and hide.”

“Where did you learn how to do that?” Reeve asked, her gaze darting back to the boys.

“Col— Around.” My gaze landed on the tattoo shop across the street. Bright red letters—TATTIE’S INK—flashed on and off.

I stopped.

The girls backtracked.

“I want one,” I found myself saying.

“One what?” Kat asked.

“A tattoo.” The slayers marked themselves with the names of the loved ones they’d lost in the war against the zombies, or symbols to represent them. I had none, yet I’d lost my parents, my sister and my grandfather.

Bad Ali.

“I want one,” I said again, more confident this time. I headed across the street.

The girls followed after me.

“What are you going to get?” Kat asked, clapping happily. “A skull and crossbones? Snake fangs dripping with blood? A unicorn?”

“This is a mistake,” Reeve said.

A bell jingled over the door as I entered. The walls were covered with art, pictures of lions and tigers, dragons and aliens. Hearts. Stars. The sun, the moon, fish and lightning. Naked women. It was overwhelming.

A heavily tattooed man with piercings all over his face stood behind the counter, cleaning equipment. He glanced up, grunted with disdain. “You guys even close to eighteen?”

“No,” Reeve and I said in unison.

“Yes,” Kat said, and elbowed me.

He dried his hands on a rag. “You’ll need a permission slip from your parents, and you’ll need at least one parent present.”

Kat offered her sweetest grin and wound her arm around my waist. “We knew that. That’s why I’m here. I’m her mother, and I’ll sign whatever form you’ve got.”

A gleam of amusement in his eyes. “She must take after her father.”

“All of my children do,” Kat quipped.

His gaze landed on me. “Let me guess. You want a flower. Or a butterfly.”

Not quite. “I want a white rabbit,” I said.

He thought it over, shrugged and slid a pad and pen in Kat’s direction. “Fill this out all properlike for your daughter, since I’m guessing your IDs will tell me you have different last names, and you,” he said to me, “come on back. I think I have something you’ll dig.”

“Ali,” Reeve said, latching onto my wrist. “A tattoo is permanent.”

Yeah, and mine would be the only permanent thing in my life. Nana wouldn’t live forever. And, as I’d been told time and time again by Mr. Ankh, the moment Reeve learned about the zombies she would be ripped out of my life. Not even the vivacious Kat was guaranteed a tomorrow.

“I have to do this.” I pulled from her grip to trail Artist Guy behind a crimson curtain. There were several rooms, each blocked by one of those curtains. He led me to the one in back, swept the fabric aside and motioned to a lounge chair. I sat.

He flipped through an art book. When he found what he was searching for, he showed me the page. “What do you think?”

“I like the ears of this one,” I said, pointing. “But the body of this one, and the tail of that one.” Perfect for Emma. “Also, I’ll want a second tattoo. Two daggers in the shape of a cross.” I could think of no better representation of my parents. I wasn’t sure what I’d get to represent Pops, though. His would have to wait.

Artist Guy frowned and set the book aside. “I’ll have to draw both from scratch, and that’s gonna cost extra.”

“I’m fine with that.” For the first time today, I wasn’t going to worry about spending the allowance Nana had given me. I removed my coat, pushed up the sleeves of my shirt.

He peered at my pale, unmarked flesh and shook his head. “All right, then, where do you want them? Exactly?”

“One on each wrist. And I want them to face me, not the people looking at me.” I wanted to be able to see the designs without having to contort.

What would Nana say when she saw them?

“I’ve got to sketch what you want, so give me about...oh, half an hour.” He left without another word.

An opportunity to leave. Not going to happen.

I closed my eyes and counted.

By the time he returned, I’d reached 1,532. I wondered what Kat and Reeve were doing in the lobby.

He gathered the necessary supplies and sat beside me.

“Still want to do this?” he asked. “Because once I start, there will be no backing out.”

“Absolutely.”

He used a piece of paper to transfer the first image onto my wrist. I saw big ears standing tall, a fat body and a bushy tail, just like the rabbits Emma had created in the sky time and time again to warn me of coming zombie attacks.

“Perfect,” I said, a bit surprised.

“I only do perfect work.” He sounded offended.

“Prove it.”

My snark clearly surprised him, and he shook his head. “You know this will hurt, right?”

“I’ve known hurt. This will be nothing.”

He snorted. “Sure, princess. Whatever you say.”

Leaning over me, gun in hand, he got to work. And okay, it hurt more than I’d anticipated, stinging and throbbing, but a part of me welcomed the pain. I liked that I was feeling something other than anger and panic.

Panic. The word got stuck in my mind, echoing.

I’d panicked earlier.

I’d panicked big-time.

Mr. Ankh had been right, hadn’t he? The episodes were panic attacks, triggered by...what? Emotion? Maybe. I was living with the guilt of knowing Emma’s life would be forever unfulfilled. The ache of forging a new one for myself as the old one burned behind me. The uncertainty of navigating a spiritual world I’d been unprepared for. The fear of the unknown.

But emotions couldn’t be the full story. Otherwise I’d never have moments of calm. I thought back. Lying in my bed, after Cole had walked out on me, I’d lamented about the new direction of my life. Then, boom, the panic had come. Then, later on, Kat had mentioned the newness of my appearance and boom, panic again.

New things.

Change, I realized. The thought of change had to be the trigger.

And okay. All right. Now that I knew, I could deal. But...

That wasn’t the full story, either. It couldn’t be. Panic failed to explain the double heartbeats...the hunger...and the fact that I’d wanted to bite Reeve. And what if I’d been wrong about the smudges? What if they weren’t part of my imagination, but this...whatever this was?

That would mean...what?

I didn’t know, but one thing was certain. More changes loomed on the horizon.

Just like that, perspiration beaded on my brow and upper lip, and an invisible elephant sat down on my chest. The pressure... I struggled to breath, barely even able to wheeze.