Authors: Anthony Francis
“Hey! Forget about someone?” I said, folding my arms, shimmying my back, shifting one foot backward to stretch the whole length of the tattoos I wanted to activate. I cracked my neck one way, then the other, feeling the magic come alive; it also had the effect of looking like I was trying to intimidate them, which I was. “Or were
you
planning on a public performance?”
I shot my hand out, murmured
fling,
and vine tattoo uncoiled from my skin, whipped out and struck the flaming sword out of his hand. Daniel cursed and held his hand—then his eyes widened, watching the glowing green tendril curl lazily back toward me.
“Tattoo magic,” I said loudly, “is more than just pretty pictures, moving on the surface of the skin.” I let the vine coil around my arm, but kept it floating, in the air, at the ready. “I think you gentlemen will find it’s the most powerful magic there is—so back down.”
I watched them closely, motioning for Cinnamon to move farther back. I no longer had enough vines to extend a full shield far beyond my body, but that one was impressive enough, a fluid green neon serpent of leaves that lit up the night as brightly as the poi had.
But apparently it was not impressive enough to deter four determined muggers with guns and magic fire swords. Go figure. Daniel grabbed his still-burning sword and got back to his feet, cursing; I could see I’d actually drawn blood with the thorns on my newer design.
“You know,” he said, whirling the sword experimentally, “I
did
know that.” I threw myself back into a low stance, shifting my back as if preparing myself for a physical blow. Seeing me crouch, he smiled and said, “But you know what,
skindancer?
Skin
hates
fire.”
He whirled the swords and threw a gout of fire at me, a focused version of Jewel’s peacock display. But I’d seen that show tonight—and from his move I knew what was coming. And I’ve dealt with fire before. Last time I’d been burned. This time was different.
The answer, oddly, came from the martial arts. In the art I practice, Taido, you don’t expend energy blocking the other guy’s punch; you accept that it is coming and change your body axis to move out of the way and counterattack—sort of like Aikido with punches.
So when that rainbow wave of fire came at me, I was ready, not with a block, but with a twist. If I’d thrown mana into a shield, the fire would have built up against it, fed back and burned my skin; but instead, I whipped my vine out, mana hungry, and murmured, “
Quench
.”
The rainbow fire sprayed off me, deflected by a coiling green line that grew brighter as each wave buffeted off it. It was over in less than a second, but at the end of it, that one vine had blossomed into a thicket of mana swirling around me.
“Yeah, skindancers know skin hates fire,” I said loudly, quickly crossing my arms in front of me before the others decided to drop Jewel and turn on me. I drew a breath, preparing my body to take in the rush of mana I was about to absorb. “You know what? Skin hates being poked by a needle too. That doesn’t mean we can’t use it to do magic. Like
this!
”
I whipped my arms apart, retracting the vine all at once. I hunched, grimacing. It was
excruciating
as the mana I’d stolen pooled inside my body, but I rerouted it all to one particular tattoo. Daniel raised his sword, then hesitated, unsure of whether to attack or to defend.
“
Spirit of fire,
” I said, grinning up at him, “
show them the light!
”
“You call your attacks?” he said, both mocking and bewildered—then jerked back, as the back of my precious vestcoat ripped open and the head of my dragon tattoo reared into the air. Dismayed and astounded, he cried, “My God, she’s summoning a dragon—”
The rest of the vest’s leathers tore away as the wings of the Dragon spread from my shoulders. My left pants leg was ripped to shreds as the Dragon’s tail uncoiled. The limbs of the Dragon slid from my sleeves and down the back of my tattered shirt, spreading wide.
“Oh—my—God,” Daniel said, standing frozen, eyes filled with awestruck wonder as the Dragon’s spreading limbs briefly mirrored my crouched movements. Then he blanched, as the head of the Dragon reared before him, and he flinched back and screamed, “Oh, shiiii—”
“
Raaaaah!
” I screamed—yeah, articulate—and the Dragon roared rainbow fire. All the firespinners scattered, and Jewel threw herself to the pavement. Daniel tried to deflect the flame with an artful move of his sword, but my magic, powered by my living skin and beating heart, was too strong, and he was thrown off his feet and knocked to the pavement beside Jewel.
My new Dragon was surprisingly bloodthirsty, and I felt the desire to not just fight them, but
chase them off.
I advanced, and Daniel kicked back rapidly, cursing as he burned himself with his sword. The other firespinners were recovering, the hefty Latino man drawing his gun—so I stepped over Jewel, drew my arms together and said “
Essence of flame, melt their bullets!
”
The wings of the Dragon curled down around us like a bubble of fire, and the firespinners all ran off—except for the gun wielder, who stood there, his eyes full of wonder. He grinned, shot at the barrier and watched his bullet sizzle, then laughed and ran away, whooping.
“
Not
the reaction I expected,” I said, letting the wings of the Dragon spread. Its head twitched back and forth, creating dizzy double images in my eyes
.
I rubbed my eyes, then opened them again.
The street is clear.
“Not what I expected at all.”
“Oh my God,” Jewel said, dazed, eyes following Daniel and his cronies as they melted off into the distance. Then she looked down at her right hand and seized it with her left. She began shaking. I knew that feeling. Trembling, she said, “Dakota, you—you
saved
me.”
I started to point out that
she’d
defended my
child
—but then Cinnamon spoke up.
“Yeah, Mom does that,” Cinnamon whispered, and I looked over at her with alarm. She was really rattled, ears back, tail flicking all over the place. She stepped past us, reached down, picked at a gleaming pebble, then dropped it, cursing; then looked back at me, eyes wide.
“Like I thought. They had silver. Oh, God, Mom, I could have been—”
I opened my arms and she stepped into them, terrified. “It’s OK, baby, I got you,” I said, squeezing Cinnamon tight, as the wings of the Dragon flapped slowly around us. “It’s OK.”
Jewel got to her feet and turned toward us—then her jaw dropped.
“Oh my God
,
” she said, staring at the Dragon, then at me, in unadulterated wonder. Her delicate hands flickered to her mouth, then covered her cheeks. “I didn’t imagine—that was
real
. I traveled the world trying to do it, but you did it, you really
did it
—you summoned a
dragon
—”
“
No,
” I said, a little more flatly than I intended. I had already gotten a bad read on my skeptometer from Jewel, and I felt the need to step on unnecessary woo-hooery before it got started. “No,” I repeated, more gently. “It’s just tattoo magic.
My
tattoo, inked by my hand—”
“Oh,” she said, deflating a little. “Oh, boo. I even saw it, on the plane.”
“Yes. She is very pretty, but she’s not real. I can show you the design.”
“Still,” she said, hand hovering at her lips, then reaching out. “Can I—can I touch it?”
“No,” I said, withdrawing the Dragon’s claws, letting them merge into my skin. It hurt, surprisingly; I hadn’t realized how much mana I’d generated, or absorbed, in that performance. “It’s not a good idea for one tattoo to touch two people, especially not this one.”
“Oh,” Jewel said, crestfallen. Her hands still hovered, and I raised an eyebrow; then she pulled them back. “Sorry. It’s hard to resist. I, uh,
really
like dragons.”
“Why not, Mom?” Cinnamon asked, sniffling, then holding up her hand. There was a butterfly on the back of her hand—one that once lived on mine. “You let me have this one.”
“One small design, transferred from me to you with just the right amount of mana,” I said, flapping the Dragon’s wings to fan off the excess magic.
I want to fly free
. The wind made my tattered clothes flap, and I drew calming breaths. “This one’s
overloaded
with mana, and firmly attached to me. Best case, Jewel would get a sharp sting and curdled ink burning her skin. Worst case, we could both get a nasty magical infection or psychic whiplash. Sorry.”
A siren became audible, and Jewel flinched. “Oh, shit, we better scram—”
“Be not afraid,” I said gently. “It’s just the police. And I get on well with cops.”
“Since when?” Cinnamon said.
“Since I spent the last eight months working with them,” I replied.
“But we just did magic,” Jewel said desperately. “In public!”
———
“It’s not illegal,” I said, as flashing lights rounded the corner. “Not even in California.”
6. Problematic Identifications
And so I learned a few things. First, the cops in California were far more suspicious of magicians than ones in Georgia. Second, even suspicious cops will get over it—just like my Dad taught me, cops respond to “polite, no sudden moves” and a glimpse of a police booster card no matter what state you’re in. And third, when Jewel gave her witness statement, her real name wasn’t the stage-friendly Jewel Grace . . . but a more normal Jewel Anne
Grass
lin.
“Annie,” I said with a smirk, looking over the statement. “Little Orphan Annie—”
“Oh, bite me,” she said, embarrassed. “It’s a common name—and what’s wrong with having a stage name, ‘Dakota Frost?’ What’s
your
real name, anyway?”
“Dakota Caroline Frost,” I said, handing the statement back. “Huh. Interesting.”
“Interesting?” the officer—Illowsky, according to her uniform—asked. She was thin as a bird with a pleasant, weathered face. At first, she had been skeptical of our outlandish story, but when the man who’d called in the attack from one of the row homes came down to make a statement, that had greased the wheels of her belief. “What’s interesting, ma’am?”
“The witness statements,” I said. “Different from the ones we use in Georgia, but still recognizable. Thanks, Officer Illowsky—and for the quick response.”
“No problem, and it’s Susan,” Illowsky said, her eyes lighting up a little. The smile quirked again, and she asked, “Why the interest, ma’am?”
“She’s a cop,” Jewel said. “A magical cop.”
“I am
not,
” I said.
“Yes you are,” Cinnamon said. “Sort of a magical enforcer.”
“No, I-am-not-a-cop-or-enforcer,” I said firmly. “I’m just a tattoo artist—”
“Saving my ass? Trying to set up national rules for the use of magic?” Jewel said, folding her arms, her hands seeming to weave through each other as she did so. “You’re more than just a tattoo artist. And for that, I am graceful, Dakota Frost. Grateful. Sorry.”
Officer Dean, Illowsky’s partner, returned from his squad car. He was a tall, gray-haired black man, thinner than Susan, with a young-but-drawn face and a similar perpetual almost-grin. “They’ve swept the neighborhood now,” Dean said. “If they’re on foot, we’ve lost them.”
“But,” Jewel said, frustrated, “can’t you, like, go after them?”
“We did,” Dean said, “we swept with three cars, but these guys sound careful. Large group, identical clothes, getaway car hidden out of sight—and if they ditched the hoodies, or hopped in separate cabs, they’re gone. And they were all new to you, except this Daniel guy, so—”
“I know our descriptions are sketchy,” I said, “but it was just over so fast—”
“Not your fault,” Dean said, “but we don’t have enough to start a manhunt. We’re dealing with an assault with minor scrapes, and a possible illicit-use-of-magic misdemeanor that could easily turn on you. I don’t like seeing you targeted, but there’s not much more we can do—”
“Unless,” Illowsky said to Jewel, “you want to officially ask for more protection. We can run you down to the station, file formal charges against this Daniel fellow, maybe even get started on the paperwork for a formal restraining order—”
“I’d . . . rather not go to the police station tonight,” Jewel said.
“Few people want to,” Illowsky said, eyes scanning the air. “Your assailants were men, and you’re women with a child in tow. It’s an abuse of the system, but we can run you by a battered women’s shelter, let you stay overnight for some peace of mind.”
“No thanks,” I said quickly, raising my hands, conscious of my tattered jacket. “And not just because I’d like to get back to my bodyguards—I seriously need a change of clothes.”
“And I’ve got some good people to stay with,” Jewel said. “I doubt Daniel knows where they live, and wouldn’t take on the whole commune even if he did.”
“All right, all right,” Dean said. “We’re just trying to give you some options. Not everybody gets assaulted every day; sometimes it rattles you. Makes it hard to think.”
“Amen to that,” I said. “Thank you, Officer Dean, Officer Illowsky.”
As the officers drove away, Jewel rubbed her nose at me.
“What?” I asked, thumbing my nose back at her. “Cops have a hard job. Why make it harder than it is, when they’re here saving our butts?”