Page 26 of Leap into the Dark
“Yes. Her and her wife have been loyal customers for years.”
Jade’s shoulders relaxed. “She doesn’t look old enough to have been getting tattoos for years.”
“She’s older than she looks.”
“Anyway, I finally tracked down a blog of one of your regular customers. He shared pictures of both of your work pretty regularly. I have to admit, if he hadn’t posted pictures of the different stages of the clockwork heart, you did for him, I would have sworn it was a computer generated graphic, not a tattoo. The shading you did to make it appear like it was carved right out of his chest was amazing.”
“Gears has a blog?” He was surprised that the motor-head even knew what a blog was. “I’m so going to give him shit for that.”
“I think it’s his wife’s. But she’s definitely a fan of yours. After seeing a few more pieces of your work, and some of Ink’s fantasy styled pieces, I knew the tattoo that I had in my head needed to be done by the two of you.”
Hannibal traced his fingers along the vine and flower tattoos that swirled up her leg. Now that he had time to study it, no single artist had done this work. Some of the leaves and flowers looked years old. Some newer. Only from a distance did the styles and workmanship look the same.
“Is there a special meaning behind this?”
“Yeah.” Chill bumps rose on her skin as he traced the vine from where it started near her ankle and followed it up to a rose that wrapped inside her calf. “The first time I won money at a Parkour tournament. I went out and got this. Each leaf represents a competition where I didn’t win but feel I did well. Each thorn is a competition where I did badly. Each flower represents a win, a sponsorship or an event at which I know I did my absolute best. As I kept competing, I kept adding.”
Now that he understood the symbolism behind the artwork, he studied it closer. Her leg was practically covered in vines intertwining with one another. There were a good amount of flowers, but it was easy to see that the thorns well outnumbered the leaves by at least five to one.
“You’re pretty hard on yourself.” He traced one particular jagged vine that seemed to be covered in tiny little thorns.
“I’m honest with myself. I know when I’ve given everything I can and when I let myself slack off.”
The perfectionist drive was something he knew far too much about. Arguing with her wouldn’t solve anything, so he moved on. “Do you have any other ink?”
He didn’t think she did. They hadn’t gotten her completely naked the other day, but there was little of her skin that had been covered. By the way she flushed and looked down, there must be something he’d missed.
“Come on, you can’t turn shy on me now. Let me see.”
She rolled her eyes. “Only if you promise not to laugh.”
Hannibal had seen his share of bad tattoos. Ridiculous ones, embarrassing ones, and some just plain ugly. He tried to picture what she could have that would make her blush so prettily.
“I don’t think I can promise that. I mean, if you have Elmer Fudd tattooed on your…” he paused, trying to think what part of her body he hadn’t seen. It had to be somewhere on her stomach or middle back. In the clothes she’d been wearing the other day, not much of her hadn’t been exposed. So it was hidden somewhere. “On your stomach. I can’t say I won’t laugh.”
“It’s not Elmer Fudd, it’s just… you know what? It’s easier to show you.” She lifted her shirt, confirming his suspicion that the tattoo was somewhere on her stomach.
She raised the fabric and lifted her breasts. He saw it and blinked. Laughter was not his first or even third response.
Curving in a sort of W on the rib cage under her breasts was a mixture of oddly faded colors with wavy uneven lines. Was it a pattern or a picture?
He leaned forward to get a closer look. The tattoo had to be at least six years old and was so unevenly faded it must have been a disaster from the beginning. He thought he could make out wings of some sort. Was that a person in the middle?
She dropped her shirt and crossed her arms. “It was supposed to be the goddess Isis. My mother loved her stories and legends. I was nineteen when she died and didn’t have a lot of money. The guy I went to had a book full of beautiful art but I should have been suspicious at the price.”
“You actually paid him for that?”
“Not after I saw it. It was partially my fault. I didn’t double check that any of the work in the book was his own. And I didn’t stop him because unfortunately I couldn’t see over my boobs when he was working.”
Hannibal wished her story wasn’t a common one, but he had done plenty of cover up jobs on things that should have never been permanently placed on the body.
“Is that what you want? A cover up job?” With most of the color faded, it wouldn’t be too difficult, but finding the right design and placement was always tricky.
“No. I mean someday I’ll probably get it covered up, but even ugly as it is, it’s still a memory of my mom.”
“What did you have in mind then?”
For the next twenty minutes, she painted a picture with words. The more she talked, the more vivid the picture in his mind grew. A kaleidoscope of butterflies curving up from the swell of her hips. At the base of her spine, a cracked cocoon that had the Olympic rings broken and jagged.