Only Skin Deep: Paranormal MMM Romance, page 2
He was suddenly twelve again, washing chalkboards in her classroom, listening to the radio play. She sat at her desk, grading papers all while humming along to whatever tune came on. From his vantage point, he saw his bullies outside the windows glaring at him. He’d been untouchable in her classroom. Even his mother hadn’t made him feel as safe as he had there with her.
“I also recognize you've waited too long to come back to me,” he added when she stepped back. “And I fear it’s because I wouldn’t take your gold.”
She refused to meet his eye, and his gut told him that he was right.
“Do not wait next time. As soon as this one fades, call the shop and make your appointment. Atlas knows to make room for you as soon as possible.”
If only she’d come to him sooner—before the aggressive breast cancer had ravaged her body. Had he known, he might’ve been able to cure her, but she’d gone the traditional medicine route, which had allowed it to metastasize. She hadn’t gone to her family, either—she’d had too much pride within her to ask for their help.
Finally, she’d ended up in his chair. Too late.
His tattoos could only buy her more time, and that time was soon coming to an end. The first had lasted almost two years. The last one had been done six months before and was almost gone when she’d arrived that day.
“I won’t wait next time. I promise,” she murmured.
“Good,” he said before rising and helping her settle her blouse over the tattoo.
Once she’d re-buttoned everything into place, he grabbed her purse and offered his elbow, which she graciously took. He led her out of his private studio and toward the elevator, hitting the Down button. Luca spun to face her, searching her face.
Her color was definitely improving. He breathed easier.
“Did you hear about Ronnie Smith?”
His ears perked up. Ronnie had been the worst of his bullies growing up. “I try my best to never think about that shitstain.”
“Well, that’s Inmate Shitstain, to you.”
Luca chuckled. “He finally bullied the wrong person?”
“Yep. From his parent’s basement. Brittney says he’s a troll online, whatever that is. He was caught stalking and harassing some fifteen-year-old girl in Boston.”
“Sheesh,” Luca murmured.
“I suppose I shouldn’t gossip,” Mrs. Stephenson said, grinning. “But I thought you might appreciate knowing karma got ahold of him.”
“The girl is okay?” Luca asked.
“Physically unharmed. Perhaps rattled, but I’m sure knowing he’s in a cell gives her some peace.” Mrs. Stephenson straightened her spine as they neared the first floor. “On the topic of Brittney, you get to meet my granddaughter. She’s picking me up today. She just got her license.” Mrs. Stephenson clicked her tongue and pursed her lips, a familiar expression when a student was bugging her. “Pray I make it home in one piece.”
Luca laughed. “Well, if you do crash, that tattoo of yours will help prevent anything too bad from happening.”
“Can you give her one, too?”
Luca laughed. “That bad?”
“She’s getting better, but her impatience. Ugh.”
“Were you much better at sixteen?” Luca asked. “I know I wasn’t.”
The bell dinged, and the elevator doors opened. “No, I wasn’t much better.” She whipped her gaze to Luca. “But don’t tell her that.”
Luca chuckled as he escorted her into the waiting area, where a tiny, younger version of Mrs. Stephenson sat in red plaid, ripped jeans, and a snarl. That snarl transitioned into a look of shocked awe when he appeared, leading her grandmother closer. She rose, her bottom lip falling, with eyes wide.
“What? You’ve never seen a six-and-a-half-foot tall tattoo artist before?” she asked her granddaughter before giving him a wink. She leaned in close and whispered, “He’s also a witch.”
Luca hadn’t been sure her eyes could’ve gotten any bigger, but he’d been wrong.
“Luca, this is my granddaughter Brittney. Britt, this is Luca.”
“Hi,” he said, but got nothing in response but an open-mouthed stare.
He handed the girl Mrs. Stephenson’s purse. “Not sure what you’re lugging around in there, Mrs. S, but you’re stronger than you look.” He leaned down to eye the girl. “Drive more carefully. Patience is a virtue.”
“Ah, uh-huh,” she said, slowly recovering. As he rose to his full height, he noted her face grow pink, as if she realized her reaction. She cast a look around before becoming suddenly flippant and tossed out a, “Dig the purple hair.”
He ran one hand through the tousled mess. “Thanks.”
“So, when can I get a tattoo, Grams?”
“When you’re eighteen,” Luca and Mrs. Stephenson both said in concert.
Her face fell. “As if I’m any more adult because I hit a certain number. It’s less than fourteen months away.”
“If your grandmother tells me you take fantastic care of her, I’ll give you a free one on your eighteenth birthday.”
Her gaze flipped to his. “Oh?” She was clearly interested.
“By good care, I mean your love, time, and attention. As much as you have to give her.” Luca sensed Mrs. Stephenson might not have much more than that before the cancer won. Hopefully, he was wrong. If he could ensure she wasn’t alone in the end, he’d give away a hundred free tattoos to every single one of her grandkids.
“Hey, man, I already drive her all over for her appointments and shit,” the girl said.
“Language,” Mrs. Stephenson whispered.
The girl offered a recalcitrant smile. “Yes, Grams.”
Mrs. Stephenson took one of Luca’s hands and squeezed it with affection. “I always knew you were a good kid. Now I know you’re a wonderful man.”
Luca brought her hand to his mouth and kissed the back of it.
“Tell Ash I said hello. The two of you should come over for dinner one night. I make a mean lasagna.”
“We’ll do that,” Luca said. “Just remember, we have enormous appetites.”
“Who’s Ash?” Brittney asked.
“Luca’s boyfriend. He’s a police detective.”
Brittney’s brows rose. “And he’s gay? Damn, Grams. I didn’t realize you had such cool friends.”
“There’s a lot you don’t know about me,” Mrs. Stephenson said, wrapping an arm around her granddaughter’s shoulder and leading her toward the front door. Before they exited, Mrs. Stephenson turned and gave him a heartbreaking smile… and was gone.
Before he could turn around, another client stormed through the door.
Shit…
“This last tattoo did not work as expected.”
“Oh?”
“I asked you to fix my… problem… and now I have a new one!”
Erectile dysfunction had been the problem. Luca wouldn’t normally have taken on the tattoo, but the guy had come in with lots of gold and an attitude, assuming he could buy whatever he wanted from them. The fact a human knew about their enchanted tattoos had been an issue, and typically, he would’ve wiped the guy's mind and sent the dude packing, but Luca had been in one of his moods—and ready to teach the guy a little lesson. “Can you… not get it up?”
The guy’s face turned beet red. “Well, yes, I can… but…”
“But what?”
He lowered his head and ran a hand through his hair. A clump of it came out. “My hair’s falling out.”
“And you assume that has something to do with my tattoo?” It absolutely did. Luca sensed it.
“It started coming out in clumps that very night. It has to be a side effect. What did you do to me?”
Luca shrugged. “I told you that magic has a price.”
“I paid you!”
“You paid me for my time and my talent. Not the magic itself. The universe often takes its own cut.”
“You didn’t tell me that! Fix it!”
Luca surveyed the bald spots. “Which would you rather have, a working dick or a headful of hair?”
Red splotches spread over the human’s face. “Both!”
“Sometimes you don’t get that choice,” Luca murmured. If you weren’t an asshole, you might still have your hair. For a righteous person who was exceptionally kind, magic’s price might be nominal. If someone was a dick, the cost was considerably steeper. Most people fell somewhere in between—but not this guy. He was full-on in the asshole zone.
“I will ruin this place,” the man fumed. “I’m going to sue and make you rue the day you fucked with me.”
“Rue the day, will I?” Luca grabbed the man’s upper arm and tugged him into the supply closet nearby the door. He allowed magic to swirl in his hand and illuminate the darkened space. “Will I rue the day?”
After allowing the magic to flow and grow larger, Luca shot the purple ball of light. It transformed into manacles mid-flight and pinned him to the wall.
The man’s anger immediately dissipated. “I didn’t mean… I was only babbling… I wouldn’t do anything… I mean, you guys are powerful, and I know better than to come after you.”
Luca released another ball of magic, and it reached out, wrapping about the man like tentacles before they tightened painfully.
“Hey, man, stop! I won’t say anything, I swear.”
“When you were here the last time, I put a spell on you that prevents you from telling anyone about me or this studio.”
The illuminated tentacles and manacles brightened the man’s face, revealing terror and dread in his expression.
“That’s why I couldn’t tell Miranda.”
“And you won’t ever be able to.” Luca took a step closer. “Do you want to know why I did your tattoo?"
"No..."
"It wasn't the bag of gold you'd been tossing about. It was to show you that money doesn’t buy everything, and it doesn’t allow you to treat people like shit just because you have more of it.”
The guy nodded, pale against the swirling purple magic still enveloping him. “I’m sorry.”
“Be happy I don’t remove the magic and leave you hairless and limp.”
The man opened his mouth to argue, but Luca waved his hand and the tentacle tightened around the man's throat to end any debate. He clawed at the tentacle, unable to pry it loose.
“If you were a better person, perhaps your hair would grow back." It was likely too late for that, but who knew? Maybe the guy could salvage a few strands. "And when I mean a better person, think Dave Grohl level better."
With the wave of Luca’s hand, the magic faded into a puff of smoke.
"I'm sorry. You're right... I should be a better person. I will be."
"Don't care. Just get the fuck out of here and never come back."
The client hightailed it out of the closet and nearly fell on his way to the front door. Luca chuckled to himself from his perch at the supply room door. The smile evaporated when his knees wobbled under him. He reached for the doorframe to hold himself aloft. After a beat or two, it passed.
So soon after putting so much of his power into Mrs. Stephenson, he had had little in reserve to create another spell right on the heels of that. He needed time to regenerate. After a cleansing breath, he rose to his full height and sensed he was okay. Ambling out, he crossed to the receptionist’s desk and leaned against the surface. Atlas still had his eyes glued to his cellphone.
“Atlas! A little help with that would’ve been nice.”
Atlas never glanced up from his screen. “He marched in and flew right to you—I didn’t have time to intervene. Plus, it looked like you had him in hand. From the way he ran out of here, we’re good.”
A voice came from the phone. This is one of my favorite forms to make. It’s so relaxing, I could sit here all day long and make these one after the other.
The hairs on the back of Luca’s neck rose, piquing his interest. “What’s so fascinating there?”
“This potter on TikTok. He’s amazing. I’m obsessed. He does live streams when he’s working the wheel in his studio and it’s just… mesmerizing. I could watch all day.” Atlas turned the surface of the phone for Luca to peek. “And not just because he’s hot as hell, either. There’s just something about him. I think we need to get a few of his medicine bowls for the shop. Maybe even get some in to sell.”
A handsome, dark-haired guy sat behind the wheel in an old, torn muscle t-shirt and shorts, coated from head to toe in specks and splashes of wet clay, his tanned hands coated almost to the elbow. It was hard to determine his height from a seated position, but his legs appeared long. Lean. His arms were toned, but not overly muscled.
When he lifted his amber gaze to the camera, Luca’s chest tightened.
This batch should be ready and up for sale in my Etsy store soon. The guy leaned toward the camera, squinting slightly. Yes, Marco65, these are a little larger than the last mugs I did. These are for real coffee fans who need a bigger cup.
The guy smiled, chuckling, and a dimple formed. Luca’s entire body took notice, especially his inner arm. When he turned to eye it, his mate’s mark tingled painfully just before it grew a nub. The beginnings of a third swirl of the triskelion.
His gaze drifted back to the screen.
Could he be their third?
He needed to see Ash and share the good news. “Shoot me his info. I’ll get in touch about the bowls.”
“I can do that,” Atlas murmured.
Luca showed Atlas his forearm, pointed at the nub. “Allow me.”
Atlas’ eyes widened, a hint of a smile on his lips. The expression was almost terrifying. Atlas rarely smiled. “I’ll shoot you his info.”
Luca headed for the front door with a wave.
“And just remember, you wouldn’t have found him without me!” Atlas cried as he walked out.
Chapter
Two
Across town…
“This batch should be ready and up for sale in my Etsy store soon.” Colby Kennedy leaned forward to check the live messages flowing in as he worked the wheel. “Yes, Marco65, these are a little larger than the last mugs I did. These are for real coffee fans who need a bigger cup.”
He laughed, a burning sensation stinging his inner arm.
He hissed in pain, but as quickly as it started, it went away. Glancing back at the screen, he noticed someone was asking about his older brother, Daniel.
“Of course, Daniel’s here today. I couldn’t do this without my second in command.” He looked past the tripod that held his camera, never stopping the motions with his hands. “Daniel! Our fans are asking for you.”
Daniel came rushing over, a broad smile on his face. He loved being in Colby’s live streams, and it was a wonder he hadn’t already tried to make his presence known.
“Hi, everybody!” Daniel yelled, leaning in so he saw himself on the screen. His arm whipped back and forth rapidly, conjuring images of a happy puppy’s tail. His brother was a happy puppy, bringing joy to so many. “I’m cleaning today.” He hefted his broom. “Coby needs my help to make room for the new pieces.”
Coby. His brother had always struggled to say the L in his name. Thankfully, no one ever seemed to question it. Hearts by the dozens floated on-screen. His followers loved his brother to pieces, which he was grateful for. “While I’m moving those out of the kiln tomorrow, Daniel will be working at the Friends of Boston Bakery, so if you’re local, you can stop in and say hello. He’s on cupcake decorating duty, and he’s got mad skills.”
“I can’t lick my fingers either,” Daniel announced. “It’s a shame.”
Colby laughed. “We need to implement that rule at home! More of the icing goes into your mouth than on the cupcakes.”
Daniel rubbed his stomach. “Nope, no rule at home. Icing belongs in my tummy.” He turned and gazed at Colby. “Do not forget my mugs.”
“That’s right!” Colby turned back to the camera. “I almost forgot to mention it again. Today is the last day that the mugs that Daniel created are up for auction to help support MDSC. If you’re new to my stream, MDSC is the Massachusetts Down Syndrome Congress. They’re a wonderful organization that helps deliver special programs and services for folks like Daniel. They’ve helped us a lot, especially after our parents passed, and we wanted to give back and help others. So, if you want to help and get an exceptional mug, handmade, fired, and painted by my amazingly talented brother, check out the link in my Linktree.” He turned to Daniel. “Did I do okay?”
“I guess,” Daniel said, rolling his eyes.
“Do you want to do it?” Colby asked as he lifted the newly formed mug off the wheel. He placed it on a tray of identical mugs he’d already made during that session. “I mean, if you think you can do better.”
“I can do better,” Daniel said. He squared up and eyed the camera. “Buy my mugs—or else.”
“Daniel! That sounds ominous,” Colby said. “Or else what?”
Daniel shrugged. “I don’t know. I wanted to sound badassed.”
Colby moved his foot off the wheel’s peddle and stared at his brother. “Badassed?”
“Yeah, like Roman Reigns or the Undertaker. I’m a tough guy like them.”
Colby cocked his head and glanced at the screen. “Well, bid for the tough guy’s pottery, if you dare.”
Daniel waved a fist at the screen before bursting with smiles and laughter.
Dozens of hearts appeared on-screen.
Colby started the wheel again, forming another mug from the clay still there, chattering away with those commenting along. Long ago, he’d been told it was relaxing for others to watch him work, so he’d taken the idea globally and shared his work sessions live on social media. Over time, it had taken his fledgling little home business into one that supported him and his brother.
He wasn’t sure where they’d be without it. After the deaths of their parents, it had provided the sole income they’d needed to survive. Sure, Daniel worked a couple of days a week at the bakery, but he was paid very little and only for about five to six hours on those days. Colby let him keep his earnings as play money, but he also had to be responsible with it. When his brother wanted another video game or action figure, he had to save up.
