The Griffin's Secret. Cate Masters

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СКАЧАТЬ the ink commands.” Grundy smacked the beer foam from his lips. “Come to my shop and I’ll show you.”

      Jackson shrugged. “Maybe sometime.”

      Behind the ever-present smile, Grundy’s gaze turned steely. “Why not now?” He shelled out more than enough bills to cover the beer and hopped down.

      “No time like the present.” Darius lightly punched his arm. “I’ll go along.” A jerk of his head, and he strode toward the exit.

      “Great.” A party. “Look, I can’t afford a tat right now.”

      “No payment necessary. Not to me anyway.” Grundy took off, zigging and zagging through the crowd.

      Enough with the cryptic remarks. Hurrying to catch up, Jackson called after him, “Look, I appreciate the offer, but—”

      Grundy whirled and glared at him. “Your fate has come due, Jackson Grant.”

      Despite the smile, the hardness of the old man’s stare cut through Jackson like a cold knife.

      A gulp, and he nodded. “All right then.” Jackson wouldn’t back down. He knew he owed plenty. Paying his due would either relieve his burden, or kill him. Time to face the music.

      * * * *

      The jester face atop the whirling carousel laughed at Jackson as they walked past. The screams of the Tilt-a-Whirl riders provided an eerie, yet fitting soundtrack for this strange night. Thunderous pounding and muffled screeches sent a chill over Jackson as Grundy led them around the fun house, then down a dark alleyway. He took out a key that looked like something used in medieval times to unlock the tat shop, then flipped on a light. No sign marked the place, only a skull and crossbones painted in red on the glass door, and no other windows in the place.

      Jackson entered last. “How do your clients find you?”

      “I find them when the time is right.” Grundy’s head barely topped the counter as he passed it on the way to the right wall. He pointed out the griffin. “This one’s yours.”

      Jackson shifted closer to peer at the detailed design. “I’ve seen that before.” But where? The creature had the head and wings of an eagle, the body of a lion. A regal beast composed of two kingly animals. Distinctive, fearsome, and so familiar.

      Grundy amiably shook his head. “Impossible. I only use each once and then take them down from the wall.” He removed the sheet from its place. Despite the still air, the rest of the designs fluttered and shifted to fill in the gap. “After you, no one else will have the honor.” He pointed to the table in the center of the room. “Shirt off and lay on your belly.”

      Jackson laughed. “I don’t even get to choose where I want the ink?”

      “The griffin goes here.” Grundy pressed a finger to Jackson’s back.

      Guess he couldn’t argue with free. He whipped the T-shirt over his head and stretched onto the table, ready to get the process finished.

      Grundy fussed with his equipment, took his sweet time positioning a stool just so, then climbed up. He swiped a pad across a wide area of Jackson’s back and the sting of alcohol met Jackson’s nose.

      Darius plopped onto a broken-down recliner and slung a leg over the arm. “So weird to run into you. I’ve been thinking about you lately.”

      Probably thinking he wanted Jackson’s vintage Harley. “Why’s that?” And when would the old man get started? A whisper of cool air was the most he felt against his skin.

      Picking at his fingernails, Darius rearranged himself in the chair. “I’ve had the strangest urge to tell you about the crazy roadie gig I worked. Only a few months. Then I escaped.”

      Jackson shifted to see his friend better. “Escaped? What?” So he hadn’t joked about being in hell?

      Grundy tsked. “Stay still.”

      He stopped himself from asking why. Shouldn’t insult the old man, especially when he held sharp objects. Jackson wished he’d hurry the hell up.

      “Seriously, man.” Darius sat forward, knee bobbing. “This dude is insane.”

      “Really.” So about the same as every other rocker out there.

      “I don’t know how I got away alive. Worst job of my life.”

      The grittiness in his friend’s voice convinced Jackson the guy believed his own story. Not that Darius’s conviction provided irrefutable proof. “What made it so awful?”

      Darius gave an empty laugh. “Oh, I guess because he was a loony-tune rock star, a supreme megalomaniac, a homicidal motherfucker who insisted no one touch his guitar. Or his girl.” He glanced behind him toward the door.

      Paranoid? Maybe his friend had gotten into other things during his gig.

      Jackson tried not to laugh. “Doesn’t sound so crazy.”

      The haunted look returned to Darius’s eyes. “Yeah, I didn’t think so either.” He whispered the last words, “Until he had a roadie killed for violating his rule.”

      Yeah, big difference. “Killed? How?”

      Darius jerked his neck. “That was the worst part. He had the other roadies do his dirty work.”

      “Either he pays really well, or the roadies are loyal as hell.”

      Darius flicked his gaze up, then away. “He cast a spell over them. They had no choice.”

      Something had definitely spooked Darius. “What’s the name of the band?”

      “Malcontent.”

      The catchy song he’d heard in the truck, the earworm he couldn’t get out of his head. A shiver coursed over Jackson and he stole a peek at Grundy, whose smile widened as he nodded. Not that Jackson needed further proof this whole scene had somehow been a setup. Pointing the way ahead for him.

      Resigned, Jackson asked, “Where is he now?”

      “West somewhere.”

      “Where your destiny awaits. With the setting sun.” Grundy tapped his shoulder and descended to the floor.

      The old wizard was taking a break already? Jackson wanted to leave. “Where are you going?”

      “I’m finished.”

      “You can’t be done already.” Jackson had expected to lay there for hours. He strained to see over his shoulder and caught sight of a splash of color.

      Grundy jerked his head at the wide mirror on the wall. “Check for yourself.”

      Jackson slid his feet to the floor and swaggered over, reluctant to view the fresh ink. He turned, and his mouth gaped. “Amazing. How did you…?” No one worked that fast. No human, at least.

      Grundy arched a brow.

      The СКАЧАТЬ