Free Bound by Ink (A Living Ink Novel) by Marcella Burnard

doing out there? That it could have ended differently?
    It hadn’t. What good was magic, what good was she, in the face of that kind of death toll? She’d believed she’d trained hard most of her life to handle magic and there was still so much she didn’t know.
    “Yeah,” Steve said.
    Slowly, methodically, her hands shaking, Isa started coffee, then fed Ikylla and Gus.
    Despite his declaration that he had to go, she and Steve stood on opposite sides of the kitchen, arms crossed, watching the dog and the cat, listening to the hiss and spit of the coffeemaker.
    “You’re taking a thermos with you. I’ll write up what happened from my end,” she said, rummaging in the cupboards for the aged metal cylinder. “But you know I’ll answer questions anytime. For this, I swear I’ll even play nice with the Acts of Magic Bureau of Investigation agents. I’m also going to suggest that you might benefit from expanding your stable of Live Ink consultants.”
    “With who, Ice? Daniel Alvarez? This wasn’t your fault. You didn’t do that bus driver’s Live Ink, did you?”
    “No.”
    “You took out that thing on the bridge. I don’t know how you did it and I don’t care. Maybe I should, but I don’t. I’m grateful. Both that you did the job and that you survived it. One hundred percent selfish and puerile motive on that last one, I admit.”
    An ache she hadn’t realized was there eased around her heart. “I’m glad. On all counts. This is going to have repercussions. The release of so much magic—I’m not entirely sure what to expect.”
    “I do,” Steve said. “Marches and protests started last night after the candlelight memorial. I’m hearing some disturbing rumblings about disqualifying people with Live Ink from jobs like public transportation, emergency services, teaching, and daycare.”
    She jerked her gaze up to stare at him. “Discrimination?”
    He shrugged. “It’s just talk at this point. And it’s being framed as protecting the lives of everyone without Living Tattoos. You know how any tragedy plays out. People die. Fingers get pointed.”
    She did know. And she knew exactly where the fingers needed to be pointed. At Uriel. And by extension, at her, for failing to lock Uriel out of this world. But the only other person on earth who knew that didn’t belong to this earth.
    Isa wasn’t sure anyone on this earth would feel better knowing where to lay the blame. She didn’t.
    Creases lined Steve’s forehead. His shoulders slumped and he wouldn’t meet her eye.
    It would have been easy to stay where she was and let him deal with his worries. Easy, but cowardly. She filled the thermos, capped it, and set it on the table beside him. She uncrossed his arms and put them around her.
    He smiled, but the worry didn’t dissipate.
    “Thank you for bringing me home.”
    He nodded. “My pleasure. I don’t know when I’ll see you.”
    “I understand. Call when you can. All I want is to know you’re okay. If you need me, for anything, don’t hesitate.”
    His smile flashed into a grin, then died. “As soon as I can. In the meantime, I need you to be careful.”
    “Of course.”
    “What I’m saying,” Steve said, “is that you might want to think twice about doing Live Ink for a little while.”
    She sucked in a sharp breath. It hadn’t crossed her mind. She nodded. “Excellent advice.”
    That she ultimately couldn’t take.
    ***
    She hadn’t been inside Nightmare Ink ten minutes after opening the shop at noon when a crash outside the door brought her to her feet. A compact woman with short-cropped silver hair stumbled into the plate glass window next to the door, shaking soil and pansies from one of her shoes.
    Beyond her, the tree on the corner waved fuzzy with new growth branches against the blue-and-white mottled mid-April sky.
    The woman straightened and yanked open the door. The bell on the door jangled. She lurched into the shop. Her face stretched long, as if she had weights