Free Inked Magic by Jory Strong Page A

defenses against Kelli’s grief by seeing the shades and shadows, visualizing the steps, the combinations of colors and space. It was more instinctivethan learned, but even given the strength of her gift, she took pride in actively trying to improve her art with each piece of it.
    After she’d placed the ink into caps and gathered all she needed, she put a light coat of Vaseline over the design. “Now the fun begins.”
    Kelli managed a smile but gripped the edge of the massage table as she braced for the pain. The outline came first and by the time it was done, Kelli’s hands lay flat though tears streamed from her eyes, mental anguish melded to physical.
    “You okay?” Etaín asked, exchanging the liner for the shader, the concentration on detail helping her to block the worst of Kelli’s emotions.
    “I’m fine.”
    She applied a gray wash next, for dimension. Then began working in the color, from dark to light. Adding flesh tones to skin in slow strokes so the portrait came alive, the subtle differences in shade and density creating depth, turning an outline into something evocative, into art that would exist only for a single lifetime.
    She held against the heavy emotions dumping into her bloodstream until her throat clogged with them and she was forced into blinking away tears that didn’t belong to her. She eased off the foot pedal then and the needles stilled.
    A swipe with a paper towel cleared the excess ink from Kelli’s skin. “What about a quick break?”
    Kelli sat up. “Sorry I’m such a mess.”
    Between the visit to the hospital and this session, Etaín ached inside her skin and would have shed it like a snake if she could have. She couldn’t bring herself to give Kelli a hug, but the smile she offered was genuine. “Don’t worry about it. You’re doing great.”
    Kelli’s gaze strayed to the reference photographs on the worktable. Her hand lifted, unconsciously reaching to touch the nearly finished tattoo memorializing her daughter.
    “Don’t,” Etaín said, stopping her. “You want a bottle of OJ or a can of Diet Coke?”
    “How about the mirror again?”
    “Hold off for another fifteen minutes? Thirty tops.”
    “I can make it.” Kelli took a deep, calming breath. “I’m good to go again.”
    “Let’s do it.”
    Kelli lay back down. Etaín compared the tattoo to the pictures and decided to use a different shader. She picked up the machine and went back to work.
    T he reality of what Etaín did in the human world slammed into Eamon like a fist to the gut. He’d been alarmed when Rhys brought the news to him, but witnessing it made his chest constrict so it was difficult to breathe.
    In Elfhome the
seidic
were said to live apart from others, in small isolated communities requiring will and purity of purpose for a petitioner to reach. And even then, not everyone who approached the
seidic
gained a tattoo.
    What he knew of those with Etaín’s gift came from rumor and myth and ancient texts, but one thing never changed, the tattoos they created were linked to elemental magic. Nothing good could come of her applying ink to human skin in this way. Worse, a great deal of harm could come, if not to the humans, then to her. She was changeling, more possessed
by
magic than possessing
of
it.
    He had to believe some instinct for self-preservation had been at play this long, unconsciously guiding her in the clients she accepted. But it still took discipline not to cross the street and push into the shop, demanding she stop what she was doing.
    It required effort on his part not to summon Rhys and arrange for her to be discreetly abducted and delivered to his estate. He wouldn’t allow her to continue this once they were bound.
    Forcing himself to inhale deeply, he breathed in calm. Nothing had changed with seeing what she did among humans, other than therising urgency to have her in his arms and beneath him, forging a bond first with his body, then later with his heart and magic.
    He