Free Be My Banshee (Purple Door Detective Agency Book 1) by Joyce Lavene, Jim Lavene Page B

woman in his life.”
    Aine stood up straight. “Of course there is a woman in his life. The O’Neills have always been susceptible to the female influence.”
    “Okay. I’ll be glad to help.”
    Sunshine was back as they finished speaking. She noticed how pleased Jane looked, even though she wasn’t eating. It was unusual for her. She normally had two modes—hunger and fear.
    “What did you say to Jane?” she asked Aine as they were leaving for Tattoo Hell .
    “I asked for her help with the magic box to locate O’Neill’s current lover.”
    “You don’t think it’s Malto? They seemed pretty tight—except for the honey at the pizzeria. Is that who you’re thinking of?”
    “I don’t know.” Aine inspected Sunshine’s change of clothing. “Is this what is considered necessary for the tattoo shop?”
    Sunshine looked down at her jeans and tank top beneath a gray trench coat. “This is trendier than what I was wearing. You should fit right in. You look kind of Goth, or whatever they’re calling it now.”
    “But I do not require a drawing…tattoo…on my person. In my day, a witch could be burned for such a thing.”
    “Don’t worry. Not much witch burning going on right now. You can hold my hand so I don’t scream when I get my tattoo.”
    Aine looked at her sharply. “Is that what you require?”
    “Maybe. We have to blend in if we expect to get good info.” Sunshine opened the car. “This should be quite an experience.”
     

Chapter Nine
     
    Sunshine followed the GPS unerringly to the tattoo shop on the other side of town. Of course Norfolk, being a Navy town, had a history of tattoos and tattoo artists. Tattoo Hell was a newer store set in a bevy of psychic readers and nail shops, but it stood out with its flaming sign and giant devil’s head coming out of the middle.
    The shop wasn’t busy. Only two artists were there with a few friends hanging around comparing their recent tattoos. Everyone noticed when the women walked in.
    A younger man came to greet them. “I’m Michel.” He grinned. “Like Michelangelo?” He laughed at his own joke as he sized up Sunshine from her high-heeled, black boots to the top of her frizzy hair. “What can I do to you?”
    Sunshine giggled and put on a sweet, stupid smile. “You know, we were just daring each other to get some ink tonight. I was thinking of a simple pentagram on my arm. What do you think?”
    “Sounds fun to me, pretty lady. Step into my parlor.” He indicted a lounge chair behind him. “What about your girlfriend?”
    “I do not require your services, boy,” Aine told him. “But I will remain at her side.”
    “Okay. Let’s draw a few pentagrams and see what gets you going. What’s your name?”
    “Sunshine Merryweather.” She put her hand in his to have him help her into the lounge.
    “Awesome name.” One of the other young men wandered their way to watch the procedure. “Your parents must’ve been hippies. Or is that a stage name?”
    “Nope,” she responded. “It’s all mine.”
    Michel drew some pentacles. Some were plain while others had flourishes and embellishments on them. “You can start with something simple and add on later.”
    “Sounds good. Let’s do the basic.” Sunshine almost backed out of it when she saw the tattoo needles and ink. “Maybe even half a pentagram would be good.”
    “The Celts had tattoos, though they didn’t refer to them as such,” Aine said. “They were mostly done with woad and sharp objects used to puncture the skin. Many of them proved to be fatal through infection. But they were tribal people who lost great numbers during battle and didn’t seem to mind dying for other causes as well.”
    When she’d stopped speaking, everyone was staring at her. Sunshine laughed to break the tension brought on by the hypnotic monotone of the beane sidhe .
    “Sure. Okay.” Michel shook his head to clear it. “We’ll do the basic pattern.”
    The other two people in the shop stood