"I mean it," David said earnestly as he turned the heat down, and I sighed. "I appreciate you doing this, but if you don't want to, that's okay. I understand."
But it wasn't okay, and I frowned. Wayde was right. I was being an ass, not to mention childish. "I want to do this," I said, unable to look at the man, my voice sullen. "I'm sorry for being such a pain. I'm excited about it. Really."
David laughed, then sobered. "I try to steer clear of your affairs . . ." he started.
"I know," I said, meeting his eyes. "I appreciate it."
"But I'll feel better once you have your pack tattoo," he finished, his dark eyes even darker in the soft rain spotting the windows. His wipers squeaked back and forth, and he turned them off. "You're vulnerable without all your magic. One man with a van and another with a wad of ether, and you're gone."
"It's not that bad," I said, uneasy as I remembered Trent saying the same thing in different words.
"Yes, it is," he said, his brow furrowed. "Especially now that you've lost the one thing you had going for you, your anonymity. You're a demon with little magic, a prize for every self-styled magic slinger this side of the Mississippi who wants to make a name for himself. I'm not about to curtail your freedom, because when you chain someone up to be safe, they're still chained, but if you don't take steps to protect yourself, I will, and you will accept it."
Ashamed, I fiddled with the lip of my shoulder bag.
"Glenn told me what you, Jenks, and Ivy are working on with him," he added, and I turned to him.
"He told you?"
David nodded, watching Wayde talk through the barred door to an irate woman in jeans and a sweater. "Not a lot," David said, "but enough to be able to read between the lines of the official statements." His gaze went to mine, locking on my eyes and holding them. "Be careful," he said, and I almost shivered. "These people are calling you out. Having a visible tie to someone will make it easier for me to let you go about your business. Especially now that your magic is limited."
"Ye-e-e-es," I said slowly, fingering the bracelet. I said I was a demon, but was I really if I couldn't walk the walk?
Looking at the shop, David said, "You have friends and allies out there. With a tattoo, they'll recognize you. You deserve it. Accept it with grace."
Confused, I winced. Trent was telling me to stand on my own, that I had to accept magic as both my downfall and my saving grace. David was telling me to rely on my friends, that doing so was the "grown-up" thing to do. I didn't know what to think anymore. Maybe I could do both. "Thank you," I said softly. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have come out of the closet."
"Oh no," David said, and my head came up at the amusement in his voice. "I'm glad you did. It invoked the demon clause. Between Trent and me, we almost have you solvent again."
"Demon clause?" I asked sourly, sure the smile quirking his lips was at my expense.
"Demon clause," he echoed, nodding sharply. "Any action caused by a demon cannot be held accountable to any person and is considered an act of nature. It's in most boilerplates, and what it means is that all the lawsuits against you have no validity."
My lips parted, and I sat up straighter. I'd known that David and Trent had been working together to both put laws into place to give me back my rights as a citizen and minimize the damage that me being me wrought, but this was new. "I wasn't legally a demon when most of those suits were brought against me," I said, and David smacked a hand on my knee, clearly in a good mood.
"Yes, you were. You were born a demon. The miracle is that you survived it." I began to smile, and he added, "My lawyer is having a field day making a name for himself. I think he should be paying us to retain him."
I snorted, relieved that something good had come out of it. "Glad I could help," I said sarcastically. The woman talking to Wayde was looking at me. Her expression wasn't eager, and I waved at her. That went over really well by all accounts as she frowned at Wayde, and I watched her say, "I'll ask her. Wait here." The glass door shut, and Wayde turned, shrugging.
"Come on," David said as he opened his door again, clearly in a much better mood. "Let's see if she'll let you in."
A shiver of excitement tempered with dread sifted through me, and I got out, almost tripping on the curb, David had parked so close. Bag high on my shoulder, I shut the car door behind me with a thump that echoed in the rain-wet streets. I looked at the damp, world-weary buildings around me, able to tell that the river wasn't that far away.
"I'm sorry, David," I said, and he smiled at me over the hood of his car. "I should have done this a long time ago. Thanks for putting up with me." Why could I admit I was wrong to David, and not to Trent?
"Not a problem," he said, then gestured to the store. "Shall we go?"
I nodded and started across the road. There were more lights on now. My head down to watch for the potholes, I made my way to the front door, David beside me. Upon reaching the chipped curb, I peered past the old posters and into the shop, avoiding Wayde's disgruntled stare. The windows were so thickly covered with colored images that it was hard to see in.
"I'm not going to run away," I said when Wayde leaned over, almost pinning me to the door.
"Good," he said shortly, not backing up. "Emojin is on her way down. She's not sure anymore that she wants to ink you. Way to go, Rachel."
"Not ink her?" David dropped back a step. "I already paid for it!"
Wayde's expression was hard. "Then you should have gotten her here before she stood Emojin up five times."
"I'm sorry about that!" I said loudly, hearing my voice echo in the deserted street. "I wasn't ready, and I don't like being pushed!"
The door was being opened, and Wayde turned to face it. "Then I suggest you tell her."
Inside, a shadow moved, outlined with a sudden light when an interior door opened. There was a glimpse of a stairway up, and then the door shut. David dropped back, and the outer door was opened by a barefoot, heavy woman in a blue-and-green sari-like garment.
I froze. The woman was absolutely gorgeous. I'd never seen a woman this large who carried herself with so much elegance and dignity. Her skin was a pale cream with absolutely no blemishes or marks from a tattoo needle, looking as soft and supple as a newborn's. Her hair was a silvery white, braided up off her neck. She had comfortable folds of wrinkles that said she smiled a lot, but she wasn't smiling now. Native American and French, perhaps? I didn't know.