Page 34 of Chaos Carnival

The Paris streets stretched out like brushstrokes of gloom and lamplight. Tess kept close, her shoulder grazing mine as wenavigated the narrow cobblestone paths. The neon glow faded behind us, but not Baphomet's words.

“We need to get those tattoos done,” Tess said, her voice low but urgent. “Before the hunters catch up to us again. Before Ivan...” She didn't finish the thought.

“The moonlight ritual comes first.” The poison snaked through my veins, a constant reminder of our deadline. “We can see Zara’s contact about permanent solutions after—“

“There won't be an after if we're not prepared.” She stopped, turning to face me. The streetlight caught the determination in her eyes. “The tattoos will strengthen us, help us fight together. We can't keep running from everything at once if we find ourselves in stasis.”

My jaw clenched. She was right. Of course she was right. The hunters would keep coming, and Ivan's wraithshade would continue to grow more and more powerful. We needed every advantage we could get. “Fine. But we need to find someone who can do the work quickly.”

I pulled out my phone, thumbing a quick message to our scattered allies:

Maverick: Need ink done in Paris. Someone discrete who works with our kind. Time sensitive.

The responses trickled in as we descended the Metro stairs. Stone sent coordinates. Lux suggested someone in Belgium. Too far. Then Zara's message popped up:

Zara: Got you covered. La Plume Noire, 3rd arrondissement. Tell Marcel I sent you. Take the abandoned Croix-Rouge station exit.

Tess peered at my screen. “Abandoned station?”

“Typical fae.” I led us down the platform, past the regular commuters, until we reached a maintenance door. The lock clicked open at my touch. “They love their secret passages.”

The service tunnel stretched into oblivion, our footsteps echoing off damp tiles. Emergency lights pulsed a sickly glow every few meters. The shadows made the poison in my veins dance and writhe.

“Left here,” I said, following Zara's directions. The tunnel opened into a station frozen in time—vintage advertisements still lined the walls, covered in decades of dust.

Tess's hand clenched my sleeve. “This is definitely not creepy at all.”

“Says the witch who cursed our souls.”

She looked at me and I watched defensive ire turn to thoughtful surrender. “You said that wasn’t me.”

I took her hand and kissed the back of her fingers. “It wasn’t, monstre.”

We climbed another set of stairs, emerging into a narrow alley. The tattoo shop's entrance was mostly obscured—just a black door with a worn brass handle and a tiny plume etched into the metal.

“This is it?” Tess asked.

I tried the handle. It turned smoothly, revealing a warmly lit interior that looked nothing like the grungy exterior suggested. The bright walls were covered in intricate artwork, and the air hummed with protective wards.

A tall man with silver-streaked hair looked up from his sketchbook. “Friends of Zara's?”

Marcel's eyes widened as he took in my true form beneath the glamour. His hand twitched toward something under the counter.

“Seraph,” he breathed, tension crackling through the shop's warm atmosphere. “And...” His gaze shifted to Tess, brow furrowing. “Something else entirely.”

I held my stance, relaxed but ready, positioned between him and Tess. The flash of tattoo photos on the walls blurred in my peripheral vision. “Zara vouched for you.”

“Zara vouches for many.” His fingers drummed against the counter. “Question is, do I risk my license helping fugitives from the Seraphim Sector?”

Tess stepped forward, her shoulder brushing mine. “We need tattoos, but I need to enchant the ink first though.”

Marcel's eyebrows shot up. “That's...” He paused, studying us with new interest. “Complex. Dangerous.” A slow smile spread across his face. “Expensive.”

“Name your price,” I said.

“A vial of seraph blood.” His eyes locked onto mine. “Freely given, of course.” When I said nothing he continued. “Do you know how rare that is? What I could create with it?”

But the request sent ice through my veins, and this time it had nothing to do with the poison. Seraph blood was powerful, disastrous in the wrong hands, but we were out of options.

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