The elusive Arcanum has been tattooing professionally for nearly a decade and the edgy, innovative ideas of this artist won AIE the coveted Badass Needle Award and that national recognition made AIE one of the top-ten tat shops in the Continental USA. Five years running, our name has been in the top five.
If you want to wear the stimulating colors of this artist’s imagination in your flesh, you’ll have to be patient. Arcanum personally evaluates each potential client and the art they desire; applications available during regular business hours.
No guarantees are made about Arcanum’s availability or willingness to undertake your project.
Theo tapped her fingers irritably on the desktop. “It doesn’t even indicate whether Arcanum is male or female.”
“Where is this shop?” I asked.
Theo clicked the contact/directions link. “Pittsburgh.”
“Print that page. It’s got the address and the hours,” Johnny said. “Pittsburgh is only a few hours away. We can go tomorrow, arrive by eleven, and if all goes well we could be back in time for dinner.” He acknowledged Nana and added, “That is, if you can get Beverley from school and cook again.”
Nana frowned. “You’re supposed to move me into my new room!”
“I’ll do the bulk of that tonight, and the rest I’ll do when we get back. Lickety-split.” He grinned at Erik. “Remind me of that word later. I’ve got a new song forming even now.”
“I’m sure it’s not dirty, either,” Theo said.
“I need to talk to you, John,” Erik said. Without waiting he headed through the living room and continued on to the front porch. Johnny wiggled his tongue at us before joining Erik outside.
I focused on Theo. “Tell me you’ve found something on this SSTIX task force.”
“You’re not an easy customer, you know?” Her complaint was given in a light tone. “Government agents … their stuff is sealed and buried. I’m still working on it.”
Zhan was helping Mountain with cleanup. Celia joined Theo and me at the big dining table where they discussed the housing market—Theo was tired of her apartment and interested in buying a small home while the market was in the buyer’s favor. Nana was putting leftovers away so I went and started the dishes. Beverley must have heard the water and hurried down to help.
“You may have the night off from chores, birthday girl.”
She drew closer and whispered, “What are Johnny and Erik arguing about?”
“They’re arguing?”
“Outside. I heard ’em on my way down.”
Pulling away from her I said, “I’ll find out.” Without making any kind of announcement to the others, I crossed the dining room to the living room and neared the window overlooking the porch. The two wæres had stepped farther out into the yard, making their voices hard to hear, but they were definitely using unhappy tones. Thinking about the extras I’d picked up in being master to a twice-marked vampire, I listened harder.
“Yes I can!” Johnny stressed.
“How can you be a Domn Lup and a touring rock star, man?”
“Why do you presume there’s a line dividing those two roles?”
Erik muttered, “Common sense, maybe.”
“The Rege wants me to make the rounds with pretty pro-wære speeches. The two agendas can work together! I’ll just give those speeches in whatever town our show is in.”
“Our show? We don’t even have a contract, let alone a professional studio disc. I’m wasting my time, John, pissing away my shot by pinning it on someone who can’t do the job.”
“I can do the job.”
“Not both.”
“Stop it, all right? Don’t you get it? You’re telling me how the lines you’re drawing around me mean your failure. You just have to stop drawing those lines and let me prove it.”
“Prove what? We still don’t have a contract.”
“We had one from the vampire.”
Erik paused. “You’re not fucking serious?”
“If you’re not comfortable with that either, you big pussy, then maybe you’d feel better knowing that the Zvonul have to provide the Domn Lup with personal funds. Who says we can’t produce our own disc, shoot a video or two, and buy distribution from a midlevel label? Then we tour and make a name for ourselves.”
“And what name are we making? Lycanthropia: The pet project of the Domn Lup. That’d be as embarrassing as Paris Hilton making another album.” He paused. “And what would your justice-minded girlfriend think of you extorting funds from your higher-ups?”
“It wouldn’t be extortion. They want me to go out there and be the face of wærewolves today. What better way than through music?”
“Sure. Hard, rockin’ goth-industrial music that the majority of the population considers junk noise. The Zvonul will definitely want to promote that as the new wærewolf image.” Erik’s sarcasm held low, angry tones.
“I’ve said everything I can to convince you, Erik. Nothing’s good enough.”
“Go be the poster boy for the Packs and Allied Wæres, John. I won’t be the timekeeper of a politico-façade band.”
“Won’t? Won’t?”
“I’m done, man. I’m out. Feral’s with me.” Feral was the nickname of Phil Jones, their bassist.
“You two discussed this already?”
“Yeah. We did.”
A long silent moment passed before Johnny said, “Well then, good luck in your next project.” The shushing of grass told me he was walking away.
“Tell Celia I’m ready to go,” Erik called.
I moved away from the window and headed back to the kitchen. Beverley was doing dishes. “Hey, you’re supposed to be having a free night.” I playfully pushed her away from the sink and took the sudsy plate and rag from her.
“I know.” She dried her hands. “What did you hear?”
“Hear about what?” Nana asked.
I gave Beverley a now-you’ve-done-it look. “Not much.”
That was when Johnny entered the front door. “Celia, Erik’s waiting for you in the car,” he called.
Celia asked for and got hugs from Beverley. Theo got one also and in the minutes that followed, both departed. Mountain left for his apartment and Zhan unrolled her sleeping bag on the couch. Johnny hefted every piece of furniture—except the bed—from Nana’s old room. I helped him maneuver the chest of drawers through the door, then he carried it down the stairs. He didn’t act as if anything was upsetting him, but his silence said enough.
By the time Beverley and Nana were ready to retire for the night, all that remained in Nana’s room was her bed and the clothes in her closet. Johnny and I each took an armload—his encompassed everything I couldn’t carry—and made the last trip down the stairs, around and into the new room. We dropped the clothes onto the new area rug and I set about resituating the items on their hangers and organizing them into some semblance of order. Not that it would matter to Nana.
“I’ve got this. Why don’t you go watch TV?” I asked.
Johnny passed me the hanger with Nana’s cabbage rose shirt on it. “Don’t want to disturb Zhan.”
“I thought disturbing people was a personal goal for you.”
“Just on stage.” After the words were spoken, he sighed.
Hands on hips, I asked, “What’s wrong?”
“Erik’s mad. Real mad. We have a rehearsal scheduled for tomorrow, and I assured him despite the Zvonul being around I’d make it to the practice studio. I clean forgot about it when I realized we might be able to go to Pittsburgh and find this Arcanum.” He spent the next thirty minutes or so letting me drag out of him what I already knew about Erik. “I know I screwed up. But he won’t let me make amends. It’s not like him. It makes me think this is about something other than the band.” We had moved on to Nana’s laundry, most of which I’d hung up. We were nearly done.