I swallowed. "You mean… that talk about his enemies… he wasn't off his rocker?"
"I'm not qualified to judge his mental state," Philip said, "but as far as there really being someone out to get him… he's right on the money. Someone is definitely gunning for him, though we have no way of knowing whether it's some organized criminal element or just an irate hospital visitor who took offense to his looks."
"I'm going to want that backup," I said. What the hell was I thinking? Tattoo artists didn't need backup. At least, we weren't supposed to. "I want to help him, but now I'm more worried about whoever has it out for him than I am about any threat from him."
"Me too," Philip said. "I've already spoken to Rand and he can get you some plainsclothes that work the homeless. They won't spook Wulf-"
"If he really is homeless," I interrupted, "where is he getting the money for this?"
There was silence. "That's a good question. Are you sure he does have the money?"
"Spleen referred him," I said. "Spleen doesn't work for free. I think he said he got a five thousand dollar retainer when Wulf waltzed into town six weeks ago. That doesn't sound like someone worried about money to me."
"Homeless doesn't always mean penniless," Philip said. "He knew what Oakley Thumps were. That ratty old suit of his? Started life as a Caraceni. It's Italian, 'bench bespoke'-made to order. New, it was worth almost five thousand dollars."
"What does all this mean?"
There was another silence. "It means Mister Wulf deserves a closer looking into."
"Don't hurt him," I said.
"Dakota!" Philip sounded hurt. "This is me we're talking about-"
"Yeah, well, I haven't known you for all that long. I want to believe you. Really, I do." I said. "But I really don't know what you're capable of. If that little stunt with the sunglasses was any indication, you're manipulative."
He paused one more time. "Maybe I am. I'm proud to be a manipulative bastard, Dakota. But I'm still a good guy. I won't hurt him. Remember what I said in the square-"
"You called him a perfect suspect."
"I said perfect target," Philip corrected. "Once he gets that tattoo… he's going to have the perfect profile to become one of the victims."
"You're going to use him as bait?" I asked, horrified.
"No, Dakota," Philip said. "This is me. There's always a smarter way."
"I'm trusting you on this," I said. "I'm walking a tightrope between human rules and the Edgeworld here. I want to help you stop this killer, but I won't just hand an Edgeworlder to the Feds- no matter how cute the Fed is."
"I'll take that in the spirit it was offered," Philip said. "Call Rand, and ink Wulf before the full moon. I'll keep you posted on anything I find."
He hung up, but I had already unplugged from the conversation, because the crowd had parted-and I could see Alex Nicholson juggling fire.
He had stripped to the waist and daubed faux Native American war paint over his muscled, trim chest. It was a virgin canvas, and I drooled at the thought of being the first to ink him. Or maybe I just drooled. He was whirling a flaming baton back and forth, flipping it through the air with increasing speed.
But then Alex saw me and winked, putting a flourish on his spinning that sent patterns of color through the air. This wasn't just fire dancing-it was fire magic, real fire magic. I'd assumed he was a dyed-in-the-wool conjurer, a protege of Mirabilus, sticking to oldschool science tricks, but here he was drawing great flowing circles in the air that left curving trails like we were watching a time lapse photo-except this one was living and real.
The splashes of color played back and forth-and behind Alex I caught sight of Jinx sitting with Doug. He had on what looked like 3D glasses, and they were leaning close, watching the show together with rapt if unfocused attention. Jinx cried with joy every time Alex shifted the color of his fire from red to green to blue and back again.
Alex traded the batons for flaming balls on chains, lighting them off a brazier with a quick snap that had none of the fumbling "dangle the poi over the torch until it catches" typical of inexperienced dancers. Alex knew what he was doing, both physically and magically. He spun the fireballs round him faster and faster, creating a swirling hula hoop of fire that slowly, surely, lifted his feet off the floor.
The crowd went wild when he tucked his feet up in the air and let the fire ring slip under him, and I damn near came out of my seat. And then he brought the two poi together sharply, dispersing the fire in a flare of magic strong enough to give everyone in the crowd good luck for a week, if you believed such a thing. He bowed, smiling, and came over to see me.
"That was amazing," I said. "And not just because you're the Amazing Alexi."
"Why thank you, Dakota," he said, bowing again. His body was covered with sweat, but his eyes were bright and alive and never seemed to break contact with mine.
"But mistake me if I'm wrong, that was more than just firedancing."
"Digging into my secrets?" he said with a wink. "I'll give you a hint. Not all of us are as closed-minded as Mirabilus. Magic is everywhere. You've just got to learn to see it."
"And so, what about your boss's challenge?"
"You're going to kick his ass," Alex said with a grin. "I want a working tattooed wristwatch. I wouldn't have volunteered if I thought you couldn't do it."
"Can I hand Dakota over to you, now?" Savannah said. "I think I'm up."
"Up?" I asked, but Savannah ignored me, beckoning to Doug.
"Sure, no problem," Alex said, stepping behind me. "I'd love to watch over her."
Doug brought Jinx over, and she put a hand on the side of my wheelchair. "Like the show?" she said, smiling, a bit giddy. "I know I did."
"Ready?" Savannah said wickedly, holding up a leash.
"As I'll ever be," Doug said, letting out a breath, and pulled off his black trenchcoat. He was wearing the same black leather harness and cheekchillers I'd first seen him in, with a much more politically correct loincloth rather than the cage. He dug into a bag Jinx was carrying, and pulled out his puppy mitts and mask. "Could you?" he asked.
"Of course," Jinx said, helping him fit the mask on, which she did creepily well for someone almost completely blind.
"You're doing that very well for a first timer," I said.
She grinned and canted her head slightly, never stopping the weaving of buckles. "I'm a quick learner," she said, "and it isn't the first time."
Savannah clipped the leash to his neck, and he tossed his head, going "ruf, ruf." The sun had set, and I saw Darkrose stalking up, her all in white leather to complement Savannah's black, towing a black puppy servant in white leather matching her own. The two of them lined up next to each other, almost like an honor guard, and then a grizzled older man walked up to me, supported by Vickman, Darkrose's hard-eyed, bearded bodyguard.
"Sir Charles!" I said with delight. "I'm so pleased to see you!"
Sir Charles smiled at me, dressed in a tuxedo with his signature cat-o-nine-tails whip dangling from his belt. "Dakota," he said, releasing Vickman and putting a hand heavily on my chair. "Might you do me the honor of being my shoulder to lean on in tonight's performance?"
"I'd be honored," I said.
And so I got to enter the Masquerade like BDSM royalty, preceded by Savannah and Darkrose, Jinx and Sir Charles on either arm, with Alex pushing from behind as my motor. The crowd cheered, though it probably had a lot more to do with the matching vampires and dog slaves in white and black leather than any accolades for me or Sir Charles.