The Night Has Teeth (Book One) EXCERPTS ONLY

4. Know Your Enemy

Of course I look. After all, they’re just drawings, and nobody ever died from art. Even though I sort of know what to expect, I’m still taken by surprise. There’s not a single red rose or pink butterfly that I assume is in the sample books of all modern tattoo artists. Instead, as I flip through the pages, I’m pretty sure her style is influenced heavily by irezumi tattoo ― based on my movie knowledge of Japanese Yakuza gangsters, anyway. The majority of the drawings are from the same period as the one I saw at the restaurant, but others span different eras and different empires. The soldiers, both men and women, are often paired with a wolf of similar coloring. They’re like snapshots from when civilizations were played out at the edge of a sword: Roman legionnaires, Nordic Vikings, Mongolian warriors and an almost endless list of others. The wolf is no doubt a symbol of power. She’s talented, I’ll give her that, even if she is my stiff competition in the social skills department.

After school we hang out at Madison’s place and carefully flip through the pages of the sketchbook. She lives at an all-girl boarding house in what can only be described as a mansion.  It’s a three-storey home with twelve dorm rooms. The main floor foyer branches off to a large eat-in kitchen, a formal dining room, great room and a library. There’s a swimming pool, gym and rec room downstairs. Although the building itself is a couple hundred years old, the interior was renovated with modern sensibilities.

“I still can’t believe you made fun of me for being posh.”

We’re sitting in white wicker chairs out back on a balcony that runs the full length of the façade facing the woods of Vincennes Park.

“Shut up! I got a scholarship, alright?”

“Well, aren’t you Ms. Smartypants, then?” I tease, withholding the fact that I managed to do the same.

Josh planted himself between us, but now settles back in his chair as we examine what is clearly Amara’s sample book. Getting a tattoo is nothing I’ve ever considered. Like I said to Madison, not in this lifetime. And I meant it. But my confidence wavers when I take in these images. This artwork isn’t just breathtaking. It draws a sense of daring out of me from a place I never knew existed. Not that I would ever say that out loud.

Rising to his feet, Josh asks, “Where’s the boys’ room?”

“There isn’t one,” Madison tells him with a smirk. “It’s a girls’ boarding house, remember? Powder room’s in the foyer.”

With a shake of his head, he walks inside. Not even a fraction of a second passes before she jumps into his seat to get a better view of the sketches. When she reaches to turn the page, she pauses for a moment, hand mid-air. It takes me a stupid amount of time to clue in that my fingers are resting on the edge of the paper, then I move them out of the way. Without Josh around to take the edge off her, I can’t seem to find my words, so I just admire the artwork in silence, all the while wondering when he’ll be back and trying to figure out how to stop my palms from sweating.

“It was pretty epic,” she admits.

Believe me, I’m trying to figure it out.

“Lone Wolf and Cub?” she says in that questioning, testy voice she turns to whenever someone hasn’t filled in the blanks fast enough for her.

“Right. Um, cool.”

The tight edges of her lips tell me that she’s trying not to laugh at me. For some reason it’s funny to me, the way she restrains herself. Like she might hurt my feelings or something when she hasn’t shown any indication of caring one way or another about what other people think before now. When I chuckle, she lets her laughter loose, too.