Chapter 29: Brodie

Albatross Design was not at all what I'd expected. T.V. and movies had taught me that tattoo parlors were supposed to be dingy, poorly lit, and smell permanently of cigarette butts and regret. Albatross Design was more like a tattoo office, complete with a waiting area and a receptionist. Granted, the chairs of the waiting area were upholstered in red leather, the reading material was almost exclusively tattoo or motorcycle related, and the the receptionist had gauges in his earlobes the girth of tangerines - but I was still impressed.

"Happy Christmas!" the receptionist greeted us, looking up from his computer monitor. "Are you Gemma's three o'clock?"

I glanced at Nathaniel, giving him a let-me-do-the-talking look. "No, we're just here for moral support. Is Lysander still back there?" I asked, hoping he wouldn't detect the uncertainty behind my question.

"Sure is, poor bloke. She's had him pinned down back there for hours. Should be nearly done now, though." He motioned for us to follow him through a closed door.

I held out my fist to give Nathaniel a silent I-told-you-so fist bump, which he grudgingly returned.

On the other side of the door, the whirring buzz sound of the electric needle was deafening. A female tattoo artist - Gemma, I assumed - whose arms were adorned with red, pink, and black lotus blooms, was concentrating on the final touches of the massive tattoo, blotting away ink and blood with a swatch of gauze. And there, laying on his stomach on a modified dentist's chair, was Lysander.

See, I told myself, he's fine. He's not getting high on paint fumes. He's not hustling pickup basketball games. He's not getting run over by a car. He's not even chasing after flirtatious surfer girls.

He's just letting that stranger carve into him with a needle, that's all.

Gemma turned off the needle and the buzzing suddenly stopped. She stood to better examine her work. "Alright, looks like you're finally finished, darling. I'll go get you an aftercare kit." She excused herself as she squeezed between Nathaniel and I.

Lysander exhaled and relinquished his grip on the edges of the reclining chair. As he sat up and stretched, he looked towards the doorway, probably mildly curious as to who Gemma had just been talking to. When he saw me standing there waving at him, he flinched and gasped simultaneously, almost slipping off the edge of the chair. "Oh my God, Candace. How do you keep finding me?"

I laughed, which, of course, made Nathaniel roll his eyes. While I was more relieved than angry, Nathaniel was not as easily pacified. "Don't tell me you applied for this internship just so you could get a tattoo," Nathaniel lectured.

"No - it just worked out that way. I took for granted how long it would take," he defended himself. His gaze shifted from Nathaniel to me. "I put the money down for it before I knew Nathaniel would get sick. I... I never meant to leave you alone for so long. Castiel's been giving me a hard time about it, too. Before we left, he made me promise I'd look after you. I owe him an apology for not keeping that promise - him and you, Candace."

"I'm just glad you're okay, Lysander." I sat next to him and wrapped my arms around him. "Christmas is saved!"

"Yeah, ow," he barked, gently pushing me away. "It's still kind of sore."

"I'm so sorry - I forgot!" I put my hands in the air in mock surrender. "Can I see it?"

"Of course." He turned around so I could see it better. "Tell me what you think."

It was a pair of wings - symmetrical, perfectly aligned, and painstakingly drawn in black ink into the smooth skin of Lysander's back. These were unlike any wings I had ever seen before. For the most part, they consisted of colorless feathers, like those of a dove or perhaps an angel - but interlaced among the feathers were butterfly and dragonfly wings, and from the center hung the tail feathers of a peacock. There were only hints of subtle color - orange in a few of the monarch butterfly's wing segments, indigo and green in the eyes of the peacock feathers. I could tell the lower leftmost part was the newest because of the way it glistened, the flesh that served as its canvas pink and irritated.

I found myself gently tracing the feathered wings with my finger.

Just like I did to Dake.

A memory came rushing back - the faded brown ink of his shark tattoo, the smell of sea salt, the creaking sound of the railing, the feel of his lips, the taste -

I flinched and took my hand back, accidentally letting out a gasp.

"What's the matter?" I heard Lysander's voice say.

For a moment, I'd completely forgotten where and when I was. "Nothing," I said quickly, thankful that he wouldn't see my face as I blushed. "It really is beautiful."

"Thanks. I wanted to bring it here since I learned we were going to Australia; it's supposed to be one of the best in the world. I wouldn't trust anyone but the best with one of my own designs."

I was in awe. "You designed it yourself, Lysander?" I wondered if this is what he was he was always so busy sketching back at school.

Nathaniel tisked disapprovingly. "I'll be outside, Candace," he mumbled impatiently, and left.

"Nathaniel, wait a minute -" I tried to say, but he was already gone.

Gemma reentered the room to tell Lysander about the precautions he should take with his new tattoo.

I went back out in search of Nathaniel, but almost collided head-on with another patron of Albatross Design. He looked to be about our age - and I could tell right away from his tan and his sun-bleached hair that he was a surfer. The flesh that wasn't covered by his tight-fitting athletic shirt was a mosaic of tattoos - a sea turtle in a rainbow coral reef, an elaborate celtic knot, a seven-pointed star.

I guess this is Gemma's three o'clock.

He was small, the same height at me; his gray-green eyes met mine without me having to crane my neck. "Hey. Don't I know you from somewhere?" he asked in the singsong Australian cadence I so admired.

Was that supposed to be a pickup line?

"I sincerely doubt it. I'm kind of not from around here." I hoped he would notice my accent and drop the act. I realized that I was only a few inches from his face and took a step back, suddenly embarrassed.

He remained adamant, furrowing his brows in mock concentration. "No, I'm almost sure of it! I know I've seen you somewhere before!" If anything, the foreignness of my accent seemed to reaffirm that he knew me. "Funny I should run into you at a place like this - and on Christmas Eve. Why don't we go get a drink and you can help me figure it out?"

Australian boys, it would seem, were not very subtle. But I already knew that from experience.

"On Christmas Eve? You're out of your mind."

I thought for sure that would shut him up, but he remained unfazed. "Boxing Day, then? Come out to Warmouth Beach for the surf competition. I can get you into the after party."

He didn't give me the chance to tell him no before Lysander came to join me, his tattoo bandaged and his shirt back on.

"Oh, right!" The surfer clenched his calloused fingers around mine in an intense handshake. "I'm Brodie. I'll see you Boxing Day, then. Happy Christmas, Candy. Happy Christmas, mate!" He gave Lysander an inappropriately hard slap on the back.

"Ow!" Lysander exclaimed. He called Brodie a nasty expletive under his breath.

"Who was that guy?" Nathaniel asked me when Lysander and I met up with him outside. He must have been watching the whole exchange from the window.

I didn't answer him. In fact, his question didn't even register at first. I was too preoccupied wondering how the surfer knew my name.

I think I just met a friend of Dake's.