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Chapter 10

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None of them got any restorative sleep. Pete's head wound was burning almost continuously despite being cleaned out. The talons had not gone all that deep and Myka doubted the furrows needed stitches, but he was still aware of it. He finally realized he had dozed when he sat up in bed, panting, half remembered visions still dancing before his eyes.

Meanwhile, dragons of horrific proportions and slashing teeth were charging or chasing Myka and Artie, propelling them both into screaming, sweating wakefulness. Although sleep didn't beckon to Myka any more that night, Artie managed to drift back to sleep. Almost immediately his tormented mind focused on the circumstances surrounding the death of the teen. He kept seeing the eagle crunching against the wall, over and over, the body changing yet again into that of a human. Grief rolled over him with each successive replay until he woke up at the sound of his own voice crying out. Mercifully, Pete intuited what was going on and remained silent.

When they all met for an early lunch, bleary-eyed and disheveled, there was no discussion about nightmares; however, the haunted look in their eyes still told the story.

They sat in relative silence, reading their menus, and sticking to sandwiches, burgers or in Myka's case, a veggie wrap. The conversation still hadn't picked up much, as if talking about mundane things was emotionally stabilizing.

It was Myka who finally got down to business. "What's the course of action for today? Check out tattoo shops first?"

"That seems to be the best course of action," Artie answered after taking a rather long gulp of his coffee. "Obviously our answer lies in that direction. And to be honest, I just want…to get this over and done with."

Myka finished her wrap, eating it more slowly and with impeccable table manners. Once she'd fully chewed and swallowed the last morsel, she quickly shook her long wavey hair out of her eyes and looked at her superior. Pain was etched on her features. She didn't want to bring it up, but knew it had to be asked. "What happens once we neutralize the tattoo machine. Will everyone go back to normal—"

"One would hope," Artie answered, not waiting for her to finish.

"—or are they going to keep transforming every night?" she finished, her voice slightly roughened by such a horrible though.

A long heavy sigh escaped through pursed lips and Artie finally said. "Many of the artifacts lose their properties once neutralized. I suspect that will be the case here also. Find the tattoo machine, bag or dunk it, and that should be the end of everyone's troubles." Despite the bright sunlight causing him to squint, he gazed out the front window of the café. Pedestrians and cars paraded by at a fairly steady rate. Without looking at Myka, he added, "And if it doesn't end there," he suddenly lowered his eyes to his clasped hands, "then the authorities will have to deal with the problem."

"If they figure out what's going on." Pete stated.

"Oh, I'm sure they will get the picture sooner or later. Eventually one of the cops or animal control would shoot someone or tranquilize them and see the metamorphosis for themselves and realize what they have on their hands. Someone with half a brain will put two and two together and comprehend that the animals they become match their newest tattoos. Surgical removal might be the trick to stopping their alteration later on."

Leaning in closer, Pete asked Artie, "Have do you want to contact all the business owners? Split up or be safe and stick together?"

"What would you prefer?" Artie sat back and interlaced his fingers across his stomach.

"You're leaving it up to me?" Pete asked incredulously.

"I'm open to whatever course you choose."

Pete frowned. Clearly he hadn't expected to be put on the spot since Artie just normally stepped in and took over. It always seemed as if he'd already had everything planned out in advance.

"Well, I wouldn't mind us going in as a team."

"Which might make the artifact owner more defensive." Artie pointed out softly.

"But it would allow my vibes and your intuition to work together," he countered.

Nodding slowly, Artie agreed. "True, true. Of course, the sooner we find the artifact, the sooner we can spare the town further attacks."

"Provided that the neutralizer stops the process right then and there," Myka chimed in.

"Granted, but we should only focus on the objective for now. In the meantime, we have to get the guy to show us the tools of his or her trade without arousing too much suspicion. If they think we're there to shut them down for some infraction, we'll only see what they want us to see."

Mouth grinning widely, voice deepening with dark humor, Pete asked, "What do you suggest, go in there looking like we are thinking about getting body art?"

Artie critically eyed Pete's business suit and clean cut good looks. "As long as you're dressed that way, you'll get their g-man meters pinning the needle."

"Oh, and dressing like that won't 'arouse suspicion'?" Pete countered sarcastically, fingers hooked in the quote gesture as he voiced the last two words.

Artie looked down at his casual dress—loose-fitting slacks, dark t-shirt under a solid wine-colored button down shirt, and the ever present black trench coat. "What's the problem?" he asked, sounding wounded.

"Duh, Artie. You look like a college professor. You don't look like the kind of dude who'd be interested in such things."

Nielsen pinned Lattimer's ears back with a stern glance. "First of all Mister Rogers, icon of kid's TV, was covered in tattoos. Why do you think he always covered up his arms?"

"No way!" Pete's jaw dropped in shocked amazement.

"Way," replied his boss, straightfaced.

"Really?" Lattimer's face took on that pinched, scrunchy look people often get when they can't tell if someone is telling them the truth or not.

Artie scowled. "No, not really," he sputtered in exasperation. "Just urban fiction but I can see why Claudia and Myka make fun of how gullible you are. Now where was I?" He rolled his eyes a second as he searched for his prior train of thought. "Oh yeah, second, I'm perfectly capable of concocting a credible story, thank you very much." He sat up straighter. "Enough arguing. I plan on being exactly who I am. And I intend to use the 'don't tell them much and let the badge do all the talking for me, method."

Myka just sat back and listened to the exchange, head swiveling back and forth from self-assured younger man to definitely wiser older man. "I think Artie has a point. This seems pretty straight forward. Ask to see the tattooing equipment. Tell them we are not at liberty to answer questions, while trying to allay concerns. And it'll all go so much faster if we split up. You'll stay with me and Artie will take his own vehicle."

Pete leaned forward, chin resting on his upturned palm. "Hopefully my vibes will start hollering at me and we can get it all over with quickly"

Myka smiled. "That would be nice. But in the event that your vibes aren't cooperating, just keep your eyes open for anything out of place, odd or unusual."

"Ah, the voice of wisdom and reason," Artie said pleasantly in his smoothest voice. The richness of it and the praise itself made Myka flush with pride, despite knowing that Artie had just successfully maneuvered them both into doing what he'd wanted all along.

As they prepared to go their separate ways, Pete whispered to his partner, "Did Mister Rogers have tattoos or not?"

"Yup. From his military sniper days. Really."

"So Artie lied to me when he said…" He stopped when he caught Myka biting back a smile in that way that said he'd just be fooled…again.