“You’re Max, right?” she asks, to my mind too cheerful for the late hour.
“Yes.”
“I thought so. You’re from the Outer Limits like Lil.”
“Yes.”
“So…where are you getting it?”
I look at her puzzled, not quite grasping what the question is about.
“Your tattoo,” she says since I didn’t respond.
“Oh, I don’t know. Why?”
“Placement is everything, Max. The position of your tattoo determines where you rank among the Dracken. Anything above your diaphragm means you’re important, a top ranked official. Place it on your abdomen and you’re classified as second. Anything lower than that means you’re simply a lackey. Someone to boss around.”
“I didn’t know that.”
She cocks her head, sizing me up and down. “Strange that the person who recruited you didn’t tell you about it. They’re supposed to direct you where to have it placed.”
“He did, I just didn’t know that the location was pre-determined.”
“Frey talked to you, didn’t he?”
I nod.
“He’s one of the top officials, just below the actual leaders,” she says. “So, where’s your spot?”
I tap the top of my left breast.
Her jaw drops open, then she squeals with excitement. “That means you’re his. No one else can have you. It also means you’re high ranked like he is. I’m so jealous.” She stands and goes back to where she’d been sitting.
Now I understand why he selected that area. A good portion of the dragon will be visible under all my shirts, including my battle outfit. It’s like he’s marking me as a target if I go up against anyone who is opposed to the Dracken. What will happen to those I fight who are lower ranking than me? Will they try to kill me faster, or avoid me?
The metal door opens and a man from Rapid is beckoned forward. I can’t see who or what is in the room since the door is only partially opened. Hours pass before I’m called. Matron Kaniz places her hand on my back as I walk towards the door. The room is white and sterile. Harsh lighting floods the small space hurting my eyes. In the center is a leather-covered table next to a stool and small workbench covered in black ink and transparency paper. A small, thin woman is bent over another table in the corner, designing my dragon, I assume. Her blonde hair is cut short and her outfit looks too baggy for her frame.
“Lie here,” Matron Kaniz says to me, gesturing to the table.
I slide on and lie down. The light is too bright at this angle, so I have to cover my eyes with my hand. Matron Kaniz advises the woman that I’m ready, then leaves. I begin to sweat from the heat being generated by the lights, but I feel chilled also.
“Please remove your shirt,” the woman says, not even turning around.
I do as she says. I’m grateful I left my bra on or I would be completely exposed.
The woman gets up from her seat, goes over to a storage unit with several drawers. She rummages through a couple of them until she locates the needles she’s going to use. She sits down on the stool next to me, slips on gloves, and prepares her instruments.
“I’m going to need you to put your arm down,” she says, still not looking at me.
I place my arm against my side, but in such a way that I’m gripping the side of the table. She rubs lotion over the spot she’s going to place the tattoo. Right where Frey wants it. The transparency paper is placed on top of the lotion and patted down so the ink will stick to my skin. She takes her tools, hunches over me, and begins to work. The pain is minimal at first, but increases when she goes over one spot several times. I grit my teeth and close my eyes, wishing for the whole thing to be over.
“I’m almost done,” she says, quite some time later.
She takes a cloth, wipes off the extra ink, and then applies the rapid healing gel. She hands me a mirror so I can take a look.
The dragon is bigger than I had expected. It’s covering almost the entire left side my chest and close to my neck. The dragon’s head is sharp, angling down, showing its profile. Its mouth is wide open with its tongue and teeth exposed. The body twists into a couple of loops, scales projecting out like barbed wire. The wings are tall, stretching from the top of my breast to my collarbone. My heart sinks at the sight of it.
What did I do? What am I doing? How could I have agreed to this? Then I remind myself I didn’t have much choice.
“It’s going to be tender for a while,” the woman says. She leans over to take the mirror from me, and that’s when I finally see her. Recognition flashes on both our faces, but she’s the first to speak. “Head Master Edom is not going to like this,” Cil says – the woman who helped mutilate my hands.
“Why?” I ask, thrusting my hands into her face. “Why did you do this to me?”
“Not
