Fresh Ink: An Anthology Read online

  “Because I didn’t think you were serious!”

  “But you just said you knew I was serious, Shay!”

  “Okay. Okay. So, I was scared. Because I knew I loved you too, but it was strange. It’s always been me and you, and so for you to, like, try to make it us, well, that was a little weird for me at first. But after we walked away from each other, what happened?”

  “Well, I was crushed.”

  “No you weren’t!”

  “Oh, yes I was. But then you ran up behind me and pinched me on the butt, and I knew you loved me too.”

  “Yeahhhhhh!” Shay howled. “And that is what you call game.”

  Dante shook his head, first at Shay, then at the young man and woman now carrying a mattress toward them. They started up the stoop, but Dante and Shay had no more space to scoot over. They were already up against the railing.

  Dante put his free hand up. “Wait, wait, we can just get off the stoop so y’all can go up,” he snapped, his tone somewhere between annoyed and confused. He and Shay stepped down so the couple could step up. “I just don’t know why they couldn’t say excuse me,” Dante grumbled, loud enough for the couple to hear. But they didn’t respond. Didn’t even flinch. And as Shay and Dante watched the man and woman struggle up the steps inside, they also watched Shay’s mother struggle down the steps, eventually bumbling through the front door.

  “Wasn’t even out of the house before they started moving in all their shit,” Shay’s mother muttered under her breath. She wiped her eyes, then glanced up, noticing Shay and Dante at the bottom of the stoop. She flashed a sad grin. One of loss and love. One of understanding. “You ready, baby?”

  Shay nodded, sighed. Her mother moved slowly, as if giving each foot a moment to mourn each step, and Shay threw her arms around Dante, kissing him on the cheek.

  “I love you.” It slipped easily from his lips. Like breathing. Like usual.

  “No doubt, homie,” she replied, her whisper bookended by sniffles. Then she pinched him on the butt.

  Dante walked Shay and her mother to the car, opened the passenger-side door. Before Shay got in, she gingerly put the pencil back behind Dante’s ear, and he held his arm out so she could see her work. She blew on it, her breath cooling the burn for just a moment.

  “Looks good,” she said, simply, while slipping down into the seat.

  “Not exactly.” Dante forced a smile, closed the door, and told Shay to call him when she got there. To Wilmington. A place he’d never heard of, where buses probably didn’t go. He watched Shay and her mother pull away, their car easing slowly past the double-parked truck—its emergency blinkers still on—that had left only a sliver of space to get through. And as they turned the corner, vanishing from sight, Dante glanced down at the S on his arm again. The burn. White where brown used to be.

  He knew the sting wouldn’t last forever.

  But the scar would.

  Agent Dana Scully was not in a good mood.

  Nic watched surreptitiously as the black girl in the red wig and black pantsuit, FBI badge clasped to the lapel, got in line behind her. She was scowling at her cell phone and texting furiously. When she finished her message, she pocketed her phone and crossed her arms, irritated frown still in place as she looked over the crowd. The line for the preview screening of Queen of the East—one of the biggest events at the Denver Science Fiction and Fantasy Convention—was rapidly filling the lobby in front of the Rocky Mountain Ballroom. Nic spotted a Star Wars Rebel Alliance group, two Minions, and a bunch of people dressed as the Queen of the East herself, in her gold leggings, shiny black trench, and silver hair. The multistory lobby echoed with the sounds of excited chatter about the upcoming preview.

  Nic eyed Scully. “Did Mulder piss you off or something?”

  Scully’s gaze jerked to Nic. “What?” she snapped.

  Nic held up her hands. “Sorry! I just—you seemed upset.”

  “Upset?” Scully repeated, her lip curling. “Who are you?” Her eyes swept Nic up and down in a decidedly judgmental manner that made Nic flinch.

  “I’m—”

  “Gender-flipped Sulu?” Scully said.

  Nic was surprised. “Yeah! How did you know?”

  Scully gestured to the Starfleet insignia on Nic’s shirt. “It’s not rocket science. And there’s only one Asian on Star Trek.”

  Nic frowned. “Yeah. Well.” Scully was unexpectedly hostile for a DenCon cosplayer. Nic turned away, feeling uncomfortably insulted, and glanced at the group of guys ahead of her in line. They were dressed as zombies, which indicated a distinct lack of creativity, but at least none of them were angry at her for no reason. One of them nodded at her.

  “Yo, Sulu,” he said. He did a double take. “Wait, you’re a girl. How does that work?”

  Nic’s mood, already soured, went further south. “How does your mouth work when it’s dripping with that bloody drool?”

  The zombie, whose face was painted with gross, slimy makeup, looked startled.

  “I hate it when girls think they can cosplay men,” one of the other zombies said. He had a glistening trail of drool on his chin. “It always looks so lame.”

  “I hate it when guys think slapping on fake blood and plastic wounds equals anything remotely cool,” Scully said. “And stop insulting disabled people.”

  The zombies blinked in unison. “Dude,” drool-face zombie said, shaking his head. “Somebody’s on the rag.”

  Scully gave him a smile so sharp it made Nic think of a shark baring its teeth. “Aw, are you afraid of bleeding women? Not sure how you’ll survive as a zombie.”

  Nic stifled a laugh while the guys gaped at Scully. They shuffled together, their egos clearly deflated, and turned their backs in a huff. Nic realized they were probably in high school, like her, hiding their pimply faces beneath all that zombie makeup. They were no match for poised and sweetly vicious putdowns from a pretty girl.

  “That was awesome,” Nic said to Scully.

  “I’m tired of assholes.” Her expression softened slightly. “Sorry if I acted like one.”

  “No, you didn’t. I made a bad joke. Sorry.”

  Scully shrugged. “No, it was a good joke. Mulder did piss me off.”

  “What?” Nic said, laughing. “Did you come with a Mulder?”

  “I came with a Mulder and a Krycek,” she said, rolling her eyes. “But they’re a couple and I’m tired of being the third wheel. So I decided to come see this preview without them.”

  “There is so much meta going on in what you just said, I can’t even,” Nic said.

  Scully grinned. “Yeah. Well, Mulder’s real name is Casey, and Krycek’s real name is Sebastian, and they’ve only been together for like three weeks, so they’re totally into each other. We came up with our cosplay as a trio. Seb is Latino, so he and I are both race-bending our characters. See, we even did our IDs.” She detached her FBI badge and showed Nic the photo. She had pasted a small picture of herself in costume above the FBI seal identifying her as Special Agent Dana Scully.

  “Nice,” Nic said. “What’s your real name?”

  “Tamia. How about you?”

  “Nic.”

  “You’re not wearing a wig,” Tamia observed.

  Nic touched her gelled hair. “Um, no.”

  “That’s some commitment there.”

  “Nah, this is just my regular hair. I did buy some superstrength gel, though. Like, if you watch the recent movies, John Cho’s hair never moves.”

  “Do you like his version of Sulu better than George Takei’s?”

  “Well, I like them both. I thought it was cool that they made John Cho’s Sulu gay.”

  “Did you hear that George Takei didn’t like it?”

  “Yeah. But I think it’s about time, and I’m happy that Sulu got to be the gay charac
ter. It’s too bad there can be only one, though, even in the Star Trek universe.”

  “He got to have a gay Asian husband.”

  “With no lines,” Nic pointed out. “But it’s fine. I’m glad he exists. It would be nice if they ever had a queer female character, though.”

  Tamia didn’t answer at first, and Nic wondered if Tamia was about to ask her a personal question, but then Tamia nodded. “Yeah, totally.”

  Nic gave Tamia a closer look. She was cute, definitely, with round cheeks and a soft mouth that didn’t resemble actual Dana Scully’s very much, but she certainly had Scully’s self-confidence. Tamia returned her gaze directly, her lips curving up a little.

  “What?” Tamia asked.

  Caught. “N-nothing,” Nic stammered. She hoped she wasn’t turning red. That was the problem with being Asian; every tiny blush showed up on her face. “Um, I’m psyched for this movie, Queen of the East. Have you read the comics it’s based on?” The comic book series was about a female detective in a futuristic Shanghai who tracked down supernatural serial killers.

  “No, I only saw the trailer. I’m really glad they cast Asian American actors. I was worried Hollywood would be shitty as usual.”

  Nic nodded. “Yeah. I can’t wait to see it. I really like the actress they cast as the lead too. Have you heard the big spoiler?”

  Tamia held up a hand. “No, don’t tell me! I don’t want to know. I love Alexa Chen. She was so great on Dark Night.”

  “Totally agree.” Trying to sound casual, Nic added, “She’s really hot.”

  Tamia’s eyebrows rose slightly, and her smile broadened. “Yeah, so—”

  The fluorescent lights overhead flickered and went out with a popping sound, plunging the lobby into darkness. Only the exit signs over the doors remained lit. For a moment, all conversation ceased. Then everyone started talking at once.

  “What the hell?” Nic said.

  “What’s going on?” Tamia asked.

  Someone pushed open a set of double doors, letting in dull light from the corridor outside. Through the doorway, rain lashed the floor-to-ceiling windows that lined the exterior of the convention center.

  Everyone was pulling out their cell phones, creating a sea of bobbing lights in the cavernous space. One of the zombies complained, “The Wi-Fi died.”

  Nic checked her phone too. “I don’t have any bars. I bet the storm is interfering with reception.” Many people, including Tamia, were trying to make calls or send texts. “My brother works in the convention center control room,” Nic said to Tamia. “They have emergency procedures and generators and stuff. There’ll probably be an announcement any second explaining what happened.”

  “I hope so,” Tamia said, sounding skeptical.

  They waited, the minutes ticking by slowly, while rumors began to trickle down the line. “The lightning storm downed power lines” was the first, followed by “Power is out across metro Denver” and “The generators won’t start either.”

  “This is bullshit, man,” drool-face zombie complained.

  “Somebody needs to tell us what happened!” said one of the Queens of the East in a penetrating but thin voice.

  “Calm down, it’s going to be fine,” a Star Wars Rebel answered.

  “Oh my God, someone just fainted!” a person shrieked from across the hall. The crowd turned all at once, like a swarm of bees twisting in midair. The hum of voices—concerned, anxious, frightened—rose in a wave.

  Nic was beginning to sweat uncomfortably beneath her polyester Star Trek uniform. She plucked at the mustard-yellow fabric, fanning herself in the stuffy air. “Crap,” she muttered. “Did the air go off?”

  “The air?” Tamia hissed. “You mean we’re going to suffocate in here?”

  “No,” Nic said quickly. “Don’t worry. That’s not what I meant. Just—you know, the AC units are electric powered too.”

  “That’s supposed to help?” Tamia said, agitated.

  The previously orderly line was breaking up into jittery clumps of costumed con-goers. Batmen and Wonder Women, gangs of zombies and squads of Minions, all peering into the cell phone–lit dimness, talking over each other as rumor after rumor flitted through the air.

  Nic frowned. “I should go find my brother.”

  “You know where he is?” Tamia asked.

  “I think the control room is near registration,” Nic said. She didn’t add that the convention center was an impenetrable maze even when the lights were on, or that she’d never before visited her brother in his office.

  “These people are beginning to freak,” Tamia said, shaking her head. “Look at them! They’re a mess.”

  The collective anxiety was catching. Nic felt it crawling over her skin in a disturbing electric buzz. She didn’t care so much about the lights, but being engulfed by a nervous crowd set off her claustrophobia. “I have to get out of here,” Nic said. She began to move toward the exit, pushing through the caped Batmen.

  Tamia followed her. “Wait, I want to go with you. Besides, it’s dark out there and you need some light.” Tamia pulled a flashlight from her back pocket.

  Nic gaped at her. “You have a flashlight?”

  Tamia cocked her head as if Nic were being dense. “Agent Scully does.”

  Nic shook her head in wonder. “Okay, let’s go.”

  * * *

  • • •

  The exhibit halls of the Rocky Mountain Convention Center were connected by seemingly endless corridors of polished floors lined with multistory glass windows. On a clear day the windows provided beautiful views of the Rocky Mountains, but today the charcoal clouds and drenching rain turned the outdoors into a hellscape that Tamia imagined would be right at home in an apocalypse. Lightning cut a jagged arc across the sky as she and Nic wove their way through the mobs of con-goers. The bright white flash lit everyone’s faces for a fraction of a second: eyes wide, mouths open, staring at the storm outside.

  A thunderclap shook the floor.

  “Come on,” Nic said, grabbing Tamia’s arm.

  Tamia let Nic pull her through the crowd. It was like squeezing through the packed convention floor on opening day, except nobody looked happy to be there. A woman started shouting, “Sarah! Where are you? Sarah!” As the frightened woman came closer, she pushed aside everyone in her path. Tamia and Nic were shoved toward the interior wall, and someone elbowed Tamia in the back.

  “Ow!” Tamia said indignantly. She caught only a glimpse of the person who had bumped into her—he was in a grayish-green blob-like suit, with stiff, wiry hairs protruding from the edges—before Nic dragged her through an unmarked door and slammed it shut.

  The sound of the crowd outside was instantly muffled. Nic’s rapid breathing filled the dark space.

  “Are you okay?” Tamia asked.

  “I’m fine,” Nic said, taking a slower, deep breath. “I just don’t like crowds.”

  “I don’t blame you,” Tamia said. She swept the flashlight around them. “No crowds here.” They were in what looked like a maintenance corridor. The floor was no longer polished tile; it was plain old concrete. Pipes and vents hung from the low ceiling, and the walls were lined with closed doors. The still, dark hallway reminded Tamia of a zillion scenes in The X-Files—right before Mulder or Scully barged through a door and discovered something gruesome.

  “Why hasn’t there been some kind of announcement?” Tamia asked.

  “The PA system probably runs on electricity too,” Nic said.

  “They don’t have an emergency generator?” Tamia went to the door they had just come through.

  “I can’t go back out there,” Nic objected. “People are still freaking—I can hear them.”

  Tamia rattled the handle. “It’s locked anyway. We’re stuck in here.” The maintenance corridor suddenly felt a lot creepier th
an it had before she realized she couldn’t turn right around and leave.

  “There’s only one way to go, then,” Nic said.

  Tamia shined the flashlight down the hallway. The beam didn’t reach the end.

  Nic started walking.

  Tamia followed, uncomfortably aware of the dark that crept up behind her. She wished she hadn’t watched so many X-Files episodes to research her costume. Now she kept imagining Eugene Tooms squeezing through one of those pipes, or tanks full of alien hybrid creatures lurking behind one of those doors, which Nic was about to open—

  “It’s locked,” Nic said, disappointed.

  Tamia exhaled.

  “There has to be a way out of here,” Nic said, continuing down the hall.

  Nic tried door after door, but they were all locked. The longer they walked, the quieter it became, until only their footsteps sounded in the low-ceilinged hallway. When Tamia glanced back, she could barely make out the light beneath the door they had come through. The undercurrent of anxiety in her began to intensify. She didn’t like being trapped in the dark.

  “Hey, look—there’s another hallway branching off here,” Nic said.

  Tamia swung her flashlight in the direction Nic was pointing. The hallway was pitch-black, and the flashlight beam didn’t make it very far. “I have a bad feeling about this,” Tamia muttered.

  Nic laughed, and the sound echoed eerily in the long dark hallway. She stopped laughing. “I have a bad feeling about this too. Let’s not go there.”

  They continued down the main corridor.

  “Did you know they used that line in every single Star Wars movie?” Tamia said. She immediately felt like a complete nerd and wished she hadn’t brought it up.

  “Really?”

  “Yeah.” Trying to distract herself from worrying they would never escape from this endless maintenance corridor, Tamia continued, “Slightly different usage every time, but it’s in every movie, even the new ones. Han Solo says it the most.”