Inked

you’ll need to be careful.”
    I finally stood from the couch. “I’d like to see your wrist, Ernie.”
    Jean stiffened. So did Ernie, but he grabbed his wrist, hugging it against his gaunt stomach. I walked to him. He tried to back away, but he had no place to go.
    “I have to go home,” he mumbled, ducking his gaze.
    I held out my hand. Jean drew close and said, “Ernie. Samuel showed me his tattoo.”
    The boy gave her a hard, despairing look. “He promised he wouldn’t.”
    Jean shook her head, and I felt her helplessness. “Not an easy thing to hide, short stuff.”
    He closed his eyes, banging his head lightly against the wall. “And did Lizbet and Winifred show you theirs?”
    Jean blinked. “What?”
    I knelt, and took hold of Ernie’s wrist. My grip was gentle but firm, and I bit the inside of my cheek as I made him show me the tattoo.
    It was familiar. I had seen it before, on a scrap of human skin. But this was smaller, singular; perhaps a rose, though the coiled lines felt more like the tangle of an unending knot, or a particularly distorted ouroboros . Reminded me of the engravings on the armor encasing my fingers and wrist—still hidden beneath my glove.
    I tried to speak, but my voice croaked. I had to try again, more softly, almost whispering. “She did this to you?”
    Ernie nodded, shivering. Jean knelt beside me, peering at the tattoo. “And Lizbet? Winifred? What was done to them?”
    He hesitated, and touched a spot above his heart. “Right there. She did us all at the same time. And then made the same marks on her body.”
    I released the boy, rocking back on my heels. I stared at his feet. Bare, dirty toes digging into the floor. His breathing was loud, rasping. Like he was suffering from congestion in his chest.
    It took all my control, but my voice finally sounded normal when I said, “It’s gotten quiet downstairs.”
    He hesitated. Jean said, “Wait outside. I’ll go with you in a minute to check on your parents.”
    I did not watch Ernie go. Nor did I stand until I heard the door shut behind him. I found Jean watching me.
    “I wish you had never come here,” she whispered.
    “You afraid?” I asked coldly, softly, certain that Ernie had his ear pressed to the door.
    Jean moved so close I could taste the sweet scent of apple pie on her breath. “There’s a fine balance in this place. Upset that, and people will die.”
    “People will die.” I pointed at the door. “You willing to sacrifice Ernie and his friends? Because I promise you, kiddo, that’s what you’re doing.”
    “I’ve helped them all I can. I have to look at the bigger picture.”
    I forgot she was my grandmother. I grabbed the front of her dress and hauled her close, frustration and disappointment mingling with desperate, weary anger. “You listen to me, Jean Kiss. Every life matters.”
    She shoved back. “I’m just one person.”
    Oh, God. It was like listening to myself. “You’re the most fucking dangerous woman in this world.”
    “I can’t be killed,” she rasped. “That’s not the same as dangerous, and you know it.”
    I released her. She sagged backward against the wall, eyes glittering.
    “I try,” she whispered hollowly. “People think I whore for all the goods I get, but I don’t care. I pass out food and items for people to trade. I get work passes for some, if they have no other way. Medicine, messages…when there’s a need, I do what I can. Maybe where you come from life is different. Maybe you have the luxury of living in a world where people don’t suffer. But this isn’t it. I can’t do everything. There are too many. There will always be too many.”
    I heard defiance in her voice, but mostly despair. Profound weariness. Have mercy , whispered a small voice in my mind. Have mercy on your grandmother.
    Because she is right .
    I drew in a slow, deep breath. And then, carefully, leaned against the door beside her. Red eyes glimmered from the shadows. I sensed a breathlessness in the boys; anticipation, even.
    I almost asked about the Black Cat, but when I tried the words felt too heavy, too painful. I was a weak woman. I tapped my foot against the floor and said quietly, “The Japanese soldiers do this all the time?”
    Jean closed her eyes, odd relief flickering briefly across her features. “More recently. Used to be that some of their best were stationed in Shanghai, but they’ve been sent into the Pacific to fight the Americans. All that’s left are