Inked

long life ahead of him. No need to dread the future.
    Although, given the look in his eyes, I had a feeling he could hear between the lines.
    “I’ll be careful,” he said, staring at me with that old-man gaze. “I’ll remember.”
    I nodded, ducking my head to stare at my gloved hands—finding it hard to meet that gaze of his. A moment later he said, “You’re telling me good-bye.”
    The apartment was very quiet, even though beyond its walls I heard voices in the street, and babies crying—metal being pounded in a loud, clanging rhythm. No match for the silence surrounding us, which muted those sounds, and dulled them. The air was hot. It was hard to breathe.
    I looked at the boy. “Yes.”
    He nodded solemnly. “Will I see you again?”
    “Maybe.”
    “Is Jean leaving, too?”
    “Not yet.”
    He heard the “yet” and flinched. “But she will be.”
    “Even you,” I said, as gently as I could. “Nothing lasts. Not this war, not this place. You’ll find something better.”
    “But not magic,” he whispered. “Not Jean. Not you.”
    I smiled. “You only met me last night.”
    He smiled back, but sadly. “I’ll be watching for you. Everywhere I go. I promise.”
    “I’ll be waiting for you to find me,” I said quietly.
    I heard a creak on the landing outside the door. Jean came in, holding her thermos. Still with that troubled glint in her eye.
    Ernie excused himself, and left.

    “SOMETHING’S not right,” I said, sprawled on the couch. The seat was still warm where Ernie had been. The scent of mildew was getting to me again.
    Jean sat on the chair, hunched over, running a wet rag over her face and the back of her neck. I thought about asking for one, too, but was afraid of disrupting my train of thought.
    “I was told you skinned that woman,” I said.
    Jean stopped, and looked at me. “What?”
    “The Black Cat. Skinned alive. You, or those kids, did the deed. I held the proof in my hands. Human skin, with those same tattoos we saw on her body. I didn’t imagine it.”
    Disgust made her grimace. “Why would I do that? And don’t bring those kids into that kind of talk. That’s horrible.”
    I slid my hands under my head, staring at the black mold on the ceiling. “I thought there must be a good reason. But it didn’t happen. Why would Winifred lie about that? And where else would Ernie have gotten that piece of skin?”
    Jean said nothing. I had a feeling she had hardly heard me. Finally, though, she muttered, “I made a mistake today. I didn’t finish the job.”
    I heard the echo of those same words crossing old-man Ernie’s lips, and suffered a chill. “Yes, you did.”
    “I knew I would have to kill her when we went there. Discovering that she was possessed made it easier…until I learned what kind of host she was. So I told myself, ‘do it.’ It was the only way to be certain that everyone was safe. The only way.” She gave me a hard, stricken look. “It was one of the reasons I waited to engage her—long before you showed up. I could have used Zee or the others to assassinate her. I could have done it myself. Operations like that fall apart without a mind to guide them. Someone else would have stepped in, but it still would have been new territory. Old grudges gone. But I waited and waited, telling myself I needed her contacts, her information. And then, finally, when I had the chance—”
    “Stop,” I interrupted. “You did the right thing.”
    “No.” Jean breathed, closing her eyes. “My mother—”
    She stopped. I said, “My mother would have put a bullet in her head without blinking. If for nothing else than being the kind of bitch who rapes boys and films it to sell.”
    And my grandmother would have done the same, I thought. You, kid, in fifteen years or less, will be that woman.
    And maybe so would I.
    I stood, pacing, and then walked quickly to the door. I needed air. I needed to go back to my own time. Jean rose with me, and grabbed my arm. “There’s more. You may not agree with it.”
    I waited, utterly silent. Her cheeks reddened, though her troubled gaze remained steady on mine. “I took precautions. That man at the bridge, the naked one. He works for Tai Li, chief of secret service for Chiang Kai-Shek.”
    I must have looked clueless, because she blew out her breath and added, “Tai Li is called the Himmler of China. I’ve worked with his people in the past, including that man. I told him that the Black Cat had discovered