Anthony Francis - Frost Moon

Alex leaned back with a slightly nervous laugh.

More quickly than I thought, the five main magical components of the watch were inked. I set the gun down, wiped off the blood again, and checked the measurements with my calipers. For good measure I sensed the mark with my fingers; everything was right on the money.

"Everything looks good," I said, slipping the tube out of the machine and discarding the needle in a magical hazards vat. "That's the major outline of the watch. Now I'm going to fill in the rest of the magical circuit. I have marks to make with three more needles and seven total inks-I'll end up with sixteen different combinations, so this will take a while."

"Isn't seven by three twenty one?" Valentine asked weakly.

"Obviously she won't use every combination," Alex said.

"Right enough, and don't be a jerk," I said, grinning. "That's my job."

But Valentine didn't respond, and I looked up to see him leaning back in the wheelchair, eyes closed. I cracked, "Hey old man, aren't you going to even watch me kicking your ass?"

He flapped his hand even more feebly, with a very noticeable tremor. "Wake me when you do something interesting."

The nurse looked at me, anguished, and Alex and I exchanged a nervous glance. Time to get this fucking thing over with.

The rest of the inking went even faster than I expected. I love working my own skin. It's the finest canvas I've ever decorated. It's smooth and soft and holds ink well and heals crisply, with little blurring of the designs. Even better, it's internally smooth-when the designs move, or when I pull little stunts like I did when I transferred my butterfly to Cinnamon, there's no excess pigment left in the skin.

And then, it was over. I wiped my hand clear of blood and stared down at the design, surprised: it was finished-in an hour and forty-five minutes, by the wall clock, and that's with all the inane bantering, plus a few pauses for Alex to talk to the camera.

"That's it," I said.

"That's it?" Alex asked. The director leaned in. Valentine's eyes cracked open.

"Now, it may not work quite right at first," I said. "The skin will be healing and, normally, the tattoo would take up to two weeks to stabilize-"

"Fair… fair enough," Valentine said. He sounded about a thousand years old. "You-you told us-to expect as much-"

"Let me finish, you upstaging old coot," I said gently. "It can take two weeks to stabilize, but we might see a little movement now."

Valentine's eyes shot open and he lurched forward, staring, and everyone's eyes all zeroed in on the watch or the monitors. The two hands just sat there, frozen at twelve.

Alex stared down at my new tat, a little disappointed. "It's not moving-"

I on the other hand, was looking at my real watch, carefully timing it, charging the yin-yang in my palm. "Give it a moment," I said. "It's not noon yet."

My Timex beeped twelve, and I swept my right hand over the watch on my left wrist in a glimmering shower of mana, right in front of Alex and Valentine and the cameras and everybody. And when my hand had fully passed over the design, the second hand on the watch started moving, keeping time as perfectly as a star-based clock could get.

"Would you look at that," Valentine said, staring alternately at my wrist, then the monitor. "Would you look at that."

"See the motion?" I said, looking at him, at Alex, at the director. "Can you see it moving?"

"Yeah," Alex breathed. "It's really moving. But… backwards."

"I know," I said, opening the box on the stool and pulling out the piece of blessed glass that I'd prepared earlier, with the miniature blessed circle inscribed around its perimeter. I scooted the stool closer, like a stand between us, and set the glass upright in the ridge in its box. "But that's expected. Now we're going to transfer the design to your hand."

"Sure," Alex said. "But… you used all the needles. And where's the flash-"

"Won't need it," I said, concentrating mana in my inking hand. Then I passed it over the clock and brought it to life.

The clock glowed. Everyone could see its light reflecting off the cameras, Alex's face, Valentine's eyes. And then… it separated from my hand and floated in the air, coming to rest gently in the center of the magical circle inscribed in the glass.

"Oh. My. Word," Alex breathed.

My hand stung a bit-it would still need a bit of healing, though not as much as if the pigment of tattoo had remained embedded in it-but I had no time to give it more than a quick glance before moving on. It was time to give Alex his tattoo.

"With a stable tattoo, I could have just transferred this through the air," I said. "But with a new tattoo like this one you need a stabilizing plate. Now, hold up your hand."

"What?" Alex said, blinking as I picked up his hand gently and guided it to the back of the glass. "Oh, my, you mean this is it-"

"Yes," I said, positioning his hand carefully. "The design will flow through the glass. That's why I had to ink it mirror-reversed, like a stamp. Here it comes."

Then I guided Alex's wrist in. The tattoo glowed even more brightly, feeling the pull of virgin skin; then it detached from the glass and landed on his wrist, merging with the flesh. In moments the glow faded and the tattoo returned to normal, like it had been inked there-without the long healing period. And, after a moment, the watch hand started up, right on time, ticking out one 'second' for every sidereal second out of each turn of the Earth beneath the stars.

Alex stared down at his wrist, at the magical tattoo that I'd just transferred to him by purely magical means. Then, wordlessly, he proffered it to Valentine, who stared at it, eyes bugged as wide as the lens of the camera recording his reaction.

I leaned back in my chair, folded my arms, ostentatiously displaying my tattooing gun in my right hand. "Let's see you do that, Valentine."31. Time Is Running Out

I swaggered (well, limped) out into Reception, my spirits on top of the world, to find Annesthesia looking straight at the door I'd exited, worried, talking to Kring/L in hushed tones.

"I know, but they're filming,," she said. "I'm afraid if he calls again-"

"Who called?" I asked.

"Excuse me," Alex said, stepping past me to hold the door for Valentine's wheelchair. He sounded worried.

"Is the old man all right? He's not taking this well?" I asked. Valentine slipped past me on the wheelchair, sound asleep, his breathing labored. As she passed, his nurse glared at me.

"If you knew you were going to crush him," she said under her breath, "you could have waited until he was healthy."

I stared after her wordlessly as she and Alex wheeled Valentine out. When he was gone I said quietly, to no one in particular, "If he was that sick someone should have said-"

"Damn fool," the director said. "It's my fault, pushing him to get a few shots in the can in time for the early promos. If I'd known he was so weak-still, an excellent show, Miss Frost. Assuming Doctor Valentine recovers, if he can top what you did here today, I'll eat my camera."

"They're my cameras," the lead cameraman said, dragging out a bag of equipment.

"It's the principle of the thing," the director said, giving him a hand. Then, turning back to me, he added, "We'll be in touch about the followup interview, Miss Frost."

And I was left there, feeling like the world's biggest heel. Somehow the thing that bothered me most was that Alex hadn't even bothered to say goodbye-not even a curt 'Thank you for your time, Miss Frost.' He must be really worried about Valentine, pissed at me for winning so arrogantly-or both.

"Dakota," Kring/L said quietly.

"What?" I said, refocusing on him and Anesthesia. "Who?"

"Someone called Wulf," she said. Her face was terrified. "He was talking about a tattoo, but Dakota, I don't know, this guy sounds pretty fucking angry-"