The troll clenched his jaw as if he fought the words, but even the hardened creature wasn’t immune to Trixie’s charm. Hell, she could get a serial killer to confess his sins while sitting in the tattoo chair if she just batted her eyes and asked him in her sweet, come-hither voice. “Something dark is creeping toward us,” he reluctantly said. “Like a vine that’s going to wrap around us and choke … someone.”

“Like tonight’s …” she offered, letting her voice drift off.

“No, that wasn’t it.”

“Maybe the darkness has already passed,” Trixie suggested. “I mean, Gage was shot at today and he survived.”

“I wasn’t shot at,” I corrected quickly as Bronx turned his head to look at me. “Disgruntled customer, nothing more. Just avoid using the leprechaun hair for the next few days until I get some fresh.”

“No, that wasn’t it,” Bronx replied, again turning his head to stare straight at the wall before him. I was afraid to ask more about the shadow that lingered in his golden eyes.

We all remained silent as Trixie patiently traced out a thick line curling down the length of his arm with a Q-tip and a container of white greasepaint. The elf had a knack for not only creating great beauty, but she also managed to work very fast. Within an hour, his right arm, from shoulder to wrist, was covered in a curling vine of ivy with thick green leaves highlighted in black to give them more depth. It was an exquisite work of art and it was a shame that he would wash it off before he left at the end of the night.

As Trixie cleaned up her greasepaint, the first of our customers for the night started to roll in, life once again trickling into our small part of the world. The first few were a handful of teenage humans looking to pop their tattoo cherries. They were giggling, indecisive, and squirmy in the chair when the needle was applied to their skin for any length of time. The two guys finally decided on some tribal bands around their flexed biceps, while the two females chose some tasteful and simple designs on their lower backs. All in all, as clichéd as they come, but for some, that was how the addiction started. Between the buzz of the needle and the sensual play of pleasure and pain, at least one of these kids would be back for something more intricate and interesting.

The hulking Bronx was more than a little intimidating under most circumstances so he was given the brash, cocky male, while I gave the most nervous female to Trixie. I took the remaining female first, knowing that if she was left to watch her friends, she would chicken out before she could get her tattoo. The second male wouldn’t survive the ribbing of his friends if he chickened out, so I felt safe leaving him on his own for a while.

Humans came and went for the rest of the evening. Half scheduled appointments for later dates since one of us needed more time to draw a specific design, while others wandered in wanting something quick and simple. Sadly, less than half required us to go to the back room to mix up a little something extra for the ink. Tattooing in itself could be a lucrative business, but it was the potions added to the ink that made this venture truly worthwhile. For some reason, people were in no rush to get spells done tonight.

Until the drunken satyrs stumbled and fell through the front door. Asylum catered to all kinds of creatures, just so long as they could fit through the door and could be tattooed. Vampires were impossible to tattoo unless you used garlic in the mix, and then they tended to whine and scream through the entire process. Trolls, gargoyles, and ogres couldn’t be tattooed at all due to the thickness of their skin. But everyone else, we would ink.

Swaying and boisterous, the satyrs on their little hoofed feet clomped through the parlor, bumping into each other. Normally, I wouldn’t tattoo anyone that obviously intoxicated, but in general that was the only state in which you found satyrs. There was no helping it, and I wasn’t about to pass up what was likely to be a very nice deal.

“What can I do for you gentlemen this evening?” I asked politely as I leaned over the glass counter to look down at them. At just over three feet tall from hoof to horn, they were easy to overlook, but that was generally something they used to their advantage.

“We want tattoos!” declared one as he threw his hairy fist into the air. The others joined in this cheer, their low voices rumbling around the room.

I suppressed an urge to roll my eyes and forced myself to keep a smile on my lips in the face of their obvious proclamation. “What kind of tattoos were you looking for?”

“Virility tattoos!” another shouted.

“Yeah, big dicks on our arms so that women will be attracted to us!” added the third satyr. I couldn’t help it. My face fell into my hand and I shoved my fingers through my short brown hair.

“Gage!” Trixie hissed from somewhere in the tattooing room. I glanced over my shoulder, finding her standing in front of the security television, but she was glaring at me while shaking her head. I didn’t know if she was more opposed to tattooing a penis on someone or the idea of being ogled by satyrs, which was inevitable if I let them into the back room. I decided to go with the penis reason and chose the route of tact and negotiation.

“You know, there are more subtle symbols of virility that can be tattooed on your arms. Items that could draw a woman close to you without being so obvious,” I countered.

“Like what?”

“Like what …” I repeated. I glanced wildly over my shoulder, looking for a little help from my two companions in the back room.

Trixie gave a huff before she started ticking items off on her long fingers. “A stag with antlers, the full moon, the oak tree, holly, the bull or even the minotaur, and the eye of Horus.”

The three satyrs looked from one to the other, quietly weighing each of the options that Trixie had listed for them, but I could tell by the tone of the conversation that not one of the choices had particularly won them over.

“You could also go with a mushroom or some particular flowers that have phallic undercurrents,” Bronx added, to my delight.

The head of one of the satyrs popped up, excitement lighting his beady black eyes. “Don’t some mushrooms have aphrodisiac qualities?”

“Possibly,” I hedged. Hallucinogenic? Sure. Deadly? Of course. Aphrodisiac? I had no idea.

“That’s what we want! Mushrooms on our upper arms.”

“You got it,” I said, somewhat relieved that the three of us weren’t going to be drawing dicks on the arms of satyrs that evening. I had a feeling something like that would follow me into my nightmares later.

“Now, we don’t just want tattoos,” said what appeared to be the soberest of the trio. “We want more.”

“An actual increase in virility,” I supplied.

“More than that. We want to draw women to us.”

“Allure.”

“Exactly.”

“Then that’s going to cost a little extra.” I mentally went through the potential list of ingredients that I might use, starting with the most expensive, before I quoted my first steep price. I fully expected the satyrs to hem and haw at the asking price, but they said nothing. All three reached into the little pouches hanging around their waists and slapped two gold coins apiece onto the counter. At today’s going exchange rate for gold, and the quality of the product, I had no doubt that I had been overpaid by a lot.

“Now, gentlemen, you know I can’t properly give you change for gold.”

“Keep it,” one said with a wave of his hand. “A tip. Can we get started?”

“Let’s go,” I said, motioning for them to step into the back room. As I suspected, their mouths immediately dropped open at the sight of Trixie. I quickly stepped in front of my coworker to stop the stampede as she backed into the far corner of the cabinets, effectively trapping herself.