The Tattooed Heart Read Online Free

moved like a tiger—sinuous, precise, dangerous. She was beside me and though I’m straight I felt my throat tighten and my breathing become labored, such is her animal appeal.
    â€œYou know, Mara, you don’t have to dress like a schoolgirl. I could arrange for something a bit more . . . well, let’s just say something that would make it harder for Messenger.” She laughed wickedly at that, then with a wink, added, “I mean harder for Messenger to ignore you so completely. As a young woman.”
    â€œI’m not . . . ,” I began, and then realized there was no safe way for me to conclude that sentence. Instead I blushed and fell silent.
    â€œI don’t think he’s even really noticed the way you look at him sometimes, or the way your heart speeds up when he comes close or—”
    â€œWhat is it you want, Oriax?” Messenger asked wearily.
    â€œOh, you, Messenger. Always. You’re just so very delicious. I could eat you up.” She licked her lips, which today were glowing mauve, and leered, but for a chilling moment it occurred to me to wonder if she might not mean that literally.
    I had stood by helplessly while she had tricked a boy into accepting a punishment that left him shattered as a human being. She had laughed and sung a grim little song as he was made to experience being burned alive. Was there anything too foul for her? Was there any sort of limit? I doubted it.
    â€œI’m fine,” I said, responding way too late to her offer to improve my appearance.
    â€œWhy this girl?” Oriax gestured at Samira, who had gone on eating, disregarding the three of us. “Because someone pulled her silly scarf?”
    â€œDon’t pretend to be blind to the connection, Oriax,” Messenger said. “Hatred grows like a cancer, spreading ever outward from its source. It’s a poison in the human bloodstream that spreads far beyond its origin. ‘If you prick a finger with a poisoned thorn say not that you are innocent when the heart dies.’ Isthil teaches that no one who does evil can ever be blameless for the consequences.”
    â€œOh, well then,” Oriax said, dripping sarcasm, “if Isthil said it—”
    And just like that, without a word from Messenger, without any sort of warning, we were back in that void between two realities.
    On our left, still within Samira’s reality, an irritated Oriax realized we’d given her the slip. She seemed not quite able to find us, though we could still see her.
    On the other side of the void, Trent was with Pete. The third boy was no longer with them and in fact I never saw him again. I hoped he’d seen the malice in his friends and chosen a better path for himself.
    Trent and Pete were sitting on swings at a park playground. Trent glared and frightened off the younger children who approached.
    â€œHave you heard from your dad?” Pete asked.
    Trent shook his head angrily. “He’s gone. Up in North Dakota, looking for work.”
    â€œYeah, but—”
    â€œHey. Douche nozzle. You think I want to talk aboutmy dad? He’s gone. Maybe he’ll come back, maybe not. Okay? We done?”
    Pete swung a little, a short arc, with his feet dragging the ground. “Okay, man.”
    â€œProbably just drinking,” Trent muttered. “Up there drinking and not giving a damn about anything.”
    â€œHe used to be kind of cool before he lost his job,” Pete observed.
    â€œYeah, well, he did lose it. So that’s that, right? They gave it to some Mexican.” At that point his talk turned scatological and racist and I won’t attempt to repeat it.
    There was a depth of barely contained anger in Trent. His friend, Pete, seemed like a more balanced person but one who was under the sway of his larger companion.
    â€œMy dad’s okay,” Pete said. “He still—”
    â€œDo I give a damn?” Trent asked with weary