A thousand for the needles, five hundred for the ink and powders. Another five hundred for graphomancy and license fees on a "new" design. Take out the Rogue's twenty percent cut… and I could stand to land close to forty-five hundred dollars-putting me halfway to a new Vectrix electric motorbike to replace my old Vespa.

"I'll d-" I began, and stopped. Before the money made me stupid.

I have rules. I don't do black ink. I don't do religious marks. And I sure don't do bad charms. And I knew zip about this tat. For all I knew it was originally an evil Norse mark designed to curse a werewolf with terrible pain every full moon, but after the Nazis fiddled with it… the tat might be just as likely to set him on fire. "I'll… consider it. My statement to Wulf stands-I need to get this flash vetted by a witch before I ink it."

"Do we reeeally need to deal with that?" Spleen said. "I mean, the fees-"

"When's the last time you changed the oil on your car?"

"You last changed the oil on that car," Spleen said. "I save the money-"

"Spleen!" I said-then stopped and kneaded my brow. "Look, I know you don't think your engine's going to catch on fire, so why spend the money-"

"Exactly," Spleen said with triumph. "Ex-ZACTLY-"

"-but if this sets him on fire in my chair, we won't get any money. He won't pay up."

"He's got the money, he's got it," Spleen said, waving me off. "I got a retainer, yes I did, five thousand when he came to town, so don't josh old Spleen… " But then he saw my face. "Wait, you're. .. serious? Set him on fire? Tattoos can do that?"

I squeezed one hand tight, letting power flow into the yin-yang in my palm, then thrust it under his face, letting the mana out explosively into a tiny ball of lightning. Spleen leapt back and yelped, eyes wide in terror, and I blew him a big kiss, sending the little crackling ball of light towards him. It bounced around him like a kitten, and he stumbled back, batting frantically at it with a folder until it disappeared into a cloud of sparks and color.