My tattoo artist, Paul Roe, read the tattoo sequences and answered innumerable questions on the minutiae of the art and its history. For this, for decorating my skin, and for all the rest, you have been essential to me.

Some rare people have given me their affection through years of chaos and calm—Dawn Kobel, Carly Chandler, Kelly Kincy, Rachael Morgan, Craig Thrush, and most of all, Cheryl and Dave Lafferty. Thank you for keeping me steady. Words can't cover what you mean to me.

None of the rest of this would've meant a thing if it weren't for the people who enrich every aspect of my life— my parents, children, and spouse. I'm fairly certain I exist only because you are beside me.

Prologue

Fall

Irial watched the girl stroll up the street: she was a bundle of terror and fury. He stayed in the shadows of the alley outside the tattoo parlor, but his gaze didn't waver from her as he finished his cigarette.

He stepped out just as she passed.

Her pulse beat too fast under her skin when she saw him. She straightened her shoulders—not fleeing or backing away, bold despite the shadows that clung to her—and motioned to his arm where his name and lineage were spelled out in an ogham inscription surrounded by spirals and knots that morphed into stylized hounds. "That's gorgeous. Rabbit's work?"

He nodded and walked the remaining few steps to the tattoo parlor. The girl kept pace with him.

"I'm thinking of getting something soon. I just don't know what yet." She looked defiant as she said this. When he didn't reply, she added, "I'm Leslie."

"Irial." He watched her struggle and fail to find more words, to make him want to notice her. She was starving for something. If he took mortals for playthings, she'd be good fun, but he was here for business, not collecting trinkets, so he kept silent as he opened the door of Pins and Needles for her.