Spider Murphy Tattoo Book Novels & Stories

But my eyes kept moving down, taking in every detail, committing it to memory even though I knew I shouldn't. And then I saw it. On his right hip, just above the waistband of his sweatpants, partially visible where the fabric sat low on his hips. A tattoo. A spider tattoo. Black and detailed, about three inches across, sitting right there on his hip bone. The world seemed to tilt sideways. All the air left my lungs. My vision tunneled until all I could see was that tattoo. That exact tattoo. I knew that tattoo. I had seen it before. Had stared at it for long minutes. Had traced it with my fingers. Had kissed it.

He is real and possibly still alive. I stare at the dark lines of the tattoo. I see a churning ocean crashing over jutting rocks; I see my face hidden within the image. There’s a wolf etched in the face of one of the rocks. Two birds circle above it all. It is as beautiful and as detailed as I have seen it in my memory. In my dreams of it, it pulses and moves, the ocean crashes, the birds cry mournfully. But on the page it’s flat and dead, like some map to Marlowe’s mind.

He preferred it that way. Beta Remus entered the hall and sniffed appreciatively. His black eagle tattoo peeked out from the collar of his shirt. In a pinch, he could release the inky bird and it would take flight, providing reconnaissance from above. Each pack member's tattoo, received upon turning sixteen, transformed into a unique animal providing a unique gift. Only one wolf could claim each creature.

“This is completely new territory for me.” My eyes betray me. They drag over his bare chest, his abs, the way his pants sit low on his hips. And I feel my stomach tighten at the sight of his tattoos — ink and meaning and temptation. A yin-yang with hearts instead of dots and the number thirteen at its center, about the size of a big coin, is on his left side underneath his arm. Curling above it is the Peter Pan lettering — Sniff pixie dust and soar — in a cursive font. And on his bicep — the Reaper logo stamped on like a warning label.

After I shower, I opt for a wife beater and a pair of loose-fitting shorts. My right forearm is still scabbed over from my latest tattoo. Every time I look at it, I am proud that I now have my pack displayed on my body. It had taken me a while to draw out the design just the way I wanted it to look. It depicts a full moon coming up over a hazy horizon. A wolf's head with bright red eyes is baring its teeth as it emerges forth from the moons' surface.

“And this.” A single developed photo—still wet. Me, under the bleachers, spiral tattoo glowing silver through my hair. Behind me, in perfect focus: Mr. Bathory’s reflection in the chrome bumper. Only he had no reflection. Just mist shaped like a man. On the back, written in red darkroom pen: The Morua spiral turns again. Lesson one: some secrets develop in blood. —J.B. I looked up. He was already walking away, coat flaring, swallowed by mist that curled around his ankles like an obedient dog.

Millie got out of the car and went inside, with Marvin right behind her. "Ryan, I'd like this tattoo." Millie handed the iPad to the man beside her. It was a butterfly design. It was unique, beautiful, and incredibly lifelike. "Where do you want it inked?" Ryan Newman asked Millie. Millie took off her coat, revealing a black tank top underneath. She had smooth skin and a perfect figure. There was a deep scar on Millie's right shoulder. Ryan exclaimed in surprise, "This is—" Before Millie could respond, Marvin said, "She was truly young and reckless back then. She got this when she saved that scumbag."