Page 20 of Inked & Bloodbound
“It was on a patient at the hospital I work at, and my mom had the same one I think. Can you tell me what it means?”
She pauses for a beat. “It means whoever has it is involved with some very dangerous people,” she says, handing the phone back to me like it’s burning her fingers. “And if I were you, I’d leave this be. Don’t go searching for trouble if you can avoid it.”
My heart skips. “What do you mean by dangerous? Who are these people?”
“You’re a smart girl,” she says with a loaded look. “I’m sure you understand that there are some among us who survive by preying on the weak. Draining the life out of them until there’s nothing left. These are not the kind of people you want to make an enemy of. When I tell you to drop this, I only say it to keep you safe. Believe me, no good will come from this.”
She’s right, I think as I deflate. I want answers, but I don’t want to end up in a ditch somewhere. Drug dealers are parasites who feed off the most vulnerable. They don’t like people fucking with their money, and they’re notoriously paranoid. Maybe I shouldn’t be exposing myself to that kind of danger. Maybe this was a mistake.
“Okay, well…thanks, I guess.” I babble as I stand up from the table. “Sorry for wasting your time. It was great to meet you.”
As my fingertips brush the handle of the door, Paloma’s voice rings out from behind me.
“Before you go, tell me something,” Paloma calls. “You came here for more than just this tattoo. You have another question for me? Something else?”
I chew my lip. “I did, but it’s not important.”
“Try me,” she says. “You are carrying a question. A heavy one. I can see it in your face. What’s the harm in just asking?”
The dam breaks and there’s nothing I can do to stop the words bubbling up in my throat, desperate for an escape. Dying to be aired out at long last.
“What’s wrong with me?” I blurt, shocked at how vulnerable I sound.
Before I can stop them, tears spring and tumble down my cheeks, angry and wet, as if the well of pain I’ve felt for months, maybe even years, comes rushing to the surface.
“I’ve been getting these headaches, and they’ve been getting worse. They started a few months ago at work. I remember that I’d had a really stressful shift and was taking some time out down in the basement of the hospital when I got this terrible pain.”
She listens without interrupting, nodding and making small sounds of understanding. Then she does something unexpected. She reaches across the table and takes my hand in hers, sandwiching it between her palms. Her touch is feather-light, and when she looks into my eyes, I can feel a small buzz of electricity pass between us.
“Tell me about the voices,” Paloma says softly.
I consider holding back, but I feel strangely safe with her, so I opt for the truth. I tell her everything. The voices, the shadows, the buzzing feeling that occupies my brain and confuses me. I tell her about the tests doctors performed on me over and over again with no results. I tell her about how frustrated I have felt and how I’d considered ending my own life to make it all stop.
The longer I talk, the faster the tears fall. Hot, wet, and spilling down my cheeks like a seam ripping under too much weight.. It’s the first time I’ve said much of it aloud. The first time I acknowledged that the pain I am in is too much to bear, and how desperate I am to try anything.
I bow my head and sob, my shoulders heaving as I struggle to catch my breath. Paloma makes calming shushing noises as she reaches up and wipes a tear away with her thumb.
“I’m sorry,” I say between sobs. “I didn’t mean to go off like that. I just feel so… so…. broken.”
“You are not broken, querida,” she says, resting her hand against my cheek. “You are a medium. And a very special one at that.”
A what?
The words barely register as real. My vision tunnels, and for a moment I can’t breathe.Medium. The word echoes in my head, pulling up half-forgotten memories—whispered conversations between adults when I was small, the way people gawked at me after Mom died.
“That’s not…” I start, but my voice cracks. “That’s not real. Mediums aren’t real.”
But even as I say it, pieces start clicking together. The voices. The shadows. The way I always knew when something was wrong in the hospital before anyone else did.
Paloma leans back, assessing me. “You have a connection to the spirit world, and it’s strong. But you’ve built walls around it, tried to shut it out.”
“I’m a nurse,” I bleat defensively. “I believe in science, in things that can be tested and proven. This is not possible”
“And yet here you are.” She smiles, but it’s not mocking. “The spirits are trying to reach you, but because you resist them, they come through as…leaks. Unpredictable. Dangerous. Painful.”
I want to argue, to tell her she’s wrong, but I don’t. I want to understand this.
“Lily, trust me when I say, if you do not tear down the wall you have built around your gift, learn to control and harness it, one day it will come crashing down and flood your mind. It could drive you mad. It could even kill you.”