vehicle’s side mirrors. The lane was barely wide enough for her car. But, she discovered to her surprise, the parking lot behind the buildings was actually quite big—one of those strange lot divisions from earlier times.
She glanced at her watch. She was early. Hardly surprising, since she hadn’t slept last night. God, she felt like hell. She grabbed her Americano, slung her kit bag over her shoulder, and led Foo down the carriage lane to the front entrance of Yakusoku Tattoo. The tall buildings had protected her from the weather, but as soon as she reached the sidewalk, heavy drizzle dampened her skin.
Ugh. She wasn’t used to this chill damp anymore. She craved warmth and sun.
One more reason she should have just flown in and out again.
I shouldn’t have let Yoshi talk me into this.
This was supposed to be a quick trip, but when Yoshi heard she was coming to Halifax, he asked her to do some guest spots.
He wasn’t someone to whom she could—or would—say no.
Yoshi had been the tattoo artist to design the arm sleeves and koi design on her back. Whenever he was in her neck of the woods, she would book off a few days and have him work on her. He had finished the final section of her tattoo a year and a half ago. No, she could never say no to Yoshi.
She’d never been to his studio before. They had met eight years ago when she was in Tokyo at an international tattooing conference. He had been demonstrating the technique of tebori, something she had always wanted to learn. Not only had Yoshi been willing to share his vast knowledge of traditional woodblock designs and the art of tebori, but while she was in Japan, he had been instrumental in making an introduction to the famed Horifuyu, one of the great masters of the art of Japanese tattooing. It had been a lifetime ambition for Kenzie to meet him, and she was beyond thrilled when he tattooed a crane taking flight around her ankle.
Four years later, Yoshi had created a tattoo studio that was known across North America. His clients, who were willing to invest the time and money into the art on their bodies, booked vacation to come to Halifax to have their tattoos done.
And now, here she was—about to ink clients in a studio owned by a Japanese artist in good ol’ Halifax. If someone had told her seventeen years ago that she would be doing this, she would have laughed. But her life had many strange twists. This, fortunately, was one of the more pleasant ones.
There were already a few clients hanging around the waiting area when she shouldered open the door. They all turned to stare. She gave a quick smile, and scanned the room. It was exactly what she expected Yoshi’s place to be: cool, eclectic, immaculate. The room had an urban industrial vibe, the tall ceiling crisscrossed with venting and pipes, the slightly uneven floor finished with distressed concrete. It was all gray. But serene gray. Zen gray. On the walls hung Hori’s designs in the most brilliant, breathtaking colors. Dragons, koi and serpents curved with sinuous grace. Above the counter were designs and flash from the other artists at the studio: skulls, hearts, pinup girls, Celtic and tribal. She eyed a Celtic cross. Nicely done but a bit mechanical.
“ Yookoso, Kenzie.” Yoshi walked around the front counter and gave a small bow. She bowed back. It was a little ritual they had, from one professional to another. Then she reached over and gave him a hug. He was shorter than she, stocky in build. A soft goatee contrasted with the thick stubble bristling his head. “How are you?” he asked, stepping back.
“Good.” She flipped her hair off her shoulder and stretched.
He scrutinized her, his gaze concerned behind the tinted John Lennon–style glasses. “You look like shit.”
She shrugged. “I went to my old house yesterday.”
“How’s your mother?”
“Dying.” She took a big gulp of her espresso. “So, what’s my schedule like today?”
Yoshi took the cue and sat down at the computer
She glanced at her watch. She was early. Hardly surprising, since she hadn’t slept last night. God, she felt like hell. She grabbed her Americano, slung her kit bag over her shoulder, and led Foo down the carriage lane to the front entrance of Yakusoku Tattoo. The tall buildings had protected her from the weather, but as soon as she reached the sidewalk, heavy drizzle dampened her skin.
Ugh. She wasn’t used to this chill damp anymore. She craved warmth and sun.
One more reason she should have just flown in and out again.
I shouldn’t have let Yoshi talk me into this.
This was supposed to be a quick trip, but when Yoshi heard she was coming to Halifax, he asked her to do some guest spots.
He wasn’t someone to whom she could—or would—say no.
Yoshi had been the tattoo artist to design the arm sleeves and koi design on her back. Whenever he was in her neck of the woods, she would book off a few days and have him work on her. He had finished the final section of her tattoo a year and a half ago. No, she could never say no to Yoshi.
She’d never been to his studio before. They had met eight years ago when she was in Tokyo at an international tattooing conference. He had been demonstrating the technique of tebori, something she had always wanted to learn. Not only had Yoshi been willing to share his vast knowledge of traditional woodblock designs and the art of tebori, but while she was in Japan, he had been instrumental in making an introduction to the famed Horifuyu, one of the great masters of the art of Japanese tattooing. It had been a lifetime ambition for Kenzie to meet him, and she was beyond thrilled when he tattooed a crane taking flight around her ankle.
Four years later, Yoshi had created a tattoo studio that was known across North America. His clients, who were willing to invest the time and money into the art on their bodies, booked vacation to come to Halifax to have their tattoos done.
And now, here she was—about to ink clients in a studio owned by a Japanese artist in good ol’ Halifax. If someone had told her seventeen years ago that she would be doing this, she would have laughed. But her life had many strange twists. This, fortunately, was one of the more pleasant ones.
There were already a few clients hanging around the waiting area when she shouldered open the door. They all turned to stare. She gave a quick smile, and scanned the room. It was exactly what she expected Yoshi’s place to be: cool, eclectic, immaculate. The room had an urban industrial vibe, the tall ceiling crisscrossed with venting and pipes, the slightly uneven floor finished with distressed concrete. It was all gray. But serene gray. Zen gray. On the walls hung Hori’s designs in the most brilliant, breathtaking colors. Dragons, koi and serpents curved with sinuous grace. Above the counter were designs and flash from the other artists at the studio: skulls, hearts, pinup girls, Celtic and tribal. She eyed a Celtic cross. Nicely done but a bit mechanical.
“ Yookoso, Kenzie.” Yoshi walked around the front counter and gave a small bow. She bowed back. It was a little ritual they had, from one professional to another. Then she reached over and gave him a hug. He was shorter than she, stocky in build. A soft goatee contrasted with the thick stubble bristling his head. “How are you?” he asked, stepping back.
“Good.” She flipped her hair off her shoulder and stretched.
He scrutinized her, his gaze concerned behind the tinted John Lennon–style glasses. “You look like shit.”
She shrugged. “I went to my old house yesterday.”
“How’s your mother?”
“Dying.” She took a big gulp of her espresso. “So, what’s my schedule like today?”
Yoshi took the cue and sat down at the computer
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