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She thought for a moment. “Blood magic also requires a binder, something to connect to the patient’s blood.” Similar to blood type matching, a patient couldn’t just receive anyone’s blood.

“In this case, it would have to be the blood of a close relative. Like yourself,” he said to Asterion.

Asterion frowned. “What you’re saying is that you need to tattoo my niece? With my blood?”

“Normally, yes. But you said it was for a child?” He tsked and shook his head. “Then no, she’d be much too young, it could be dangerous. She won’t be able to handle that much magic.”

Asterion puffed out a breath. “Then this has been a wasted trip.”

Dorian paused. “There is one more option. We could use an intermediary. Instead of the patient, the tattoo goes on the healer.”

“So you take my blood, tattoo it on yourself, and use your magic to remove the poison?”

“In essence, yes,” he said. “But the execution is also more complicated than just using a tattoo pen. Blood magic is precise work and one mistake in the design or the incantation and you can do more harm than good. It also requires trust.” He straightened his posture. “Everyone involved, from the healer, to the patient, to the person whose blood is in the ink, has to be bound together by intent. If any of that is off, the magic fails. Or worse. Would you trust a virtual stranger to do this to your niece?”

“No.” Asterion’s nostrils flared. “But I trust her.”

Ria’s head swiveled to Asterion’s. His expression was entirely serious. “Alright. I’ll do it. Teach me.”

“Are you sure?” Dorian asked. “The person who does the tattoo carries the initial cost. The magic drains through them, not the patient. “

“Yes, I’m sure,” she said. “Tell me what I need to do.”

Dorian’s expression tightened. “I don’t usually take students.”

“Why not?”

He waved a hand. “I told you, it’s risky.”

“I understand the risks,” she insisted.

“Do you?” Blue eyes seemed to glow in the dim light.

“I’m a healer and I’ve studied for years under Hecate.” Ria waited for Dorian’s reaction. Usually, whenever the name of the immortal goddess was mentioned, it stirred fear and reverence. Dorian, however, merely raised an eyebrow.

“Teach her,” Asterion insisted. “I’ll pay whatever you want. I don’t care how much it costs.”

He folded his hands over the back of the chair and rested his chin on them. “Alright. I’ll teach you. But not today.”

“Why not?” Asterion asked.

“Because blood magic requires preparation. The work we’re going to do tomorrow will require a lot of energy.” He turned to Ria. “I need you at full strength. Come back tomorrow morning at nine o’clock. Don’t be late.”

“We won’t,” Ria said. “Thank you. We’ll see ourselves out.” She gestured to Asterion, who pivoted toward the door.

“And bring breakfast,” Dorian called out. “I don’t have food around here.”

They stepped back out into the Salem afternoon. The door behind them shimmered and returned to its plain black exterior, leaving no trace of the sign or the tattoo shop inside.

Ria stood on the sidewalk, processing what had happened inside. She should have seen it earlier and guessed it was blood magic.

“You’re thinking again,” Asterion said, interrupting her thought.

“I’m always thinking.” She smiled despite herself. “Let’s get the car and find the inn.”

They drove back through Salem’s narrow streets, until they reached a converted Colonial house a few blocks off the main road. The white wooden sign outside the door read The Crowne & Anchor. Ria checked them in while Asterion waited in the car, then she came back with two room keys and directions to a parking spot behind the building.

“It’s early,” she said. “We should go out.”