All I can do is gape at the tattooist. “This is nuts,” I say. “You’re nuts.”
We are alone in the parlour. The other staff and customers have disappeared so quickly it was as though they were never here in the first place. Even the hustle and bustle of the city street outside has turned quiet.
“I would like to leave this shop,” I say.
The tattooist motions to the sketchbook. “We’re going to leave the tattoo shop. Brisbane, too.” He winced. “Well, technically our physical bodies are still here, but our minds will travel into the world of tattoos.”
“A world of your own invention.”
“Yes, one of my own drawings and sketches.”
I nod mildly, finally giving up looking around for an exit, and instead settle my attention on the man in front of me. If there is no chance of escape, my only choice now is to go along with him and hope for the best.
I force my face into a smile. “You’re the best realism tattoo artist Brisbane has to offer. That’s why I came here in the first place.” I take a deep breath. “If you say your drawings are magical, then I guess I can believe it.”
The tattooist claps like a cymbal-banging monkey. “Good, good! There is so much to do.”
He rushes over to the ottoman, where he laid the jet black sketchbook while talking to me. Even sitting there innocently, it seems to exude an otherworldly presence. But I can’t tell if I’m saying that because I want to believe in the magic myself. The tattooist kneels over the ottoman and begins rifling through the pages. There aren’t many of them, but each is filled from border to border with inky black sketches of towering castles with dragons soaring around them, and delicate cherry blossom trees swaying in the wind before a still lake. They’re intricate designs. And apparently, we’re going inside them.