Akali brushed the floor quietly. The bristles of the coconut scrub scratched the surface of the wood as she guided it with her feet, stroking back and forth, back and forth. She kept her head down, eyes focused on the shiny floorboards of the tattoo room.

Akali had felt bad for days for running away from ma'am Nyan, though surprisingly, the nuno hadn't spoken about it since. She thought it was the nuno's way of punishing her--not talking to her, not even giving her a second because she was that unimportant.

This would ruin her career even before it started. How could she become a tattoo artist now when the manager of Pinta hated her?

"You'll scrub a hole on the floor if you don't stop soon. Oh, yes, you will. Yes, you will. Yes, you will," Makka said, squeezing out the last drops of water from a washcloth and hanging it on a rod over a floor drain.

Akali sighed but continued to scrub. "What am I going to do, Makka? Ma'am Nyan hates me." She looked up, and it was the first time in over a week that she'd admitted how she felt--worried and anxious.

Makka patted the skirt of her sarong and said, "You've never told me why you cared so much about this work. You're a diwata, I don't understand. I don't, I don't, I don't."

Akali paused and stared at her feet, the half-cut coconut fruit under her sole. She grimaced at it. This was not what she wanted to do. "I came here to be a tattoo artist, not a cleaner."

"Oh?" Makka said. "Now, that's even more confusing for me. Yes, yes, yes. Very confusing."

Akali looked up at Makka and sighed again. "I'm not just a diwata," she said, her shoulders slumping, defeated. "I'm part mangkukulam. My grandmother was a tattoo artist, and I just wanted to be like her."

"I see, that makes much more sense," Makka said. "Yes, very, very senseful."

Akali didn't mention her human side. "I've been here for almost two weeks now, and I still haven't gotten any chance to be a tattoo artist."

Makka stepped up to her and patted her elbow. "Well, scrubbing is not going to get you there either. No, no, no, it won't. Why don't you rest? We have a bit more time before our next customer arrives."

Akali breathed in deep. "Alright, fine." She kicked the coconut scrub, and it slid to the corner of the room.

She made her way out and into the hallway, pacing over the wooden floors. She looked down the corridor, wondering what it would be like to finally get her own station--to have her own chair with a table filled with ink made from the manure of sarimanok.

She tapped her finger on her hips, the same familiar rhythm she'd used to create tattoos. She missed it--the feel of the bamboo stick in her hand and the inks that stained her fingernails. She missed the dancing swirls, the jagged edges, and the sharp lines that appeared under the point of a pomelo thorn. She had barely drawn any new tattoo designs on her pad since she started working in Pinta.

"Right," Akali said to herself. She worked here now. She was allowed to go into any room on this floor, and she allowed her feet to drag herself.

It was like the first day. Though she wasn't as giddy and excited, this level had given her a sense of belongingness--a desperate desire to stay.

She walked down the hall, glancing into every door she passed and watching the artists create their masterpieces.

She saw a butterfly tattoo on the arm of female bungisngis, a one-eyed giant.

She saw a serpent tattoo splayed on the belly of a manananggal--a human-looking creature that can cut itself in half. Akali supposed that the tattoo was the creature's guide to making sure the other half of the body was hers. She laughed to herself at the thought.

A tattoo of a book on the shoulder of a tikbalang inside a private room caught her attention. The book's cover spread over his bicep, and the pages flipped from front to back.

Akali stepped into the open door of the private room where the tikbalang laid on its front so that he couldn't see who came in through the door. "Alright," he neighed. "I'm ready." His head, of a horse, ducked into a pillow.

"Ready?" Akali said. She was about to apologize, was about to say that she wasn't a tattoo artist, and was about to excuse herself, but then--. "I'm just preparing," she said, closing the door. She looked at the table beside the tikbalang, where she found small bottles of inks in different colors, the bamboo stick, and the pomelo thorn. Her hand twitched toward them as if she was being called to them.

She walked up to the table and grabbed the tools--bamboo stick in one hand and the pomelo thorn in the other. And before she could think twice, her hand hovered the thorn over the skin of the tikbalang, right under the back of his neck where his horse head and man's body connected. Tap, tap, tap. The rhythm was just as it had been. For as long as she could remember, this was the instrument--the music--she had learned to play.

Tap, tap, tap. She created the blue ocean.

Tap, tap, tap. The yellow-burning sun fell on the horizon.

Tap, tap, tap. A bakunawa burst from the water.

When she finished, she breathed hard as if all her strength was consumed. She stepped back and stared at her work.

"Mmmhhh--" a voice came from the door.

Akali whirled, eyes wide, lips opening, ready to apologize, but she stopped when she saw the diwata with the many tattoos behind her. Kayn.

"You," she breathed out.

"Looks good," he nodded at the tattoo. He was looking at it, focused, studying the patterns that Akali had created.

The tikbalang began to snore, and Akali jumped back, stepping so close to Kayn that she almost bumped into his chest.

She looked up at him. They were so near each other that she could compare their height, him taller than her by a thumb or two.

Kayn now stared at her. She didn't know what to say. She looked back at the tikbalang's back and at what she created.

The realization dawned--What have I done?

She ran out of the room, passing Kayn by the door. "No, no, no," she whispered. It was a mistake. If Ma'am Nyan found out, she would lose her job. She ran back to the room where she had left Makka, rushing in as if something were chasing after her.

"What happened to you? Are you alright? Are you ok?" Makka asked, setting a basket of tools on the floor beside a table.

"I--" Akali started, but that was all she could say. She was panting, and her heart hammered against her ribs, begging for escape.

Makka tilted her head to one side, studying her. "Oh! Is it ma'am Nyan?" she asked, a worry furrowed her brows. "Oh, no, no, no!"

"No," Akali said, raising both hands to Makka. "It's nothing," she said, then crossed her arms over her chest. "It's nothing," she said again.

Makka looked unconvinced, but her brows relaxed after a while of staring. "Alright. If you don't want to share--I need you to go to the storage rooms to grab some herbs. Our next customer here requested the room to smell like sampaguita."

"Alright." Akali nodded and walked out of the room. Sweat dripped from her hairline. She was too hot and thirsty--too tired from creating the tattoo. It had been exhilarating. Her hands still radiated the pleasure of every stroke. She shook her head and hands, trying to wring out the sensation, and walked to the stairwell without looking.

She bumped into someone's chest and stumbled, nearly falling, but the person caught her by the shoulders. When she looked up, Kayn stared down at her. She pushed him away and stepped back. "You," she said.

"Yes, me again," Kayn said, a slow smile played on his lips.

Kayn was the only one who saw her create the tattoo on the tikbalang's back. Akali stared at him, fear creeping into her mind. He could tell Ma'am Nyan that it was her and this would be the last time she'd see the inside of Pinta. There would be no more chances for her to become a true tattoo artist.

"Why did you do it?" Kayn asked.

That was it. The interrogation started now.

Someone screamed from the corridor behind them. "This isn't what I want! Where is that tattoo artist? She ruined my back!" A loud neigh from the tikbalang whose back Akali had vandalized.

Ma'am Nyan came up the stairs and rushed past Akali and Kayn. "What's going on?"

Akali's eyes blurred, and she was about to cry. "Please, don't tell," she begged--whispered to Kayn.

Kayn stared at her. The smile on his face faded, and something cold grew in his dark eyes. His lips parted, then closed, and parted again. His gaze was calculating.

The tikbalang continued to roar, neighing disappointments. "I didn't want this design! There's a bakunawa on my back! I'm a tikbalang!"

"Please, calm down, sir!" Ma'am Nyan was shouting, too, trying to control her voice, but she only reflected the tikbalang's anger.

A tear rolled on Akali's cheek, and she wiped it away. This was her fault. She didn't have the right to cry. "Alright," she said to Kayn. "I'll confess." Her shoulders shivered as she stepped forward.

When she passed Kayn, he grabbed her by the wrist and whispered without looking at her. "Go get your herbs," he said and let her go. Then he turned and walked down the hallway where the tikbalang and Ma'am Nyan had a heated argument.

Akali didn't wait to know what would happen to their conversation. She ran to the stairs and climbed to the third floor where the herbs were stored, hopeful that Kayn wouldn't tell and anxious that he would.