Eventide

Part Two Turmoil

I feel different. Ever since I returned home from my wild ride to Atlanta in Victorian’s trunk, I can feel it. And that was over a week ago. It could be nothing more than my own imagination messing with me; it could be something else entirely.

Victorian’s shocking words that night rattled me. I may not have shown it, but they did. And Eli hardly leaves my side now, even less than before. As a matter of fact, right now is the very first time since we’ve returned that he’s left me alone for more than an hour. Eli did not go easy. But Preacher needed his and Seth’s help next door repairing a leak in the attic, so I’m taking full advantage of the situation and chillin’ in a hot bath. It’s Sunday evening, there’s finally a chilly bite to the mid-October air, and the shop’s closed. I’m relishing this time alone. Need this time to myself. Desperately.

Resting my head back against the air pillow, I sink deeper into the hot suds and close my eyes. How long ago it seems since Seth and I discovered everything Preacher had tried to shield us from. After our encounter with the Arcos brothers, sweet Seth’s personality totally changed. He wore stupid shades over his eyes all the time, slept all day long, and stopped eating. We didn’t know what was happening until we saw Seth hurling himself out of his top-story window, only to hit the ground running. The image will be emblazoned in my memory forever.

He’d nearly turned. But Preacher and his Gullah brethren, skilled in the cleansing of vampirism passed down by their ancestors, saved Seth. Saved his pal Riggs. Saved me, too. I know I wouldn’t be in the bathtub right now had it not been for Preacher and Estelle.

Like me, Seth and Riggs have tendencies. Mine are the strongest of all. Preacher warned me that my powers would change constantly, but the feeling growing inside me is unexpected. It leaves a bad taste in my mouth. I just hope Seth isn’t going through the same thing. I’ll tell you now: I’d die if something happened to my brother.

My thoughts return to Victorian’s words. Eli’s actions. Ever since our encounter with Vic, Eli’s been more intense. The fact that he won’t leave me alone is a definite sign that he thinks something really bad is up, too. He knows I can handle myself, but lately he treats me like I have zero abilities. He’s everywhere. Being protective is one thing. Not giving me space to breathe is another. But I have to be sympathetic. I know, long ago, that Eli accidentally killed a young woman he’d fallen in love with. He’ll never forgive himself for it, and I’m pretty positive he’s scared the same thing will happen to me. It won’t. But there’s no consoling him. Eli still worries he’ll lose control with me. So he’s careful. Extremely careful.

His image comes easily to my mind; his chiseled face, full, firm lips, clenched jaw. His disturbing blue eyes are always locked on me. And his expression? Painful. Like he’s in absolute physical agony. Kind of like when we first met.

Eli’s siblings are around a lot more, too, always in the shop. Phin, intense and always so deep in thought. With his short-clipped dark blond hair and crazy-clear Dupré eyes, he’s an attention getter to be sure. And he’s on my ass just as much as Eli lately. Eli’s other brother, Luc? He and Phin could pass for twins, but Luc’s hair is longer, with wild curls. He’s definitely the clown of the three brothers, although I’ve seen him turn pretty stinking mean in a vamp fight.

My best human friend and business partner, Nyxinnia Foster, has claimed Luc’s attentions of late. I didn’t think I’d like it, their coupling, but I do. Nyx is totally crazy about Luc, and he is just as into her. Nyx, with her sweet, loving, and annoyingly trusting behavior, is an easy target for Valerian and his gang of newlings. She’s a Goth princess and sticks out like a sore thumb. Luc protects Nyx. I feel comforted knowing that. I love Nyx like a sister.

Speaking of sisters, there’s Eli’s youngest sister, Josie. She looks like your average teen, with skinny jeans, Converses, and long, light brown hair nearly to her waist. She wears it parted in the middle with her bangs pinned to the side. Sweet as peaches, you might think. I know better, though. She can fight like her brothers. Trust me when I say it’s weird as hell to watch her kill. But she’s free-spirited and a kind soul. Unfortunately, she’s forever trapped in her fifteen-year-old body and is crazy about Seth. He’ll age. She won’t.

I’m surrounded by people I love, so I’m usually on my best behavior. But these days, I have to think about my next words, my next move, my next interaction with anyone I come in contact with. My fuse is shorter. Even when dealing with clients, I catch myself before saying something awful. It doesn’t take much to set me off. It’s like there’s this shade of irritability that lies just beneath the surface, ready to unleash. Luckily, I can sense it. It’s like…I can feel this thing clawing at the lining of my insides, trying to escape—digging, scratching, whispering. Almost like an entity, living inside of me, separate from my own self. I have no idea what keeps it locked up, other than my own will. But it wants out. I can tell. Weird. Just…weird.

Sometimes I wonder if Eli detects it, too. The way he stares at me? It’s beyond intense. His eyes go deep into mine, searching, perusing. I swear I can feel him inside of me. He can read my thoughts and is constantly in my head now, yet he still can’t pick up Victorian’s voice in my head. I wonder if he can sense this other thing? Because I swear, I feel like it’s alive inside of me. It’s like Eli…knows it’s there but just waits. Watches. I guess he trusts me to let him know when I can’t control it anymore. I hope to hell and back that day never comes.

The clicking of paws through my room alerts me to my dog Chaz’s arrival. He pushes the door open with his nose and peers in at me. He whines.

“Hey, boy,” I croon. “Wanna go for a walk?”

His back end wags, just before he lets out a single bark. And I swear, he smiles.

“Okay, okay, I’m coming,” I say, and climb from the tub. Quickly drying off, glad I’d pinned my hair up instead of washing it, I change into a pair of sweats, long-sleeved Inksomnia T-shirt, and my black Adidas sneaks, pull my hair into a ponytail, and head downstairs with Chaz. He lets out an excited yelp as I grab his leash and hook it to his collar. We head outside.

The chilly bite sinks into my skin and we take off up the merchant’s drive. As Chaz inspects every little thing, I scan our surroundings. We’re all alone. I allow my hearing to open full blast. At first chaotic, with sounds and voices and music all overlapping, soon it filters, becomes selective as Eli has taught me. I listen for anyone who signals distress—a tinge of panic in their voice, or excited talking, pleading. All I hear is swearing, ice clinking in glasses, idle chatter, a fight between angry guys. Drawing in a lungful of air, I taste the inhalation. Allow it to settle against my tongue. Newlings, I’ve discovered, have a unique scent. Slight though it may be, if I concentrate, I can detect it. It’s not smelly, or pungent, but it’s definitely different from anything else. Tonight, I smell nothing. So far, anyway. I have no idea of the distance my wolflike capabilities and senses are able to travel. Guess I’ll eventually find out.

Chaz takes care of his doggy business, but I’m in no mood to head back inside. Something pulls me, something inside of me. The crisp night and unusual tranquility of the city lure me, and we cross Bay Street and head into the squares. There are scattered tourists on benches or strolling along the walk, a few locals. Time slips by—how much, I don’t know. It has become unimportant. Along with the crispness of October, there is dampness in the air that suggests an approaching storm. Soon, the crowds thin. Loud, drunken laughter spills from The Boar’s Head on River Street. Although I’m on Broughton, it sounds as though I’m right in the bar. I can feel the heat from the patrons’ bodies. Smell their cigarette smoke, their breath, their sweat. Almost taste the alcohol they’ve consumed emanating from their pores on my tongue. Irritation and disgust consume me, and I try to tune those senses out. It doesn’t work. The sounds of the city, the scent of humans, suffocate me. Wait, I’m still human. Aren’t I? Hell if I know what I am anymore. All I know is that I’m unsettled. Confusion makes my brain hurt. I begin to run. To escape.

For a block or two, it’s a slow run, and I’m still vaguely aware of Chaz on the other end of the leash I’m still gripping. At some point, though, I drop it. He follows for a while, but soon he can’t keep up, and I feel glad to be alone. As his single bark echoes off the brick buildings surrounding me, I slip farther into the shadows, away from Broughton Street, away from people. The night envelops me, swallows me up like some ravaged beast, and for a brief second the Eagles’ “Hotel California” plays in my mind. They stab it with their steely knives, but they just can’t kill the beast. For some reason, that line has always freaked me out. I like it. It’s my favorite verse.

The sharp blast of a car’s horn sounds to my left, and for a second I jolt out of the weird subconscious state that I’m in. A Ford Explorer has slammed on its brakes to keep from hitting me. I can’t make out the driver’s words. He flips me off. I make eye contact with him and keep on running. Soon, in the shadows of tall live oaks and wispy moss, I slow to a jog, then a walk. The sounds that plagued me earlier are now a dull hum, and within minutes fade to nothing. Have I run so far that I’ve escaped the city? People? Am I finally alone?

Then, a heartbeat. Not mine. Someone else’s. Steady. Strong. Ahead of me.

I follow.

The small town of Thunderbolt. That’s where I am. As I move beneath the sparsely spaced streetlamps, I watch ahead of me. Male. Young. Early twenties. His tall, lanky figure casts a long shadow as he jogs. A rain begins to fall. Light at first, then more steady. It lifts the jogger’s scent and wafts it to me. I inhale deeply. Sweat. Soap. I inhale again.

Blood.

I grow closer. Twenty feet. Ten feet.

A strong hand encircles my arm and jerks me to a stop. I’m aware of very little around me, save the jogger getting farther away. Rain slides down my cheeks, drips off my nose, plasters my hair to my scalp. My eyes remain fixed on the jogger.

His scent remains fixed in my nostrils.

“Riley!” an angry voice growls in my ear. The grip tightens on my arm. Shakes. “Riley! Look at me!”

When I don’t, the hand belonging to the voice grips my chin and physically turns my head. Large hands grasp both sides of my face, tilts it up. Uses his thumbs to brush the water from my eyes. He’s standing close, intimate. I’m staring, but not seeing. All I can hear is the sound of a heartbeat growing farther and farther away. It fades to nothing, and for a split second, my mind goes totally blank.

Slowly, the sounds of the city, the scents surrounding me, filter in. The blankness lifts. A horn blasts. A door slams. Somewhere, someone is whistling. I blink several times. These sounds are familiar.

“Riley?”

Eli’s face comes into focus. Dark brows pulled together, the streetlamp’s shine winking off the silver hoop. His face has hardened in anger. Or is it worry? His hands caress my face, so I guess it’s worry. Why he’s in that state, I haven’t a clue.

“What’s wrong?” I ask.

Eli’s look is…invasive. I know he’s probing my mind. Yet it seems he struggles this time. “What are you doing out here, Riley?” he asks. “Chaz showed up at Inksomnia alone.”

I glance around. How’d he get away from me? I shrug. “Went off chasing a squirrel. Yanked the leash right out of my hand. He’s done it before.” I give Eli a reassuring smile. “See what a smart boy he is? Went straight home.”

Eli’s frown deepens. “You’re out in the rain,” he says, “your mind is blank and you’re stalking some jogger.” He peers down at me and a wet hank of shaggy midnight hair falls across his eyes. “You weren’t aware of your surroundings, Ri. Or of me walking right up on you.”

Again, I shrug. And chuckle. “So now I’m a stalker? That’s just crazy, Dupré.” I sigh and give him a long look. “I’m fine, Eli. I was just lost in my thoughts is all.” I play-punch him in the arm. “You worry like an old lady.”

Eli’s eyes don’t leave mine. Even as we both stand in the rain, he studies me. “Did you know that guy?” he asks.

I glance around, my eyes seeking the dim streets beneath the lamps. I see no one. “What guy, Eli? I was just out for a run. Nothing more. Nothing less. Can we get out of the rain now?”

Eyes on fire search mine. The black T-shirt Eli’s wearing clings to his body from the rain, and every muscle there is perfectly etched beneath the thin cotton material. I look at him. He looks at me. His eyes narrow.

Finally, he drops his hands, lets my face go. “Home. Now.”

Home. Eli has pretty much moved in, and it’s worked out so far. We take off at a jog in the now steady drizzle, Eli purposely one step behind me. Within minutes we’re crossing Bay and easing over the cobbles to the merchant’s lane, then to Inksomnia. As I move to open the door, Eli stops me. I look up at him.

“What?” I ask.

After several silent moments, he shakes his head. “I’m having trouble reading you,” he says. A frown still tugs at his mouth.

I smile. “And that’s a bad thing? Hmm. I get my private thoughts back. How…ordinary.”

With his knuckles, he skims my jaw. “I don’t like it.”

I grab his hand and lace our fingers together. His are, as always, lukewarm, steely-strong. “Tough.” I open the door and pull him inside. Chaz is there and immediately barks. Next, Seth and Josie are in the foyer, right behind him.

“What happened to you?” Seth asks. “Why’d Chaz come home without you?”

I shake my head. “You too? What is this?” I glance from Eli to Josie, then back to Seth. “Twenty questions? I went for a freakin’ run is all. Chaz yanked the leash out of my hand. I knew he’d come back here. Jesus.” I said that last bit under my breath. I was irritated. Tired of being drilled. “Last time I checked I didn’t have to wear an ankle bracelet.”

The look on Seth’s face caught me right in the gut. Hurt. Surprise. And I wasn’t used to it. But damn—I couldn’t help it. I was tired of being interrogated. “Chaz got away from me. That’s all. Now can I go take a shower please?” I don’t wait for an answer from anyone. I push past Seth and Josie and head upstairs. In my room, I kick off my sneakers, pull my shirt over my head and fling it onto the floor. I peel off the wet pants I’m wearing and go straight into the bathroom. After a moment of nothing but hot water, the room fills with steam. The water pelts my back and shoulders as I stand there, thinking.

That was what happened, right? I had Chaz on the leash, and then…he wasn’t there anymore. We were jogging. He…pulled loose. I decided to finish my run because I knew he’d head on home. Then Eli appeared and freaked out. We came home. End of story.

They, I decide quickly, are all fucking nuts.

It’s slowly happening, isn’t it, love? The changes? I warned that barbarian you keep company with, but he wouldn’t listen. Please, Riley. You must leave. Come back to me. I vow, I’ll do everything in my power to help you.

I rub the water from my eyes. Victorian still has the ability to communicate with me through my mind; it’s annoying and comforting at the same time. Can’t explain it, not at all. It is what it is. Leave me alone, Vic. There’s nothing wrong with me. And holy hell, you too? I just got reamed by my brother and Eli. I don’t need it from you, too. Get out of my head and let me shower in peace.

Christ, woman. You’re naked? In the shower? Why do you torment me so? Never mind. I can still see remnants of tonight’s events in your mind. You’re getting confused, aren’t you, love? It will only get worse. Trust me.

I am not confused, damn it. Now go away.

I continue to bathe—wash my hair, scrub my skin, rinse. I can still feel Victorian’s presence. How, I don’t know. But I do. What are you doing, Victorian?

After several seconds, he answers. You don’t want to know.

Yes I do. Why are you still here?

I can’t stop thinking of you naked; your skin wet, slick with soap. It easily places…images into my head. I can’t help myself when that happens, Riley. I—

Yeah, yeah, never mind Loverboy. Don’t wanna know. Later, Vic.

For a certainty, my love…

After drying off and pulling on a pair of soft sleep pants and a tank, I brush my teeth, hit the lights and climb into bed. Exhaustion makes my bones heavy, my skin ache, and just as I slip into sleep, Eli’s strong arms pull me against him.

“Rest,” he whispers against my temple, and despite my sleepiness, the feel of his lips moving across my skin makes me shiver. “I’ll be here when you wake up.”

“Oh, God,” I mumble, sliding my arm over Eli’s chest and snuggling close. “Have we become that old couple that doesn’t have sex anymore?”

Eli’s chuckle rumbles against my ear. “We had sex this morning.”

“Okay,” I say, already being pulled into slumber. “Sorry if I was a bitch earlier. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

Again, Eli’s lips brush my skin as he kisses me, and his arms tighten around me. “Everything’s going to be okay, Riley. I swear to God, it will be.”

That last part I barely hear, but it slips into my subconscious, where I keep it safe. Keep it all safe—Eli’s arms, his strength, the brush of his lips across my skin. Somehow, I know that I’ll need those reassuring words, those memories. Later. For now, I sleep.

It’s raining. Still dark outside. Streetlamps throw an amber hue over the wet cobbles. Close by, a tire hits a pothole and water splashes against the fender. Footsteps slap the sidewalk. A heartbeat echoes off the brick walls. Human. I blink and listen, then I look around. Why am I outside? Didn’t I just fall asleep, warm in my bed with Eli’s arms wrapped around me? I know I did. So why am I here? How did I manage to get away from Eli?

I look around, but see only a long shadow at the end of the lane. The shadow’s moving and it matches the footsteps I hear. They’re quick, sure—not like those of a stumbling drunk. More like…someone who is frightened. I hurry toward the sound, the long-moving shadow. The heartbeat grows louder, faster, and the pungent scent of fear clings to the brine of the Savannah River that perpetually hangs in the air. I am closer now, the heartbeat reverberating off the damp stone around me. Now, only that taunting beat sounds in my head. Nothing else. The human senses me. Hides. The scent of blood hovers like mist in the air.

A craving quickens inside me.

Silently, I edge along the shadows toward the hiding place. Closer. A whimper reaches me, then a strangled cry. Just as I ease around the corner of the alley, I see them. There are two. They’re young—one male, one female. Newlings. Suddenly, I’m confused. I react. I leap.

“Get her,” the male says. His voice is calm, hateful, determined.

The female newling lunges at me just as I leap at her, and with a growl, we clash and drop to the cobbles. I grab her by the throat and slam her into the wall. Immediately, she’s up and lunging at me again. I duck. She hits the opposite wall and I follow her. I have her arm jacked upward behind her. I have the strength to tear it from her body, and I almost do. Until I hear a cry, and I glance down.

“Help me, Riley!”

My blood runs cold at the familiar Filipino Dagala dialect.

The male, fangs dropped, is biting the human. Only then do I notice the short black bob, small stature, wide, frightened brown eyes rimmed by a pair of glasses. It’s my neighbor, Bhing, who owns a chic clothing boutique next door to Inksomnia called SoHo. I throw the female newling several feet away and she crashes against the steps. I lunge at the male and yank him off of Bhing. She scrambles backward.

“Bitch,” he grinds out, and with more strength than I credited him for, grabs my throat and lifts me. Eyes opaque, one small red pupil in each center, he glares. No mercy. No pity. Only rage and hunger. “Don’t fuck with my kills, freak,” he says. The streetlamp light shines off his jagged fangs.

With lightning reflexes, I wrap my legs around his waist and jam the heel of my palm into his throat. He turns me loose, and as he drops to the ground, I crawl toward him, yank the silver blade strapped to my lower back, and plunge it into his heart. He seizes, and I jump off him. I glance up; the female is running toward me. In one fluid motion I pull the blade from his heart and fling it at the female. It embeds to the hilt. She drops and begins to seize.

The craving returns. I turn for the human.

But the alley is empty now; Bhing has disappeared. Out in the street, I search. Empty, all except for a stray cat perusing the trash cans. Bhing’s gone. It’s only then that I realize why I killed the newlings.

I wanted their hunt. Their prey.

I wanted Bhing’s blood.

With both hands, I grasp my head and stumble back into the alley. What’s happening to me? Dizziness swamps me, and I drop to my knees, gulping in large breaths. Nausea crashes over me, and I fight to keep whatever was trying to come up down. With hazy vision, I notice two piles of ash on the ground. The only thing that can kill vampires is pure silver. Or another vampire.

I’d killed them with my silver blade. But had I done so to get to Bhing—or to save her? My head spins, and I push myself against the wall. Confusion grabs me by the throat, squeezes, chokes. Blackness crashes over me, and I see nothing, hear nothing, smell nothing…

“Hey, sleepyhead,” a graveled, slightly French accent whispers in my ear. “Wake up.”

My eyes flutter open. Uncertainty and disorder web their way through my memory. Where am I? The room is hazy, with the barely there early-morning light filtering in through the gauzy curtains. My bedroom. I fix my gaze on the figure leaning over me, weight supported by one elbow, chiseled face staring down at me. Eli. I’m in my room, with Eli.

His eyes bespeak volumes. I know he immediately senses my confusion. He frowns. “What’s wrong?”

Pushing up on my elbows, I sit up. “Had a bad dream,” I said, trying to recount how I’d gotten from the alley to my bed without Eli or Seth knowing I’d left the apartment—if I’d left at all. Suddenly I wasn’t so sure. I look at Eli. “Have I been here all night?”

Eli’s eyes narrow. “Why would you ask that?”

Frustrated, I jump out of bed. “Damn it Eli, stop answering my questions with more questions.” Pulling the curtains back, I stare out over River Street. “Have I been in bed with you all night?”

“Yes,” he says, and moves behind me. Wrapping his arms around me, he pulls me against him. “Tell me.”

I relax. “Damn, it was so realistic. I…was out in the street, at night, and I saw Bhing from next door getting attacked by two newlings. I killed them. Bhing got away.” I turn and stare up at his concerned expression. “Then I felt, I don’t know. Sick. Dizzy.” I shrug. “Next thing I know, you’re waking me up.”

“Want me to go check on Bhing?” he asks.

I sigh and move out of Eli’s arms. “No. I will. If it really happened last night I’m sure I freaked her out. Besides, I want to go visit Preacher and Estelle before I get ready for work anyway.” Preacher and Estelle keep a store, Da Plat Eye—a Gullah herbs and concoctions parlor—right next door. They live upstairs, just like I live above Inksomnia.

“They’re not there,” Eli says. “Ri, they left Monday morning to go visit Estelle’s sister in Charleston. Don’t you remember?”

Slowly, I turn and look at Eli. My insides turn cold. “Today is Monday.”

Eli’s face is drawn, worried. “Today is Wednesday.”

I close my eyes, push my fingertips against the sockets. What’s happening to me? I’m now losing chunks of time? I scramble in my memory, trying to remember. I recall going to bed, then suddenly being outside, fighting two newlings over Bhing’s blood. The last thing I want to do though is freak Eli out. The very last thing. I chuckle, shake my head. “God, I’m getting old. Dream must’ve sucked the life out of me.” I glance at Eli. “No pun intended.” Glancing at the clock on my bedside table, I stretch. “I’m starved. Think I’ll go grab some Kremes and coffee. Wanna go with?”

“Absolutely,” Eli says.

I don’t think he plans on letting me out of his sight anytime soon. It already pisses him off to no end that he can’t read my mind like he used to. The Arcoses really did a number on my DNA. Since it keeps changing, I have no idea where I’ll end up. Me. Riley Poe. What’s left of me, anyway. I can’t bullshit Eli for long about my loss of time. Don’t want to. It scares the shit out of me, truth be told. I’ll try to handle it first. See what Victorian can tell me. Maybe I can learn to control it like I have my other tendencies? I hope to God so.

“Hey, bro, running to KK,” I say. “Want anything?”

Seth glances at me, his usually bright expression dull. “No thanks.”

“Something wrong?” I ask, perplexed.

Seth’s gaze lingers on mine for a second or two, almost as if he’s waiting on me to guess. “No,” he finally answers, and pulls on his jacket. “Nothing’s wrong.”

“Where’re you going?” It’s not like Seth to be so sullen with me, but lately, we’ve both been through so much crap, we’ve learned to give each other a little space.

“School, Ri,” he answers. “Mrs. Dupré likes me there early.” Elise home-schools Seth and Josie.

I nod. “Okay. Later.”

Seth, silent, walks past me and out the door. I try to ignore the hurt I feel and look at Eli. I’m pretty sure the smile I paste on my face looks fake as hell. “Ready?”

“He just worries about you, you know?” he says quietly.

I grab the Jeep keys from the hook and head out. “Yeah. I know.”

The moment I step outside, I see Bhing at the Dumpster. She is heading back into her store and she spares me a single look and a wave. Her silky black hair, cut in a shoulder-length bob, swings with her every movement. She stares at me through her glasses. I wave back. So, she’s safe after all. I wonder what she’s thinking?

We make it to Krispy Kreme and back in thirty minutes. I eat four glazed doughnuts and sip my sugar-and-cream-loaded coffee while going over a few ink designs I have scheduled for the day. I can tell my head isn’t in the game, or in the food, and both tick me off. What’s more frustrating is that I don’t know what to do about it. Sometimes it’s worse than others. These feelings are relatively new. Eli knows my irritation; he watches intently as I dress for work in a pair of ripped, faded low-rider jeans, a black Inksomnia long-sleeved tee and a pair of worn boots. Pulling my hair into a high ponytail, I brush my teeth and head downstairs to open shop. I feel anxious. Unsettled. Maybe it’s because I haven’t seen Preacher and Estelle. I just can’t figure it all out.

I hear Nyx a full three minutes before she enters the shop.

Rather, I hear her heart beating.

For a split second, just before Nyx opens the front door, my vision blurs. The sound of Nyx’s heart thumping inside its cage reverberates inside of me. Her blood whooshes through the vessels as it races to and from the organ. I can friggin’ hear its resonance. I shake my head a few times, take some breaths, close my eyes, clear my head. Rid my brain of it. Goddamn it! What the hell?

“Riley.” Eli stands next to me, his hand on my shoulder, his voice stern, steady. Almost as if he knows my inner turmoil. I glance briefly at him. My mind begins to clear.

“Riley! Good morning!” Nyx greets as she steps inside, and I turn my attention to her. Luc is right behind her. Gene, the Welcome Raven—appropriately named after Gene Simmons—crows above the door. For some reason, both sounds annoy me. Nyx drops her oversized pink handbag with black skull and crossbones at her station and crosses over to me. She pulls me into a tight hug. In the span of a few seconds, she assesses me. “You didn’t get much sleep, huh? Poor thing. You look tired.”

“Gee, thanks,” I say, and move to the iPod station. “Isn’t that the same thing as saying I look like shit?”

Nyx yanked my ponytail. “Yeah, pretty much. So get some more sleep. I know you don’t need as much anymore, but a little more couldn’t hurt. You have dark circles under your eyes, Ri. You’ve lost all the color that you got from Da Island when you were rehabilitating and between your pale skin and dark circle eyes, you actually look like a, um. You know.”

I glance over my shoulder at Nyx, who passes a single look to first Eli, then Luc.

“What? You mean a vampire?” I ask. I almost laugh.

“Yes! But more like a Hollywood version. Dracula. You know?” she replies.

Luc approaches and grasps my chin with his hand, turning my face left and right. His eyes, the same shade of cerulean blue as all the Duprés, study me with intensity. “Damn, Poe. You do look like shit.”

I jerk away. “I gotta get busy.” Feeling like some Freddie Mercury, I select “Killer Queen” and start work. I tune out Eli, Luc, and Nyx, as well as my own bad mood as I sift through my designs. Without looking up, I feel all of their eyes on me. Eli’s gaze is burning into me like a branding iron. This morning I simply don’t care.

My first appointment arrives. I’m freehand outlining a fairly large spider over the ribcage of a lanky young dude. Not an ounce of body fat on him. “Take off your shirt and get comfortable,” I say, and point in the direction of my table. “You okay with an audience?”

The guy shrugs. “Sure, no prob.”

I nod and flip the switch to the Widow, my beloved tattooing machine. Or, as Estelle calls it, the Black Engine. As I’m setting up the ink pots, I glance at him. “How’s your pain tolerance?”

Again, he shrugs. “I’m good.”

I again nod. “If you need a break just let me know.” I thumped his ribs. He didn’t even budge, which was a good sign. “You have zero body fat. It’s not gonna feel great over those bones, dude. Promise.”

“I’m cool, I’m cool,” he assures. “I can take it.”

“All right then,” I say, shaking my head. I’m not in any mood for a crybaby today. I scrub his side with antiseptic. “Lie with your arm resting above your head on the pillow and let’s get going.”

The kid’s good. He doesn’t even flinch as my needle moves over his bumpy ribs. The hum of the Widow mixes with Freddie Mercury’s unique pitch and blessedly pulls me into the zone. All is going pretty well for a handful of minutes. I feel like my old self. I sense my old life, before vampires, newlings, and tendencies. Before the Arcoses. I’m in there, barely hanging on by a thread.

I lean close over the kid’s ribs, freehand sketching the body of the spider that is approximately eight inches in length, six inches in width. I move with my needle, wiping the blood with a four-by-four-inch piece of gauze. I wipe. Blood. Wipe. Blood.

Blood.

Queen’s “Another One Bites the Dust” is now fading away in the background, and becomes muffled until it is nothing more than a soft hum. Nyx’s happy chatter fades. Luc’s constant flirting fades. Eli’s totally silent. Only one thing remains.

This kid’s heartbeat.

Thump-thump. Thump-thump.

I take a deep breath, shake my head, and continue.

The needle penetrates the skin in rapid-fire shots as I move along, creating the outline of the spider. My gaze fixes on the beads of blood, and I wipe with the gauze. I continue. More blood. Not a lot. Just beads. But there are a lot of them. The more I stare, the more I concentrate. What was a line of ink with whelps of blood turns into filleted skin as my needle plunges three inches into the kid’s side. Blood pours out. I jerk back in horror.

“What?” the kid says. His voice is shallow, as though it’s calling from a deep tunnel. He peers over his ribs at where I’m working.

I glance at him, and his face is concerned, but nothing more. When I look back at his side, it’s perfectly normal. I blink, shake my head. Sweat breaks out across my forehead and I wipe it with my forearm. “Nothing. My needle jammed is all,” I lie. “I’ll change it fast. Just relax.”

“No prob,” he says, and lies back.

I turn to change the perfectly good needle, and Eli’s at my ear. “What’s wrong with you?” he asks quietly. Even his voice sounds muffled, and I know he’s mostly speaking inside my head. He sounds far, far away.

The whole while, I hear that kid’s heart beating.

I draw another deep breath. “Needle jammed,” I say. “Everything’s fine.”

I glance at Eli’s face to reassure him. He’s not reassured at all. His face is pulled into lines and sharp planes of worry. He says nothing. Only watches. Behind him, Luc does the same. Both irritate me. But Eli’s constant presence seriously annoys me. I try to block him out.

I continue with the spider and the kid.

Focusing on my work, I try to block the thumping of his heart. It takes such strength to manipulate the sounds around me that sweat again breaks out across my forehead. It’s almost what drug or alcohol withdrawals feel like, and I can speak from experience on that one. Your body craves, and turns itself inside out to fight off that craving. It feels like a thousand ants are crawling inside your skin, trying to break free. I try to ignore the feeling, try not to rush, take my time, making the legs of the spider design angled, defined, and structured. I’m almost finished. Thank God. Just a little more.

Thump-thump. Thump-thump.

I glance at the kid’s face, and I gasp and stumble back. His eyes are missing, sockets are deep and black, and his face and skin have a bluish-white hue. The area over his heart is filleted open, and the organ beats before my eyes. Beckons.

My mouth goes dry.

“Riley.”

A hand tightens around my upper arm, squeezes hard. I blink and wipe my sweaty brow. When I look at the kid, he’s okay. Normal. Staring at me.

I force a smile. “Okay. All done.” I set my needle on the stainless steel tray. “You did good. Didn’t even flinch going over all that bone.”

The kid, thankfully, is oblivious to my turmoil. He smiles proudly. “Thanks.” Cocking his head, he stretches and looks at my work. “Ah, freak! That’s sick!”

My insides are still shaking, and his heart is still slamming in my ear. “Glad you like it. Let’s cover it up now.”

He lies back, and it’s all I can do to apply the antibiotic ointment and cover the area with nonstick gauze. I tape the edges. “You’re good to go.”

“Sweet,” he replies, and hops off the table. “When can I come back for the color?”

“It has to be completely healed,” I say, and I wipe my brow again. “No scabs, no raw places. Let’s set you up for four weeks and see how it looks.”

The kid nods. “Cool.”

“Here,” Luc says. “Meet me up front and I’ll give you instructions and ointment samples.” He glances at me, and I give a half smile. He inclines his head and leads the kid up front.

Only now do I realize the crowd that has gathered in Inksomnia. It’s not an unusual crowd. It’s not at all strange for a large group to gather at the picture window and watch us work, or a group to stand inside and look through the design books. Inksomnia is sort of well-known, especially in the tattoo world, and I’ve made quite a name for myself as an artist. People have traveled far just to have me ink their design. People who’ve never even heard of me gather at the window to watch the tattooing process. It’s not weird to have a crowd nearly every day. It’s not strange to have people ask to take pictures with me.

It’s strange that I didn’t know they were here in the first place.

I feel sick. Nauseated. Out of control. Adrenaline soars. Heart sluggish. Sweaty.

“Ms. Poe, can we get a pic with you?” someone in the group asks.

“Just a sec,” I say, nausea choking me. I head to the back before I toss Krispy Kremes everywhere. When I glance at the crowd, their faces are all gruesome: eye sockets black, white-blue skin, and the hearts are all beating so hard I see it through their shirts. I stumble. What’s going on?

Eli catches me just before I fall and eases me onto the steps of the staircase. I sit, elbows on knees, head hanging between. I gulp in air.

Kneeling in front of me, Eli pushes my escaped bangs from my face and holds them to my head with one hand. “Riley,” he says, and I hear the urgency in his voice. “What is wrong?”

I shake my head. “I don’t know. Maybe I’m coming down with the flu?” That’s such a damn lie and I know it. Eli probably knows it too. I don’t know what else to say. The truth? Human heartbeats are consuming my thoughts. I smell their blood. I’m starting to crave.

No friggin’ way can I tell him that. Victorian already did and Eli didn’t believe him. Thank God he can’t hear it in my head, nor does he recall his own torturous turning. I breathe deeply and give myself a pep talk. Get a grip, Poe. It’s just your wacky DNA morphing again. Gilles said this would happen. Don’t be a baby! Talk to Vic. He can help. It’s part of him inside you anyway. You can handle this. Breathe…

The slow, rhythmic strokes of Eli’s fingers over the back of my neck, along with my slow, controlled breaths, ease the cravings, lessen the noise, dissipate the nausea. I don’t know how long I sit there on the steps, but I start feeling better. Finally, I raise my head and meet Eli’s worried gaze.

Worried and angry gaze, I should say.

“Thanks,” I graze his jaw with my fingertips. “I feel better now.”

The penetrating stare tells me Eli doesn’t believe it. Not one word.

“Promise,” I say, and stand. “Come on. I have a pic to take.”

Eli says nothing as I pass by and head back to the front of the shop. His brother is equally grim; Luc studies me as I make my way to the crowd of guys gathered for the pic, and I slide him a quick look and then fasten my attention to the ink fans. Someone pulls out a digital camera, I stand in the middle of the crowd, and several pics are taken.

“Can we see the dragon?” one younger guy asks.

“Ah,” I say, “you caught me on an off day. Nothing underneath here this time,” I say, pointing to my shirt. “Summer is the best time to catch that.” People who know or have heard of me always want to see the dragon inked on my back, courtesy of Nyx. In the summer, I wear clothes that easily show most of it, or I wear a bikini top underneath my shirt so I can take off whatever I’m wearing and show off for the onlookers. It’s become sort of my trademark. Today, though, I’m not into it.

A few groans go through the crowd, and Nyx waves to them. “Hey! We have a few postcards over here with Riley and me. You can see the dragon perfectly!”

Everyone moves to the sales counter, and Nyx shows the rack of postcards. She glances at me, and I mouth thanks.

I don’t understand it, but the rest of the day passes smoothly. I have no further episodes. No further cravings. Heartbeats recede. Only normalcy.

I don’t break for lunch but work through instead. By six p.m. I am wrapping up my last client: a Savannah College of Art and Design, better known as SCAD, student with a dainty black butterfly arm cuff. Her arm is as big around as a pipe cleaner, so it doesn’t take me long. I apply her ointment, cover with gauze, and give her instructions. In the fading light falling on Savannah, she walks down the sidewalk, happily chatting on her cell, stretching her arm out and admiring her art through its gauzy cover.

My memory skips back to the past, when Nyx inked my dragons. I remember not being able to stay away from mirrors, I wanted to look at them all the time. To me they meant struggle, conquering demons, strength. Empowerment. I was so proud of them. I am proud of them.

A ping of envy hits me. I used to have a normal life, where a little body art made my day, made me happy beyond belief. I enjoyed Sundays with Seth, with Preacher and Estelle, and chillin’ on the floor of my living room with Nyx, sketching designs. Cramming slice after slice of pizza in our mouths. Taking Chaz for walks. I want it all back. I want it all the hell back.

I’ll never have it back.

“How are you feeling?” Eli asks. His hands move to my shoulders and he squeezes gently.

Moving out of his grasp, I start cleaning up my station. “Better. Are we heading out tonight?” Meaning, are we tracking newlings.

“Are you up for it?” he asks.

I glance at him. The lines of worry mean he really doesn’t want me to go. But I’m going anyway. “Absolutely.”

Nyx’s client leaves and she shuts and locks up the shop behind him. My friend, dressed in the style of a street mime from the fifties with black skinny jeans, black loafers, and a white and black striped shirt, minus the white painted face, turns to face me. Her high ponytails on either side of her head swing with the movement. “Riley, are you sure? I don’t think you’re well. You could”—she waves her hand in the air as if trying to imagine something—“fall from a building or something if you have an episode.”

“I don’t have episodes, Nyx,” I say, and move to the back and head upstairs. “I’ll be okay. Promise. See ya in the morning,” I call down.

“Bye,” she returns, but I’m already in my room changing.

In nothing but my bra and panties, I stand before the floor-length mirror and start fitting the blade sheaths to my waist, thighs, ankles. In the next second, and so fast that I didn’t even see him enter the room, Eli stands next to me, my shoulder harness in hand. He helps me into it, adjusts the straps, and secures it in the front. One by one, he fills the sheaths with pure silver blades. His eyes are on mine the entire time.

The fact that he’s so close to them makes me pause. “I can do that,” I say, but Eli continues anyway. I let him. When the last blade is secure, he pulls my face to his and kisses me. For a moment, I lose myself in his possessive seduction. His tongue on mine. Teeth grazing and tugging my lips. Strong hands drag across my abdomen, my hips. Then, he envelops me in his embrace. My blades press tightly against my skin at his weight. Everything he does, I realize, proves his love for me. Proves his possessiveness for me. And I can’t even return the verbal sentiment? Worse yet, his over-protectiveness is starting to really grate on my nerves. God, I’m such a bitch. A messed up one at that. Damaged goods to the nth degree.

“You’ll run with me tonight,” he whispers against my temple. “Until I’m sure you’re okay, the only thing you’ll do alone is pee.”

I laugh, because Eli knows how I love my bathroom privacy. “I’ll run with whomever I want to, and you bet your ass I’ll pee alone. Goddamn, Eli, give me a freaking break, will ya? I’m fine. I can handle myself. Your own parents have taught me how. So, seriously. Step off a bit. Okay?”

Eli pulls back, holds my face in his hands, and studies me for several long moments. His eyes search mine. “I won’t lose you, chère,” he says, his French accent thicker. Demeanor determined. “I won’t. But you can have your space. As long as everything goes smoothly.”

I’m not that kind of girl who enjoys being the victim. I don’t need the stereotypical knight in armor to rescue me. I am a strong, independent woman who has no problem handling her own goddamn self. But, I admit—this feels…nice. Eli is the epitome of strength, and I trust him completely. I revel in his embrace for a few more moments because somehow, I have another feeling, boring deep into the pit of my stomach, that this won’t last.

Or at the very least, I won’t remember it.

My annoyance dissipates momentarily, and I thread my hands through Eli’s crazy, sexy hair, pull his mouth down to mine and kiss him thoroughly. He sighs against me, a deep groan inside his chest letting me know precisely what the gesture does to him. I end the kiss, smile, and move to my closet to get dressed. Eli watches in silence as I pull on a pair of low-waist khaki cargo pants, a snug black long-sleeved spandex shirt, and my worn Vans. Strapping on my holsters around my thigh, hips, and shoulder, I slide the sharp silver blades into place. The night will hide my weapons, so no need to wear a coat over them. I redo my ponytail, pulling the band snug, and I’m ready to go. When I get downstairs, Luc is just coming inside with Chaz. Nyx is sitting in the foyer, staring at me.

“I thought you were headed home,” I say. I can tell by Nyx’s expression that I’ve hurt her feelings.

“She’s going to stay with Mama and Papa,” Luc says. “I don’t trust Valerian not to seek her out again, despite the Gullah charms protecting her place.”

I simply nod. “Good idea.”

Nyx jumps up and faces me. “Be careful tonight, okay?” she says, and pulls me into a hug. I hug her in return, but only briefly. I fear what happened earlier might repeat itself. I sense my lucidity is slipping. I really hate that.

I look at my best friend and smile. “I will. And I love ya for caring so much.”

Nyx beams. “Love you too.”

I hate that my confidence and assuredness seem so fake and put-on to me, but right now, it does. I know this other thing exists inside of me, and it grows stronger. I fear losing my loved ones. I fear losing myself.

I have no choice but to fight it.

Fight it, and fucking win.

Nyx and Luc take off on Luc’s bike. Eli and I take the Jeep. Within minutes we hit Monterey Square. I pull into the Duprés’ drive and park. Zetty and Riggs get out of Zetty’s truck. The Tibetan one-time bouncer for the Panic Room club had nearly become a newling but was also cleansed by Preacher, along with me, Seth, and Riggs. Now he’s a human with wicked tendencies. We exchange greetings and head inside.

Zetty’s eyes are on me the whole time. He’s hard not to stare at, with his unique Shiva patterns tattooed across his forehead. At the advice of Gilles, Zetty had decided to wear less attention-grabbing clothes. Out with the traditional Tibetan wear, in with pretty much all black attire. Blend in with the shadows, so to speak. His long single braid down his back still gives him that unique and exotic look. Zetty is a badass. With or without tendencies. With them, though, he’s a lethal badass. I’m glad he’s on our side.

We don’t speak. Simply bump fists as we enter the Dupré house.

I catch Riggs’s eye as I pass. He smiles. I’m surprised the prepubescent little perv doesn’t slap my ass.

He chuckles behind me. If I didn’t know any better I would swear Riggs could read my mind.

Philippe Moreau, the Duprés’ butler and all around trusted man, meets me at the door. His gaze lights over me and he gives a slight nod. “Ms. Poe. Ever so nice to see you.”

“Phil, same to ya,” I say, and it draws the slightest of grins on his usually serious mouth.

Inside, I follow the others upstairs. It’s become sort of our meeting room, along with our training room. Gilles, dressed casually in pressed khaki trousers and a white button-up shirt, stands next to Elise, in classic she-loafers, black dress pants, and a plum silk blouse that accentuates her flawless pale skin. Both bespeak old Southern charm.

“Riley, sweetheart,” Elise says, and grasps my shoulder with her petite hand. “How are you feeling?”

I shoot a look at Eli. He must’ve told her. With a sigh, I nod. “Much better, thanks.”

While Elise Dupré looks sweet and demure, trust me—it’s totally deceptive. She can kick serious, serious ass.

Elise’s brow pinches together. “Something’s wrong.”

I shrug, because I know she’s trying to read my mind and is unable. “It’s a new development I guess.”

“Here, love,” Gilles says, and moves closer to me. “Let me try.”

I almost laugh as Gilles concentrates, staring into my eyes. The only thing he doesn’t do is the hypnotic hand wiggle thing Dracula does. After a few seconds, he huffs. “I cannot believe it, ma chère,” he says. “I’m positive I don’t like it.”

“Neither do I,” mumbles Eli.

I say nothing but I keep my gaze locked with Gilles’s.

“Very well,” he finally says, and addresses us all. “Ned tells me several rogues have moved into the area, unrelated to the Arcoses. A body was found this morning. Ravaged, with no control whatsoever. The work of a mindless newling.”

My heart leaps, thinking of Bhing. But I’d seen her earlier, so it had to be another innocent. Or had any of it even happened? God, it hurt my head to think of it. Bhing hadn’t acted any different toward me. Maybe it’s all in my mind.

“I suggest we split up into threes,” says Phin, perched on the windowsill. “Eli, Riley, and Riggs. Me, Seth, and Josie. Luc and Zetty, you’re on your own.”

They both nod.

“Let’s split the city up,” Eli says. “And meet back at the historic district and take that section together.” He glances around. “Preferences?”

“We’ll take Tybee Island, Skidaway Island, and Isle of Hope,” says Phin.

Luc nods. “We got the South side up to Victory Drive, east and west.”

Eli nods. “All right, we’ll take Garden City and work our way through the industrial area and meet up at Forsyth Park. You know the routine. Clubs. Businesses. Dimly lit areas. Hangouts. These newlings aren’t breaking into homes. Too much work for them. And they’re looking for more youths.”

“What about Noah?” Luc asks.

Noah Miles is a vampire, also bound by Gullah pact to protect Savannah’s sister city, Charleston. He’s probably one of the most beautiful beings I’ve ever laid eyes on, with his unique dreadlocks and flawless pale skin and mercury-colored eyes. He knows it, too. When we’d fought against Valerian’s newling army in Charleston, Noah had been right there with Eli. Only Noah eggs me on. He wants to see me fight and trusts me to handle myself. Unlike Eli.

“They have their hands full right now,” Eli says. “There are just as many newlings running in Charleston and surrounding areas as there are here.” He glances at his father. “To break this, we have to break Valerian Arcos.”

“And that seems impossible since he can shift bodies,” Phin says.

And if what Vic says is true, Valerian can’t be killed anyway.

“Okay, let’s get going,” Eli says. “Mama, Papa”—he heads to the door—“be good.”

“Always,” Gilles answers.

At the door, I stop Seth. “Hey,” I begin. “I’m sorry, okay?”

My brother looks at me with those big, expressive green eyes, and right now they’re filled with hurt. He hugs me. My heart melts, and I hug him back. I want to keep him in my arms forever. Safe. Alive. Sweet. “I’m just not myself, Seth. I don’t know what’s happening.” I pull back and look at him. “My DNA, I suppose. It’s acting all crazy and I can’t control it. I’m having wicked dreams that seem so realistic, and I guess it’s putting me in a terrible mood.” I shake my head and knock Seth on the jaw lightly with my knuckles.

Seth studies me for several seconds, and he pulls me into one last embrace. He kisses the top of my head. “I love you, Sis,” he mumbles, sounding like the much more grown-up sibling. “Be careful.”

“I will, and love you, too,” I say. “And you be careful.”

Riggs is leaning against my Jeep when I walk out. Ankles crossed, arms over chest, looking way too cocky for his own good. “What say I ride up front with you, babe?” he drawls and glances at Eli. “You won’t mind, will ya bro?”

Eli smacks him on the back of the head as he gives him a shove. “In the back, Squirt.”

Riggs shrugs and gives me a sympathetic look. “Sorry sweetheart. Maybe next time.”

I can do nothing more than roll my eyes and shake my head. What a goober Riggs is. “Maybe so,” I respond. He smiles. I climb in the front seat, and Eli drives. We take off for Garden City.

Even though the October night air is cool, we keep the Jeep’s top off for easy access in and out of it. Besides, Riggs and I both handle temperatures a lot differently now, so it has to be really cold for us to be bothered, or really hot. This night, my long-sleeved shirt is all I need. The temp is about sixty-two degrees.

Eli downshifts as we hit the squares, the night air cool as it brushes my cheeks. I close my eyes against the wind and inhale the brine of the salt marsh. Unfortunately, the closer we get to Garden City, which is just outside of Savannah, the brine turns into a stinky sulfur smell. Paper mill. It’s enough to make you gag sometimes. Thankfully this night, it’s not too bad.

Eli’s hand slips over my thigh and rests there as we drive, and the sounds of the night, the wind, lure me into a calm rest. I’m not asleep; I still hear Riggs’s iPod blasting in his ear. But I’m lulled. Yeah, that’s what I am.

A flash of light illuminates a face hidden in a dark hoodie. Jaw unhinged. Fangs dropped. Eyes white, pupil pinpoint red. He lunges at me—but the face isn’t a newling. It’s me. I scream—

“Riley?” Eli says, his hand wrapped around my arm, shaking me. “Wake up, we’re here.”

My eyes flutter open, and the moment they focus on Eli, he shifts, his jaw unhinges, his fangs drop, and he lunges for me.