Eventide

Part Eight Feral

Eli can’t help but stare, and to me, it’s pretty funny to watch. I’d never met the woman, and I have to admit even I’ve never encountered such a soul before. From what we can see, Darling is beyond bizarre in all her dark, glorious three-hundred-plus pounds of splendor. She wears colorful beads woven in her hair by the dozens, and…plants? Eli bends his head to my ear as we cross the square. “She wears nothing but weeds?”

I elbow him in the ribs. “No, Dupré, not weeds. Palmetto fans. She’s woven them together for a dress. And don’t forget—she’s not just eccentric. She’s paranoid schizophrenic. Don’t antagonize her. And the dress? Come on, you’ve seen that before. You’ve lived here for centuries. And it’s the only thing she ever wears.” I lean in. “The only thing, might I repeat.”

Eli shudders. “I thought I’d banished it from my memory.”

I silently chuckle. Surrounded by no fewer than a dozen filled, handheld plastic bags, Darling claims the bench in LaFayette Square, talking to herself.

Or, maybe to the Marquis himself.

As we approach, I pull Eli back. “Let me go ahead. She might start yelling at you. No need for a scene.”

“Non.”

I narrow my eyes. “Oui.”

Eli stares hard. “I’m right behind you.”

With reluctance, Eli lets me walk ahead. I repeat. Lets me.

“Darling?” I say, stopping a few steps from the bench.

Darling jerks her head up, surprised by my appearance. She squints. “Who dat?”

“Preacher’s goddaughter. Riley Poe.”

“Preacher?” Darling said, laughing. “You all white, girl. Preacher Man, dat old cod is black as da night. You ain’t his kin. Go on.”

“I’m his goddaughter, Darling. Preacher and Estelle raised me and my brother after my mom was killed.” My voice lowers. “I slay vampires.”

“Hot damn, girl!” she exclaims. “Yeah, I remember you.” Black as coal, appearing to be in her mid-fifties, with cataracts clouding both eyes, Darling stares hard at me. Recognition sets in to match her words.

“Don’t say dat out loud, girl,” Darling says in a hushed whisper. “Damn. People tink you crazy.” She erupts into a cackled laugh.

Eli stands silent behind me. I’m surprised Darling hasn’t mentioned him yet. She probably doesn’t even see him.

“Darling, listen. I need your help.” I go down on one knee, closer to the woman, but nonthreatening. I hope, anyway. “Have you seen or heard anything about the bloodsuckers lately? Or about me?”

Grabbing one of the bags next to her, Darling begins rifling through it, searching for…something. Then, she stops and turns her head, away from me, as though someone sits down beside her. “What dat? No. I don’t like dat. No!”

I sit still. Eli doesn’t move a muscle.

Darling scrunches her features, looks in the direction of whomever she was speaking to in her mind. Finally, she sighs. “Fine. I do it.” She waves to me. “Tell dat big boy behind you to come here.”

I turn, meet Eli’s gaze, and incline my head. He eases up beside Darling.

Darling peers up at him through white, foggy eyes. “What you doin’ here, boy? You one of dem, ain’t ya?” She shakes her head, beads clacking together. “One of dem bloodsuckers. But you different, dat’s right.” She waves her hand at him. “Don’t matta. You here to watch over Preacher’s baby girl, don’t forget dat.” She reaches into her bag and tosses something at me. I catch it. It’s cool and flat, like a piece of metal.

The Gullah woman lowers her voice. “Girl, dere’s an evil place ’round here. People get took dere, but dey don’t want to go. You don’t want to go, either. It’s out in da water, and it’s a bad place.” She leans over, close. “Dere’s monsters dere. And bloodsuckers. Some dead. Some not dead. Some wish dey was dead.”

My insides chill at her words.

“Darling, how—”

“Shush! Watch your mouth, girl. I ain’t done.” She cocks her head at Eli. “You listenin’ too, boy?”

“Oui.”

Darling bursts into laughter. “Oui? What da hell does dat mean? You crazy, boy?”

She turns her head again, to the unknown soul whom she speaks to. “Oh,” she says to the air beside her. “Dat means yeah. Okay den.”

I share a puzzled look with Eli, then I shrug and turn my attention back to Darling.

The old Gullah continues. “Dey all hidin’ from you. Been hidin’ from you for a while now. Maybe ‘cause dey busy workin’ in da graveyard? Don’t know why. But soon dey gonna stop hidin’ and git you. You don’t wanna go wit dem. Dat one who was locked away in da ground for all dem years wit his brodder? He’s out. And he’s bad. The brodder ain’t so bad for a bloodsucker.” She points at Eli. “You watch dis hardheaded ting doh. Make sure dey don’t git her. Dat’s Preacher’s baby girl. She got dat special blood da vampires want. She sees dem. But dey see her, too.” She peers at Eli. “You don’t want her blood, do you boy? Preacher Man, he kill you good if you bother his baby.”

“No, ma’am,” Eli answers. “I’d never hurt her.”

Darling grunts her approval.

I rise. “Darling, if they—”

At that point, Darling has obviously experienced enough of me and Eli for the night. She tips her head back, beads jingling, opens her mouth, and yells as if being murdered. A high-pitched, bloodcurdling, banshee-type holler that makes my hair stand up.

I grab Eli by the hand. “Come on. She’s through with us now.”

Eli glances over his shoulder as we race from the square. As soon as we step onto the cobbles, Darling ceases her squalling.

I stare in her direction. Even from that distance, I see the whites of her teeth against her pitch-black skin as she smiles. “Bye-bye, Riley Poe!” she yells. “Watch your neck!”

“That’s scary,” Eli says.

“You ain’t kidding,” I answer, and stop under the next streetlamp. I open my palm and stare down at the object Darling gave me.

“What is it?” Eli asks.

I pull it closer. “It’s a flattened tourist penny,” I answer. “With Bonaventure Cemetery on the front.”

Eli looks at me. The shadows play across his face, and my heart leaps. “Looks like we’re headed back to the graveyard.”

“Let’s call the others,” I say. “And get the Jeep.”

No sooner have we reached Inksomnia to get the Jeep do I hear glass shatter from next door. A series of Dagala expletives fall onto the night, and in the next instant the door to SoHo Boutique—Bhing’s store—flies open. Bhing’s husband, Ronnie, carrying their toddler and followed by their older boy, comes running out into the alley. Inside SoHo, glass is breaking. It sounds like a tornado is going through the place. Ronnie runs straight toward me, speaking in high-gear Dagala.

“Whoa!” I say, holding up my hand. “English, Ronnie!”

As of yet I haven’t been bitten by a Dagala vampire, thus I cannot speak Dagala (except the few dirty words Bhing taught me). I stress the word “yet.” By now, anything’s possible, and I know it.

“Bhing! Something is wrong with her!” Ronnie says, breathless. He points to his eyes. “She’s no longer seeing me. She came after us, growling and trying to bite!” He looks over his shoulder. “She’s tearing up the shop!”

“Mommy’s bad,” the little toddler in Ronnie’s arms says, pointing.

“Help us!” Ronnie cries. “I’ve locked her in the bathroom. Downstairs.”

“Okay, okay, it’s going to be fine,” I say, and I pray it will be.

“Take them inside,” Eli says. “I’ll get Bhing.”

“She doesn’t really know you,” I say, trying to convince him that I need to get her.

“Trust me,” Eli says. “She doesn’t know anyone right now.”

I nod. “True.” Grasping Ronnie by the elbow, I give his older son a comforting smile and incline my head. “Come on. Eli here will take care of Bhing.”

Ronnie stops and looks up at Eli. “Don’t hurt her. Please.”

Eli nods. “I won’t. I promise.”

With that, Eli turns and heads toward SoHo. I hurry Ronnie and his sons into Inksomnia. Inside, I turn. “Go sit in there,” I say, pointing upstairs to my living quarters. “Shut the door and don’t open it until you hear it’s me. I’m going to help Eli.”

Ronnie nods and heads upstairs with the kids. The little one in his arms turns around and looks at me. His shiny black hair swings with the movement of his head. He points. “Mommy bad.”

“Mommy’s just…sick,” I correct. “She’ll be okay.” But by the look in his dark brown eyes, he doesn’t really believe me.

I hope to prove him wrong.

Just as I swing out of Inksomnia at a full run, Eli heads out of SoHo.

Bhing, kicking, screaming bloody murder, and swearing in Dagala is head-first over Eli’s shoulder.

“I’ve got to get her to Da Island,” he says. “She’s out of control.”

I move around his back to take a look for myself. Bhing lifts her head and stares at me. Her glasses are gone and her eyes are milky white. She snaps at me like a freaking zombie, yet her perfectly-cut black bob swings just as easily as her toddler’s. A frightening sight to be sure. “Eesh,” I say. “Definitely get her there. Fast.”

“What are you going to tell Ronnie?” Eli asks, heading to the Jeep.

“I have no idea. I’ll think of something,” I say. “Hurry.”

I help Eli bind Bhing’s arms and legs, then strap her into the Jeep. He takes off, and I walk inside to hopefully convince Ronnie and the kids that their adorable little Bhing isn’t a monster after all.

After some hasty explanations, and a promise to help his wife, Ronnie and the kids head back to SoHo to start cleaning up the mess. I tell him the same thing we told Nyx when Seth was experiencing a quickening: drugs. I hated doing it, but it was better than the truth: vampires.

An hour later, Eli returns, and we continue on to bigger problems.

Scaling the fence at Bonaventure seems much easier now. One leap and I’m over. No more showing my ass to wind, or clinging for dear life to the metal. Up and over. Gotta love the tendencies.

I shine my flashlight to a discarded pile of items half buried in the dirt. A finger of dread inches across my spine. “This is not good.”

“A hairbrush, plate, coffee mug, a toothbrush. A remote control. A plastic container with—a box of cigarettes and lighter?” Eli says, noting the items. “What the hell?”

I draw a breath and stand. “Wow.”

“A Gullah grave,” Eli says. “Strange. It’s an old tradition, one that’s not practiced much anymore. Especially here on the mainland.”

I reach for the remote.

“No,” Eli says. “Don’t touch it.”

I think a moment, then remember Preacher’s teachings. “The Gullah believe that in order to guarantee the safety of the living, they must placate the dead.” I point to the items. “They leave the deceased person’s favorite personal belongings behind, to keep them from returning and bothering the living.”

Eli pulls me away. “To touch any of it would be…bad.”

“You’re right,” I agree.

Eli peers over the edge of the grave. “Looks like they didn’t make it all the way down.”

I look. They hadn’t even reached the coffin. “Good thing, too.”

“No doubt,” he answers.

I glance around. “I’m not sure why Darling sent us here, but I got a bad feeling, Dupré. Let’s go. Bad juju being this close to a desecrated Gullah grave.”

“Where are Luc and the others?” Eli asks, looking behind him. “I thought they were heading over here?”

I glance around. “I don’t know but I don’t wanna stick around for them.”

“Let’s go,” Eli says.

I turn off the flashlight and we head back to the Jeep, through the lengthened shadows that distort perception, make everything seem…surreal.

But the familiar pungent scent of nearby salt marsh remains steady, and it wafts through the darkened Bonaventure and penetrates my sensitive senses. Crickets chirp, a deafening chorus of melodies echoing through the oaks and magnolia trees. Still no cicadas, though. Not even one since this whole mess started.

As quickly as I noticed it, everything stopped. Dead, deafening silence. Not one strand of moss moved. Not one frog croaked. Quiet.

Too quiet.

Eli stares down at me, his eyes glistening in the moonlight.

A rotting stench, however, masks the brine from the salt marsh.

“Vampires,” I whisper. “Newlings. Damn, they stink.”

Eli senses it too and moves his body close.

I slide a look around. Although subtle, the lengthened shadows shorten inch by inch, stretching gray fingers over the milky white headstones and twisting around them. The longer I stare, the more discombobulated things become. I resist rubbing my eyes. It’ll do no good. I steady the irregular breaths that puff out of my lungs and for once, I’m grateful for my sluggish heart rate. Adrenaline, though, pumps rapidly through my veins.

I blink.

In that fraction of a second it takes for my lashes to brush my cheek and lift again, newlings drop from the mossy shadows above, landing in a gap-toothed crescent around us. All punks—at least, they at one time were. Now they are punks with powers.

Eli tenses and moves a muscular arm across my chest, shielding me. “Get behind me, Ri.”

His voice lowers with a lethal resonance.

He’s got to be kidding.

I stay to his left, curve slightly around his backside, but I don’t cower behind him. We just had this discussion. Eligius Dupré has about the hardest freaking head I’ve ever encountered.

Lifting my ankle, I retrieve a knife and palm the handle. My eyes pan left to right.

Seven against two. Where the frig are Luc and the others?

“Steady, woman,” Eli whispers.

I palm another blade and brace myself.

Eli’s strong presence comforts me. Pisses me off, too. I press my head against his shoulder. “Here they come—”

Shrill yells echo throughout Bonaventure. Out of the shadows, moonlight illuminates the newlings moving toward us. Great. Fucking great.

“Ready to die, bitch?” the one closest to me says. “You won’t be leaving this graveyard alive—”

My arm shoots out, lightning fast, and a whizzing noise rushes the night as my silver cuts the air. Twice.

Two newlings, on their knees now, grip their throats, a gurgled, sputtering choke of a scream breaking from their throats. Within seconds, both fall over, face to the dirt. They begin to seize. A rumble runs through the others.

“Five left,” I say, palming two more blades.

Then all hell breaks loose.

More newlings surge from the shadows, and I break away from Eli, blades in hand. “Don’t watch me,” I warn him. “Just fight!”

The words barely leave my mouth when two newlings run toward me. Three more are already on Eli. Christ, where have they all come from? Legs braced wide apart, I shift my weight and ready myself. This won’t be easy.

One reaches me first, and with an in-air, roundhouse kick, I land a foot against the newling’s throat, then shove my blade deep into its heart. As it drops to its knees and screams, I land and slam my fist into the other newling’s face, sending it backward and down. The crunch of bone and cartilage mixes with the gurgle of fluid as I shove my blade into its throat. Crouching, I palm two more blades.

Another newling grabs me from behind. Shit.

Lifting my foot, I bang it down on the newling’s instep, but it doesn’t turn me loose. Strong fingers squeeze my biceps and push my elbows awkwardly together. I curse and explode. Too late, though.

The force of another newling barreling into my gut comes unexpectedly, and the air whooshes from my lungs. For a moment, I’m dazed.

“Riley!” Eli shouts.

I want to shout back and tell him to just take care of the ones he has, but I can’t speak. What’s wrong with me? Why am I so freaking weak?

The newling behind me pushes my elbows together, and the pain forces my hands to open, dropping both blades. The newling in front of me smiles, his face contorting into his vampiric form, that convoluted mouth lifting, jaw dropping, exposing several jagged fangs. I shoot a glance at Eli. He has no fewer than five newlings on him. Damn it!

With a closed fist, the newling in front of me slams into my left eye. My head swings hard right, and stars flitter behind my lids. “That’s for Charleston, bitch,” the newling says. “But I’ve more for you.”

I shake my head, trying to gather myself. “Fuck off—”

Like a flash of light, his arm shoots out and fists my other eye, then my ribs.

I fall forward, feeling the bone give in my side, but the newling holding me jerks me back up. “No, no, not done yet, Fight Club.”

Ah, so that’s it. A couple of disgruntled fighters.

I gather myself. I feel the energy inside me grow. I’ve got this…

Then, the one in front disappears as a flying hulk of muscle tackles him to the ground.

I wheeze, draw in as much air as I can, and lift both knees to my chest. That rib is digging into my lung or something because it’s hard to breathe. I ignore it and push. The shift in my weight throws the newling holding me from behind off balance, and I twist one arm free. I turn, ignore the blinding pain in my ribs and rear back my foot, then sink it deep into the vamp’s groin. Even vampires have sensitive peckers, so it seems. Another chilling, high-pitched scream breaks Bonaventure’s silence.

I’m finally free and I double over, catching my breath. I scan the ground, find my blades, and lunge for them. With both firmly in each hand, I throw one at the newling holding its crotch. The silver buries to the hilt. The other vamp—a short, stocky punk with a shaved head and a tattoo on his throat, hurls himself straight at me. I roundhouse kick and land him flat on his back. I follow him down, straddling his chest in one move. With my knees, I pin his arms by his side. I press the blade to his thick, muscular neck. Jaw unhinged, fangs dropped, eyes white and pupils pinpoint red, he glares at me. Hisses, even. Hisses!

Then, Eli is beside me. “Riley, move off.”

“No. I got it.” I press the blade deeper, and the newling’s eyes bulge.

“Get the…fuck…off me!” it says between gasps of air.

“Did Valerian send you?” I ask, already knowing the answer. Wonder where the coward was anyway?

“None of your fu—”

I find myself off the newling and on my backside. I shake my head as my equilibrium takes a twirl. I focus on Eli.

He has the newling by the throat, suspended in the air by one muscled arm. The newling’s legs dangle inches from the ground.

“Who?” Eli asks, giving it a hard shake.

I slide a quick glance around. Nine downed and very dead newlings lie motionless on the ground.

“I’ve never seen him,” the young vamp grinds out. “I’ve never fucking seen him. Keeps to himself.”

I push myself up, holding my side, and walk closer. “A name. A place to find the name.” I press my blade to the newling’s testicles. “Or I swear to God, I’ll cut your balls off before I stick this in your heart.”

A swear tears from the newling’s misshapen mouth. “Okay, okay,” it says in a voice a bit higher pitched than before. “Drummond. He calls himself Drummond.”

“Where are the others like you hiding out?” I press the blade deeper. A trickle of white oozes out, the fading light from the moon glinting off the milky liquid as it trails down one leg.

“Fuck!” he yells, trying to squirm away. “Crazy bitch—get off me!”

Eli squeezes harder and gives it another shake. “Speak, or I’ll cut them off myself.”

“Some experiment,” he chokes out. “Goddamn witch doctor potions. Drummond’s research—has something to do with reversing powers or something. I don’t know!”

A blade whizzes through the air and buries into the newling’s heart. With a curse, Eli drops the body as it begins to seize.

I drop, too.

Eli moves beside me. I’m holding my ribs. Damn, it hurts just to draw a stinking breath.

“Riley? What’s wrong?” Eli says. He’s holding me now.

“I’ll be okay,” I say, although not with much energy. “I think I got a broken rib.”

My words muffle against Eli’s shoulder as I fall into him. He steadies me, then scoops me up.

“Where are we going?” I ask. “We can’t just leave the bodies here.”

“We can and we will,” Eli says. “We’re in a graveyard, Riley.”

“Oh yeah,” I gasp. “Hey, I’ll heal quickly, right? Getting kinda hard to breathe here, Dupré.”

“Yes, you’ll heal quickly,” he answers as he crosses Bonaventure. “Gotta get you home and wrapped first.”

“That sounds interesting,” I mutter.

Just before I pass out.

So much for frickin’ frackin’ superpowers.

What the hell?