Eventide: The Dark Ink Chronicles (11 page)

Vic: What time?

Me: When I get there.

*  *  *

“Ma’am?”

My eyes focus on the young soldier who is now standing in front of me, grinning.

“Yeah?” I say.

His face falls slightly, but he clears his throat and continues. He holds open a page in the sketches album. “I found the one.” Leaning closer, he shows me.

A winding serpent. I’d sketched it in under ten minutes. “You sure?” I say.

The soldier nods and answers without hesitation. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Okay,” I answer, get up and move to the computer up front. I click on the appointments screen and scroll down. “I can fit you in on Friday at five p.m.”

The soldier smiles. “Sounds great. I’ll be here.”

I click in his appointment, calling him “soldier/snake,” and close the screen. Then without another glance or thought, I get up and walk to my station.

I’d forgotten Eli was even in the shop. But he was. Hadn’t even moved from where I last saw him. I ignore him.

My clients come and go throughout the day. I don’t make much conversation. I do the art, and get done quickly. The sound of heartbeats rush through my head with such vigor, I have to really concentrate to block them out. Which, in turn, blocks everything else out
and that’s fine by me, too. None of it’s easy though. Along with the thumping of heartbeats comes a thrill I can’t explain, and it shakes my whole body on the inside. I’m on edge, and I want to be alone. Vaguely do I recall inking a set of broken skeletal wings on the back of a very bony girl in her mid-twenties. That took a couple of hours. Staring at her back lined with drops of blood didn’t do much for my mood. But some small slice of my pride must still exist because in the end, despite all of the frustrations and distractions, my work still kicks ass. Call it vanity. Call it whatever the fuck you want.

I am just finishing up a Japanese verse on the flank of a young guy when Preacher walks in through the front door, followed by Eli’s brothers, sister, and Seth. My insides twinge; I haven’t seen Preacher and Estelle in a week maybe? I’ve lost track. My surrogate grandfather, wearing his signature plaid button-up long-sleeved shirt and jeans, catches my glance and holds it. I feel cold all of a sudden, and the hairs rise on my arms. Preacher’s eyes lock on to mine for several seconds, as if digging in my brain to find something. I feel like he’s busting me for smoking weed. He turns, and I can tell something’s up.

“Eligius?” Preacher calls.

Eli emerges from the back of the shop. “Yes, sir?” He
slides me a glance as he passes. His presence takes up the entire area. I forget he has that ability sometimes. Power. He reeks of it.

The old Gullah merely stares at Eli for several seconds; Eli returns the look. Without saying a word out loud, both leave Inksomnia, Luc and Phin following. Their expressions are unreadable.

I guess there’s enough of the old pathetic me left to actually care to ask, “What’s going on?”

Josie and Seth walk toward me. Josie watches me with depth. Precision. Weighs me. Large, cerulean blue eyes unblinking. But keeps silent.

Seth stops in front of me. His green eyes are solemn. “One of Capote’s nieces was killed last night.” Capote is an old Gullah, and Preacher’s cousin. Plays a wicked saxophone, too.

“Killed?” I ask. “What do you mean?”

Seth and Josie simply stare at me. No words. No explanation. Then, I know. I realize it means only one thing.

Vampires.

I meet their stare for several seconds, then return to what I’d been doing in silence.

“Oh, gosh,” Nyx says quietly. I glance at her. Now she’s wringing her hands and pacing, her face pinched in worry. The beat of her heart increases. “How awful. Poor Capote.” I think for a second Nyx is going to burst into tears.

Of course, Capote and Preacher are cousins, so the girl is related to Preacher as well.

A vampire killed a Gullah. This hasn’t happened in centuries, save Eli’s accident. The Duprés have always kept Savannah and Preacher’s kin safe. Valerian’s army is growing. Now, a young Gullah girl has been murdered.

What if I did it?

I continue cleaning my station until I feel a hand on my shoulder. When I glance up, it’s Seth’s eyes I’m staring into. “What?” I ask.

“Can we talk?” he replies. “Alone.”

I shrug. “Fine by me. Let’s go.”

Seth’s eyes lock on to mine for several seconds, then he turns and heads to the back of the shop. Nyx must be on a retro kick because she changes the tunes and The Monkees’ “Daydream Believer” blasts through Inksomnia and follows me upstairs.

I walk straight to the fridge, open the door, and grab a beer. I’ve got half the bottle drained by the time Seth speaks.

“What’s wrong with you?” he asks, and he doesn’t ask it nicely.

I stare at him as I drain the rest of the bottle. “What do you mean?”

Seth rakes both hands through his hair and then
grasps his neck. For a moment, he closes his eyes. When he reopens them, his stare is hard. Hurtful. To him, not me.

“You’re not the same, Ri,” he begins. “You’re…different. Hateful. Mean.”

I laugh. “No shit, bro. I’ve got two fucking sets of strigoi DNA inside me.” I shake my head. “What the hell?” I’m irritated now. He called me up here for this?

“I watched your face when I told you about Capote’s niece,” he says angrily. “Your expression didn’t even flinch, Ri. It’s like you don’t care.”

“You’re still a kid, Seth. What do you know? Grow up and have some responsibilities and
then
tell me about my lack of care and expression, okay?” I answer.

Just then the door swings open and Eli walks in. His gaze sweeps over me and Seth. “Am I interrupting?” he asks.

Seth shakes his head and keeps his eyes on me. “No.”

The silence inside the apartment is a live, palpable entity.

Eli walks to me and grasps my shoulders. “I have to go with Preacher and my brothers to Da Island,” he says quietly, evenly. “I hate leaving you, but this is unavoidable. Did Seth tell you what happened?”

I simply nod.

Eli grasps my chin and tilts my face to look up into
his. “I hate leaving. I hate that Phin, Luc, and my father have to go, too, but we do. This is big. And it has to stop.”

Again, I nod and remain silent.

“My mother and Josie will be here. Seth, Zetty, and Riggs, as well.” He lowers his mouth to mine and kisses me. When he lifts his head, those cerulean blue eyes almost take my breath away with their intensity. They nearly pierce the anger subtly bubbling below the surface of my being. “For now, the night runs stop, and I mean that, Riley. It’s too dangerous to go out alone. You’re strong but not against a dozen newlings. Wait for us to return.” He kisses me again. “They’re waiting for me. I’ll be back soon.”

“Bye,” I say, and with a final glance, he leaves. Fast. I follow him to the door but he’s already gone.

“Listen to him, Ri,” Seth says, and he’s closer to me now. Like right behind me, crowding my space. “I don’t know what’s up with you lately, but please.” He grabs my arm. “Listen for once.”

I snatch my arm from Seth’s grasp and glare at him. His sluggish heartbeat resonates in my head. “I don’t need you telling me what to do, Seth. So chill the hell out and stop talking to me like I’m a kid.”

Seth’s face falls. Blanches, even. Suddenly, he’s seven years old again and looking at me as I trip and fall up the steps to our apartment. Drunk. I vaguely
remember those days. But I totally remember his expression. I’m not sure why it doesn’t affect me, but it doesn’t. I turn and head for my room.

“Where’re you going?” Seth calls after me.

I don’t look at him. “I need to work out,” I say, step into my room, and shut the door.

Minutes later, I hear the apartment door open and close. Finally, alone.

Nervous energy simmers under my skin, and for a split second I feel as though I’m on fire. I claw and peel out of all my clothes except my bra and panties. Without bothering with a warm-up, I start kicking the bag suspended from the corner ceiling of my bedroom. I kick. I punch the bag, and I don’t know how long I go at it, but it’s a while. I don’t even break a sweat. The exertion only helps a little. My thoughts are running ninety to nothing, my brain suddenly unable to filter out the constant rumbling of human noises outside the apartment. My head begins to throb. Mercilessly. Voices. Heartbeats. Crying. Traffic. The pain is so bad it sends shards of light shooting behind my eyelids. I gotta run. Gotta get out.

No, first watch this. Watch what you could be…

I jerk my head around and scan the room. I’m alone. The voice. It’s familiar. Frightening. I sit on the floor and cradle my head in my hands, and only then does the vision appear behind my eyes.
It’s dark. I’m running
away. No, I’m chasing. Someone. Wait, not chasing. Stalking. They’re unaware of me. I slip through the shadows silently, yet I run. I want to get closer. I can already smell their scent. Hear their heartbeat. Almost feel the rush of their blood through their veins. I’m on Savannah’s dark side, away from the tourists, away from the history, the moss, the charm. I’m where most people wouldn’t dare go alone. Up ahead, the figure turns the corner. I’m right behind them. The moment I turn the corner I’m coldcocked by a heavy fist, and I land square on my ass. Warm liquid spills over my lip and onto my chin.

“Damn, bitch,” he says. “What the fuck’s your problem? You a cop?”

I stare up at the guy in silence. I’m seething.

“Deke, man,” another guy says as he steps out of the building’s front door. “What’s up?”

“This bitch was followin’ me,” he says. “I think she’s a cop.”

The other one lets the screen door slam and walks over to me. He studies me for a moment. Looks at my ink. “Naw, man,” he says. “That bitch ain’t nothin’ but that. A bitch. She ain’t no cop.” He shoves me with his foot. “You ain’t no coppy, are ya, bitch?”

He lifts his foot to shove me again. It never touches me. I grab it, midair, and with very little effort, send him flying backward into the shadows beside the duplex. I’m so fast that the other guy doesn’t have time to react before I’m in the
shadows with the first guy. In the darkness, I have his body pinned to the ground. I see only the whites of his eyes, the flare of fear in his nostrils. His mouth opens to shout for help, out of surprise, whatever. The words die on his tongue. Because he dies on my tongue.

My fangs sink deep into his throat. His body thrashes, then slows to erratic jerks as his nervous system detects failure.

“What the fuck!” his friend calls from behind me.

I leap upward, grab his shoulder, and swing onto his back, my legs wrapped around his waist, my arms tightening around his neck. His strength gives out and we tumble to the damp mossy ground. Before a single word escapes him, my fangs are buried in his heart. A deep, sadistic laugh reverberates off the trees and dingy buildings around me.

Just as fast as the vision appeared, it vanishes. I lose my breath for a second, and I choke. The sensation I’d had moments earlier seems so real. I blink, look around. I’m back in my room, in my apartment above Inksomnia. Why am I being tormented? Rising from the floor, I breathe. What was that? Was it real? I’m so confused, and the pounding inside my head returns. Quickly, I grab a pair of discarded jeans thrown across the back of a chair, a long-sleeved T-shirt, and boots and hurry out of my bedroom. I pass by Chaz, lying on his bed close to the hearth. He stares at me, lowers his head, and growls low in his throat.

I spare him the slightest of glares and leave the apartment. In seconds I am just another body slipping through the streets of Savannah.

The night air is chillier than it has been. I’ve been on the streets for hours, and I find myself in a half-packed parking lot of some random club. I don’t recognize it, but that’s nothing new. Clubs pop up all over Savannah, and they close just as fast. In some weird extraterrestrial font, the bar sign reads
AREA 51
.

The club is just a plain gray building with no windows, and from the smell of extreme marsh and brine hanging on the breeze, I guess it’s close to the river. The scent is nauseating today, and I choke back a gag. I feel like I’m chewing on mucky saw grass. I make my way to the front door. Just as I reach it, a couple steps out. Chick. Dude. I don’t see faces, features. Only silhouettes. I step inside.

Bodies. Heartbeats. Laughter. Some cosmic weird tunes echoing off the walls—almost like the sounds a supposed spaceship would make. Some dude pushes by me. His T-shirt says
THEY ARE OUT THERE
.

“Hey gorgeous,” some guy says beside me. “You look lost. Want a drink?”

I glance at him wordlessly.

The guy chuckles, and his eyes divert to the ink on my cheek. His gaze travels down to my hands, where
only the tail of my dragon wraps around my fingers, then back to my face. “Sweet tats.” He glances at my shirt. “So what does Inksomnia mean?”

I lean in close, and his nostrils flare with male hormones. “It means fuck off,” I say sweetly, blink, and move back. My gaze locks on to his. The thump of his fast-paced heart resonates inside my head. I can almost feel the blood rushing through his veins. My mouth waters. Maybe I shouldn’t rush him away.

“Hey Aaron, come on,” another guy says behind him, grabbing his arm. “We’re late, man.” The guy flashes me a shy smile. I think I scare him.

Aaron is transfixed. He can’t move and his stare is locked on to mine in fascination. I lick my lips, and I watch his pupils dilate. Goddamn. I don’t even have to say anything. Ole Aaron is ready to screw my brains out right here and now. It wouldn’t take much, and this game is just too…invigorating. Powerful. I haven’t even been in the club for fifteen friggin’ minutes.

“Aaron, man,” his friend urges, avoiding my glare. “Come on.”

I lean in very close to Aaron, and my lips brush the shell of his ear. “Your loss,” I whisper.

Aaron’s eyes widen as his friend pulls him through the crowd and away from me.

My eyes immediately scan the crowd. Searching. Seeking…something.