Part Three
TERRORS
“Death is when the monsters get you.”
“I’ve started having . . . visions. Night terrors.
Day terrors. And they’re not of Victorian. It’s
something—or someone—else; I get the sick
feeling they’re weirdly familiar. I’m seeing in-
nocents die horrible deaths at the hands of a
vicious monster; watching it happen through
my own eyes as though it’s me doing the kill-
ing; as if I’m the monster. I even feel what the
monster is experiencing, and it’s . . . disgusting.
I’m not kidding—something’s gotta give be-
cause I can’t freaking take it anymore.”
By the time I’d closed Inksomnia’s doors a few nights
later, I’d realized with complete lucidity that our lives—all of
our lives—would never be the same again. There were no rose-colored
glasses here. Nope. My goggles were scratch free and squeaky-clean,
and, to be honest, I suppose I’d rather it be that way. Better to
know what’s coming than to ignorantly stand around with your thumb
up your butt, waiting for junk to happen.
For instance,
Preacher and Estelle no longer had to what the Gullah referred to
as “fix” me. Let’s face it. My DNA was royally screwed up, so I no
longer needed that particular concoction of God-Knows-What from
Preacher’s special behind-the-haint-blue-curtain herb collection. I
still had to have something—I mean, I was still human after all—but
not such a heavy dose, and my Gullah grandparents no longer had to
trick me daily into drinking my protective tea. I willingly did so
and kept a mammoth canister of it on my kitchen counter. Gilles
said that because I had the venom of two strigoi vampires’ mixed
with my DNA, my blood would slowly start morphing into something
unique, and soon I wouldn’t even need the tea. I’m not sure if I
should have been happy or freaked about that. Lucky for my brother,
he had the venom of only one strigoi mixed with his DNA. We’re both
pretty messed up, though, I guess you could say. Messed up, but not
stupid.
Another thing I’ve
noticed, and this just since getting back home, is my senses.
They’re changing. I mean, I’d known about the whole werewolf/Arcos
bit, but damn—I didn’t realize it’d get so intense. Or that it’d
continue to alter as it has. My hearing is ridiculously acute. I’m
starting to hear the most insane sounds, like the nuns over at the
Cathedral of St. John the Baptist (aka Cinderella’s Castle by Seth
and me), and that’s all the way over on East Harris Street. I can
literally hear them praying. At first, it was nothing more than a
cluster of hushed murmuring whispers; but, by the second day, the
whispers were totally clear and I could understand every word being
muttered—every single word. It made me feel like some freaky
eavesdropping voyeur or something. Weird. Even weirder was that I
could now pick up heartbeats, and only God knew how far away they
were. I heard them everywhere, and after a while it began to
seriously grate on the nerves. Thump thump thump thump thump thump.
Thump freaking thump. Eli promised to teach me how to channel it,
tune it out, or make use of it. I was looking forward to learning
those tricks and hopefully soon, because I felt as if I’ were
constantly holed up in a crowded bar with some drunken idiot
banging a set of drums. The softer the sound, the louder it was
inside my head. It was driving me frickin’ nuts.
And my sense of smell
was almost just as crazy. I could detect everything from a joint
being toked three blocks away in an upstairs apartment, to some
nasty drunk dude farting batter-fried onion rings in the corner
booth at Spanky’s.
I was standing in my
kitchen, steeping strong Gullah tea, when the first terror-vision
hit me. I wished to God it was my last. It wasn’t. I remember
glancing at the time on my Kit-Cat Klock—8:44 a.m.
A paralyzing grip
suddenly snatched control of my body; I dropped the spoon I was
using to stir sugar into my tea, and it clattered against the
granite countertop, then hit the floor. I couldn’t feel my fingers
or toes, and, at first, I couldn’t breathe. The insides of my eyes,
behind the sockets, turned boiling hot, then frigidly cold. A loud
ringing in my ears drowned out any and all noises, including the
ones I heard blocks away. Then everything went pitch-black. I tried
to speak, but my vocal cords were paralyzed, too. Panic, mixed with
anger, seized me.
All at once, a live
scene flashed behind my lids. It was nightfall, and I was following
a girl out of the mall. I wasn’t completely unfamiliar with the
place, but it definitely wasn’t Savannah. Young, petite, and blond,
looking to be in her early twenties, wearing red flip-flops, holey
jeans, and a purple tank top, she swung her hips as she made her
way toward the covered parking garage. She happily chatted to
someone on her cell and didn’t seem to notice me. A horn blew from
somewhere in the garage, and the girl squealed, then giggled to her
phone companion. I grew closer. In the distance, sounds of traffic
filled the night air.
Long shadows, birthed
from low light cast from the overhead lamps bracketed onto concrete
pillars, fell over the row of sparsely parked cars. Not many people
were about on a weeknight; no one was in the direct vicinity of the
girl. She turned down the row with a white metal sign marked by a
black capital B. I watched her closely.
She dug through her purse and retrieved a set of keys. At the same
time, she stopped at a white Camry and pushed the key release. The
horn gave one short blast as it unlocked the doors. With her chin
she held her cell, and she reached for the door
handle.
Hands not my own
grabbed her, whipped her around, and slammed her back against the
car. Large blue eyes widened in fear and confusion as they stared,
horrified, into mine. Tremors of fear wracked her body; I could
feel them. Adrenaline rushed through her veins; I could hear the
swooshing sound it made as though magnified, only to my ears. Her
heart slammed rapidly against her ribs, faster, harder. At the
indention in her throat, her pulse beckoned me. The moment she
filled her lungs with air to scream, I lunged at her neck and sank
my teeth into her flesh. The scream died in her throat as I ripped
through her larynx and her vocal cords, until the vessel I sought
popped; a rush of wet warmth, sweet, erotic, and heady, saturated
the inside of my mouth. I suckled her blood, excitement rushing
through me as I felt the liquid slide down my throat. The girl’s
body jerked, involuntarily, as life left her. The jerks were hard
at first, then weaker. The instant she sagged against me, her heart
having stilled and her eyes dull and lifeless, I dropped her body.
It crumpled into a heap at my feet, and I wiped my mouth with the
back of my hand.
“Riley!”
Strong hands gripped
my shoulders and shook me until my blurred vision cleared, and
Seth’s worried face came into view. He shook me again and shouted
so loud my ears rang. “Ri, wake up!”
“Whoa, back off,
Bro,” I said, and shook his hands off me. I squeezed my eyes shut,
opened them, and looked around. Slowly, my surroundings came into
focus. I glanced at the Kit-Cat Klock on the wall. It was 8:50 a.m.
Six minutes had passed.
What the
fu—
“Your eyes were
blank, but your face . . . ,” he said, and it was then I noticed
for the first time his voice had deepened.
“What about my face?”
I asked. I moved to the sink, flipped the faucet on, and splashed
myself with cold water.
Seth passed me the
hand towel. “You looked, I don’t know,” he said, then looked at me
with his expressive green eyes. “Mean. You looked mean, Ri.
Scary-mean. Not yourself.”
I dried my face and
thought about that. “Did I say anything?”
Seth shook his head,
a hank of dark hair falling into his eyes. He pushed it back. “No.
You just stood there, staring, and looking . . .
hateful.”
The memory of the
vision struck me, rushing back full force. I met my brother’s
worried gaze. “I saw something, Seth. Like a daydream, only it was
so freaking real. It was”—I searched for the right
word—“sickening.”
“What was it?” he
asked, and I noticed then how worried he truly was. His brows
pulled into a frown, his mouth thin. “Tell me.”
I closed my eyes and
dug my fingers into the sockets, rubbing hard. I looked at my
brother. “I saw a kill. I saw a vampire feed.”
Seth’s face grew
pale, and his eyes widened. “What?”
My mouth went dry as
the memory of the vision, so clear and realistic, pushed to the
very forefront of my mind. “It was as though I were him; I saw
everything as if I were the killer, only when my hands reached out,
they were not mine. They were his.” I shook my head. “I felt
everything, Seth. The girl’s terror. The rush of excitement as my
teeth sank into her artery. The blood as it pumped into my throat.
Every freaking thing.” Suddenly, my stomach rolled, every detail
returning in vivid recall, and I felt the color drain from my face.
My skin grew clammy. I covered my mouth with my hand. “I’m gonna be
sick.”
Seth grabbed my arm
and pulled me down the hall and into the bathroom with such speed,
my head spun just as violently as my stomach. Even then, we barely
made it. I stumbled, kicked the lid open with my foot, and retched
into the toilet. Seth held my hair back while I lost last night’s
lo mein noodles.
A cold, wet washcloth
was suddenly resting on the back of my neck. Seth flushed the
toilet, closed the lid, turned me around, and pushed me down onto
it. I rested my forearms on my knees and breathed, and my baby
brother, who seemed so grown up lately, squatted down to look at
me. Green eyes just like mine met me with intensity.
“You gotta tell Eli,”
Seth said.
I thought about it.
“Maybe. But I’m not. It’s probably just my mind effing with me, you
know? That night at Bonaventure still haunts me. Seriously. It’s
just a lot of crap to take in. We’ve been through hell, little
brother. Nasty-hell.”
The frown still on
Seth’s face proved he didn’t really believe me. “Yeah, I know, he
said. He ducked his head. “You okay, Ri?”
I wasn’t. Not at all.
“Yeah. I’m totally fine. Let’s get out of here, okay? And,” I said,
playfully punching his arm, “thanks. Not many dudes would hold a
girl’s hair while she puked her guts up.”
Seth’s eyes softened.
“Well, I’m not just any ole dude, and you’re my sister. I love
you.”
My heart was
melting.
“I love you, too,” I
said. “I’d hug you, but—”
“Yeah, gross,” he
finished, taking a step back. He held up his hands in defense. “No
postpuke hugging, please. That’s just nasty.” He
shuddered.
We both laughed, and
I did my very best for the rest of the day to forget the horror of
the daydream. Good thing it was Sunday and Inksomnia was closed.
I’m not positive I could have kept it to myself.
Eli had gone with his
brothers and Gilles to some monthly guardian meeting at Bethesda
with Preacher and his people, and while I missed being with Eli,
I’d craved time alone with my little brother. So I spent the early
part of the day with just Seth. It seemed like forever since we’d
done that, and even in spite of the awful, realistic daydream, we
had fun. We had breakfast with Estelle and took Chaz to Forsythe
Park for a long walk. Then later we hit Cleary’s for lunch. We both
had the Reuben, and, swear to God, they make the best ones in
Savannah. I could have eaten two and had to literally stop myself
from ordering a second.
One of the tendencies
Seth and I shared: voracious appetites. We both ate like friggin’
hogs. Luckily our metabolisms kept up with the amount of food we
dumped in.
On the way home, we
hit the Pig (that’s the everpopular southern grocery chain store
Piggly Wiggly, aka Hoggly Woggly, aka the PW), picked up some milk,
dog food, a twelve-pack of Cherry Coke, a pack of T-bones, another
twelve-pack of Octoberfest, some junk food, and a few things for
Estelle, then headed home. As we cruised the city streets with the
top off the Jeep, the sun pelted me through the sporadic holes in
the overhead canopy of oaks and pines. As my skin warmed, and the
briny breeze wafted from the Savannah River to my nostrils, I could
almost put behind me the horribleness of that damn daydream, and
the way that girl had died; the way I’d felt it, tasted it,
experienced it, and how wickedsick real it had been. I mean, I’d
tasted her blood. I’d felt it slide down my throat. How the hell
could that be?
The girl’s face kept
randomly flashing behind my lids, and it was disturbing as holy
freaking hell. Her facial features, right down to the small gap in
her front teeth, seemed so exact. It was almost as if I’d met her
before. Maybe she was a past client I’d inked? That could
definitely be a possibility. I’d inked a lot of people. Overall,
though—why her?
The afternoon sun
waned, and weak early-evening shadows now fell from lampposts, live
oaks, and parking meters as we crossed Bay, pulled onto the
merchant’s drive and parked the Jeep behind Inksomnia.
“Hey, there’s Eli,”
Seth said, and pointed.
Eli was there,
waiting for me, and, I confess, he had the sole capability to take
my breath away. His bike was almost as hot as he was. The liquid
silverback chopper sat propped on its kickstand, half helmet
hanging off a handlebar, the whole package looking kick-ass. Eli
leaned casually against the seat; legs crossed at the ankles, arms
folded over his chest, he was wearing nothing but a pair of
low-slung worn jeans, boots, and a white T-shirt, and the silver
hoop at his brow. I couldn’t see his eyes—they were masked by his
shades—but I knew he stared at me. He studied every inch of me. My
sex drive kicked me mule-hard, and I wanted him. Just knowing he
watched me behind the privacy of his sunglasses shot a thrill
through me. A sexier man did not exist, I swear it.
A small smile tilted
the corner of his mouth. Freaking ego. Of course, he’d been
listening and had joyfully heard every word I’d
thought.
“Hey, Eli,” Seth said
cheerfully, grabbing nearly all the bags from the back of the Jeep.
He had a twenty-five-pound bag of Chaz’s dog food slung over one
shoulder as he passed what no one would ever guess to be a nearly
two-hundred-year-old vampire.
“What’s up, Seth?”
Eli answered, but he didn’t move. Behind those shades his gaze
remained fixed on me.
“Nothin’ much.
Hangin’ with the sister,” Seth said with a grin, and disappeared
inside. Chaz’s excited bark met my ears, and in seconds, Seth
emerged with the Australian shepherd on a leash. “Be back in a
bit,” he said, his smile wide. “We’ve got training at your folk’s
place at eight. I can’t wait.” He waved and disappeared around the
corner.
Eli didn’t move. He
mouthed, Come here, and, oh hell yeah,
I did just that. I stepped out of the Jeep and swaggered over to
him, hoping I was half as distracting to him as he was to me. I was
wearing my faded low-rise jeans and the fuchsia floral cami I knew
he liked— mainly because it skimmed just above my belly button. I
stopped when I was directly in front of him and placed one leg on
either side of his. I leaned forward, bracing my weight with the
heel of my palms on the sides of his hips. I drew so close, our
noses nearly touched. I could see my reflection in his
shades.
Neither of us said a
word.
Eli’s hands slipped
around my waist, grazing the bare skin of my lower back, and moved
his mouth over mine in a kiss that had me wet and burning for him
within five seconds. My hands slid up his back and around his neck;
I kissed him back. The slightest pressure pulled my body against
his, and I briefly thought how well we fit together. His hands
moved over my ass; his hard bulge let me know I affected him just
as much, and I groaned against his mouth. “I’m not above taking you
right here, right now,” I whispered, and licked his tongue. I felt
his smile beneath my lips.
“Another thing I love
about you,” he said in a low voice. “You’re not shy.” His fingers
threaded through my hair and he pulled me tight against his mouth.
His kiss drugged me.
Finally, breathless,
and just a shade under being pornographic in public, I leaned back
and took off his shades. His profound stare never ceased to stun
me; the weight of it froze me. Fathomless and ancient at once, his
eyes locked on to mine. It was then I knew with complete certainty
that I’d never be satisfied with anyone else except Eli—a pretty
scary thought, actually.
The sexiest grin I’d
ever seen crossed his face. “Ah, my evil plan has succeeded. Come
here, mostly mortal woman. There is nothing to be scared of. Let me
ravish you,” he drawled in heavy French. I laughed, and he pushed a
loose strand of fuchsia hair out of my eyes and tucked it behind my
ear. Then he stopped, studying me; his gaze narrowed, and a slight
early-evening breeze rustled his already-tousled hair. All
playfulness had vanished, replaced by uncanny perception. “What’s
wrong?”
I shrugged. “Nothing.
A dream I had earlier shook me up a little.” I sighed. “Freaking
vampires.”
Eli pulled me close
and buried his face in my hair. He inhaled deeply. “Must’ve shaken
you more than a little.” He leaned back and frowned. “You’re making
goofy jokes and you didn’t drink your tea.”
That he could smell
my unprotected blood amazed me; it also knocked me a notch or two
back to reality.
“It should,” he said,
taking more liberties with my thoughts. “You might think you’re
invincible with your new tendencies, but trust me—you’re not. Your
blood may have changed some; I don’t zone in on it rushing through
your veins like I used to. But it’s still tempting, addicting.” He
frowned. “Drink the damn tea, Riley. I don’t care if you eat the
stuff. Just get it into your system.” He grazed my jaw with a
finger. “Please?”
“Okay, okay,” I
answered. “I really didn’t mean to forget it, even though your dad
told me that because of the strigoi factor in my DNA, I may be able
to stop the tea altogether.”
“That’s not now, so
humor me. Drink the tea.” With his index finger, Eli traced the
dragon inked into my skin; all the way up my arm. He followed it
until it disappeared beneath my shirt; then Eli grasped my chin.
The look he gave me sent two kinds of chills up my spine—one of
fear; one of pure sexual heat. “I don’t want to have to work so
hard not to hurt you.”
“Point taken, Dupré,”
I said, and I reminded myself I was crazy about a vampire who could
kill me in seconds if he lost control. “Getting tea
now.”
“Oh—my parents want
us to have dinner with them Saturday night,” Eli said as we made
our way into my ink shop. “Formal wear. You and Seth.” He grinned
down at me as we walked. “Every once in a while they like to dress
up, like in the old days when, you know—that’s the way it was done.
Old music and stuff. It’s kinda fun. You up for it?”
My mind mentally
scanned my closet, then scanned Seth’s. “When you say ‘dress up
like in the old days,’ do you mean corsets and funny hoops beneath
my dress, or what?”
Eli laughed. “No,
just modern formal wear.”
At the door I
stopped, rose up on my toes, and kissed him. “I’m not your typical
debutante, you know.”
“Yeah, I know,” he
answered, eyes locked on mine. “It’s one of your
charms.”
I grinned. “Yep.
We’re up for it. What time?”
“Seven.”
Seth rounded the
corner alley with Chaz just as we were stepping inside. “Sounds
good. I’ll ask Nyx to take my appointments after
five.”
“What’s up?” Seth
asked as we walked through the doorway. Chaz ran ahead, his nails
clicking on the wood plank floor.
“Dinner with Dracula
and Company,” I answered, shooting Eli a smart-ass grin. “Saturday
night. Seven. And no Vans and baggy shorts with the crotch at the
knees and your drawers hanging out. Formal wear.”
“Sweet,” Seth
said.
Eli just smiled and
shook his head.
We spent the rest of
Sunday pretending everything was normal. I guess for us, it was,
although my mind never fully let loose the events that led me to
where I’m at right now. Part of me was glad; Eli was in my life.
For how long, I didn’t know. The other part hated it. The Arcoses
had nearly claimed my baby brother, and I don’t know if I could
have survived that.
We walked Estelle’s
stuff over and visited with her and Preacher for a bit. Their back
kitchen seemed like a mystical, unearthly place now, dimmed lights
and shadows, where the unique African herbs and concoctions from Da
Plat Eye wafted in like some crazy aromatic air infusion. Estelle’s
sausage, shrimp, and red rice stewed on the stovetop, and she sat
in the corner, surrounded by sweetgrass strands, weaving a basket
and wearing her hair wrapped in one of her colorful traditional
Gullah cloths. Preacher sat, wearing his usual long-sleeved plaid
shirt and denims (he called them dungarees, and that totally
cracked me up), scolding me (after Eli ratted me out) about
forgetting my tea.
“Don’ get too
complacent, girl,” Preacher had said, his ebony skin a beautiful
contrast to his snow-white hair. He reminded me of an older Danny
Glover. “I mean dat, right. You git too big for your britches, you
might get hurt.” He’d reached over and grasped my hands with his.
“I ain’t puttin’ up wit dat, now.”
Capote, Preacher’s
cousin, had stopped by, and I swear, he was one funny-ass old man.
He never, never went without a big, blinding smile, and he always
had some sort of hysterical story to tell about him and Preacher
from their childhood. He sat at the table with us, a bag of boiled
peanuts in his lap, eating and shelling just as fast as his fingers
and mouth would work. He’d looked at me and shaken his head. “Girl,
you done fell in wit some crazy folk, right?” he’d said, jerking
his head toward Eli. “Dem Duprés—wooo, now, you done fell in wit
dem for sure.” He laughed and shook his head again. “Dey good folk
doh, dat’s right. Always have been. Dey treat you good. You do da
same.”
Once we left
Preacher’s (with a big Tupperware filled with Estelle’s gumbo and a
bag of boiled peanuts—I swear I could live off them), we headed to
Monterey Square. Seth was already there with Josie; Phin and Luc
had just returned from Tybee (they’d been checking out some new
gaming software Ned Gillespie had developed); the Lord of the Flies boys, along with Zetty, walked in
behind Eli and me. We’d all agreed on group training twice a week
at the Dupré House, where the complete top floor had been renovated
into a wicked-awesome, upgraded donjon. It’d been pretty cool as a
gym before, but now? Damn. I walked in for the first time and
stared.
“Wow,” I muttered,
and looked around at the punching bags, table of blades, the vamp
dummies, and the various-sized surfaces—pretty much synthetic
rock—for leaping and jumping. I glanced at Elise and Gilles, who’d
followed us upstairs. “You’ve been busy.”
“Yeah, sweet Mr. and
Mrs. D.,” Riggs said, pushing past me. “Awesome.”
I glanced at Riggs;
at his baggy shorts, his Eminem T-shirt, and his Nike Airs, and
then, his shaggy hair held in place by a red bandanna. “Nice
headband, Riggs,” I said, noticing he had one holding back his
bangs.
“I wore it just for
you, babe,” he said, grinning. He inclined his head. “Wanna
spar?”
I grinned back. The
little turd knew I hated being called babe. “Oh yeah,” I said.
“Let’s go.”
Luc let out a
whistle, clapped, and smiled, the hoop in his lip silver and, in my
biased opinion, so him. “Yeah, baby—some action! Step back,
folks—kids, wannabes”—he glanced at his parents—“and the elderly.”
He grinned and backed toward the wall. “Poe’s got the
floor.”
I rolled my eyes at
him—what a nerd. I pointed at him. “You’re next.”
A round of oooh’s
went through the donjon.
Elise Dupré smiled
broadly at me. “That I’ll be looking forward to, darling.” She
turned to Gilles. “We’ve got that auction on eBay,
darling.”
“Oui,” he answered, and, grinning, the two left the
donjon.
I felt pretty certain
she hadn’t particularly appreciated being called elderly. It was
one thing to think it, but to say it? Eesh. I did think it
hilarious that the matriarch and patriarch of the family raced to
eBay auctions.
Riggs sauntered to
the center of the mat, whipped his Emenem shirt over his head, and
tossed it aside, leaving a pretty impressive six-pack (for a kid)
exposed. Good God, that boy thought his boat rocked. Before he had
tendencies, he was just a smart-ass adolescent with a cocky
attitude. Now he had . . . powers. And while his experience had
matured him some, he was still, well, pervy, cocky Riggs. Now he
and his ego would be impossible to live with. He needed an attitude
adjustment.
I was going to kick
his ass.
With a quick glance
at Eli, whose wicked grin told me he’d just read my thoughts, I met
Riggs on the mat. The others watching clapped, Phin whistled again,
and Riggs began to circle me. I let him—for a few. You know, he had
to show off a little, for the other Flies, and I gave him that. He
did some pretty amazing wall jumps (where he ran toward the wall,
then sort of ran up it, then flipped over me), some sick leaps
directly over my head, and a few cool roundhouse kicks. Yep. He was
one impressive little shit-with-tendencies.
The moment he landed
from his roundhouse, I crouched and swept his legs with one kick.
Riggs hit the mat, back down with a smack. Everyone laughed,
clapped—whatever.
Riggs stared up at me
from the floor, grinning, as I extended my hand. He took it, and I
pulled him up. He leaned close. “See? I knew I’d get you to touch
me,” he said in my ear. “Babe.”
Then, all at once,
several things, none of which I had any control over, hit me
hard.
Quick as lightning,
Riggs grasped my forearm and whole-body flipped me. As I went
airborne, that same sick sensation I’d experienced with Seth came
over me; I knew another awful image was about to fill my brain. My
body went limp, and shadows fell behind my eyelids. I saw nothing,
heard nothing—couldn’t speak, and I don’t remember even hitting the
mat. I remained weightless in some dark, cloudy fog, where nothing
else existed, as if I’d totally left the donjon. Finally, a sound—a
heartbeat. I can’t tell you if it was mine or someone else’s. At
first, it was muffled, but it grew in tone and
intensity.
Then, slowly, my
vision returned. Blurred at first, it went in and out of tune like
an old TV set, and finally, it focused on . . . I blinked several
times. A girl. In a bar. No, a club. In a booth. Music banging.
Punk music banging. Surroundings unfamiliar. Girl unfamiliar. Girl
totally wasted. She was a partier, midtwenties, heavy black eye
makeup, Marilyn Monroe–ish, white-bleached bobbed hair with orange
streaks. Her black leather strapless bustier barely contained her
heavy breasts. She leaned over the table, picked up the glass of
her mixed drink, and licked first the rim, then her dark red lips.
Her brown eyes were hazed, and her pheromones were so pungent, I
could smell them. She was horny and wanted me, only . . . I wasn’t
me. Of course I wasn’t me. I wasn’t into girls. She saw him; not
me. I could hear her heart beating erratically. She reached out for
my hand, grasped it, and I looked down. The hand wasn’t mine. It
was male; older, rough-skinned, not Victorian’s smooth pale skin. I
knew that, though.
She stood and led me
out of the booth. The leather miniskirt she was wearing hardly
covered her ass, and the bustier was laced in back, revealing bare
skin. I noticed a tattoo on her lower back. It was Death’s fingers,
his long skeletal bones spread out across her, beckoning; it was my
work. I had inked her before. She was laughing, stumbling as she
made her way to the exit. She was pulling me, and I could feel her
hand in mine; yet . . . it wasn’t me. But I could feel whoever it
was. I knew what was going to happen; I could feel the anticipation
of the kill inside me. I tried to move my lips, vibrated my vocal
cords, and tried to warn her. I tried to scream, and deep inside
me, I felt immense anxiety to warn her. It was no use. I was
speechless, useless, not really even here. I could do nothing but
watch—watch and be horrified.
The girl pushed out
into the night, and the air was muggy, heavy; the faint scent of
salt clung to my tongue. She hung on me as we walked, and she half
stumbled, half pulled me along the sidewalk, drunkenly laughing,
until the lights from the club, the thumping music from within,
became dull and barely there. I heard only her heartbeat. I tried
to yank back, but my body wasn’t really my own. Long shadows fell
across her, and she pulled me into an alley. The scent of mingled
mold and urine and brine reached my nostrils, and she fell against
the brick wall, staring at me with her wide, drug-hazed,
lust-filled eyes. How stupid she was; how utterly freaking
ignorantly stupid.
A zipper closed the
front of her leather bustier. She grasped the metal tab and pulled
it down to her waist. Her breasts spilled out, and she grabbed my
hands, pressing them to her skin. Inwardly, I resisted. Again, it
was no use. Her head fell back, and she moaned.
It was the very last
sound she ever voluntarily made.
The heartbeat I felt
wasn’t mine, but hers, and it resonated within my head, strong,
heady, and I lunged at her bared chest. Her moan died in a liquid
curdling sound as her body fell hard to the cobbled ground; I
followed her down. Blood, bone, and flesh flashed before my eyes, a
vicious carnage that nauseated me. I couldn’t pull away, I couldn’t
look away. Yet the need, the hunger—the horror—roared within me.
Liquid warmth flowed down my throat, sweet, intoxicating, and my
throat constricted as I sucked.
“Riley!”
My head snapped,
hitting something hard, and my cheek stung as a hand smacked it. My
eyes fluttered open, and I stared up—into the widened eyes of
Riggs. He was straddling me, I was flat on my back on the donjon
mat, and his hand was raised to give me another smack. His hand
never reached my skin.
“Don’t do that again,
kid,” Eli said, his voice edged with threat, a death grip on Riggs’
hand. “Get off her.”
Riggs moved—fast, and
then I was looking into Eli’s eyes as he bent down on one knee and
hovered over me. He stared, hard, for several seconds, and I knew
he was digging in my brain. With a stern look, his gaze traveled
over my body, then searched my face. “Yeah, I am digging. What the
hell’s going on, Riley?”
Seth squatted down
beside me and leaned over. “Ri? You okay?”
“I’m okay, Seth.” I
sat up. “Seriously. No worries.”
Behind my brother
stood Phin, Luc, and Josie; behind them, Zetty, Riggs, and the
others. They all looked at me as if I’d grown another freaking
head. “What?” I asked, glancing at all of them, then back to Eli. I
stared silently, frustration and a little anger growing faster by
the second. Tucking my foot under my ass, I moved to stand. Eli
pushed me back down. In the next second Zetty was standing there,
pinching dust from his protective pouch and sprinkling it over
me.
He muttered something
in Tibetan.
“Zetty, stop it!” I
said, waving my hand in front of my face. “What the
hell?”
“You got some bad
stuff in you, Riley,” he said in his heavy Nepali accent. “It needs
to come out.”
I glared at him.
“Well thanks, Zet-Man. I’ll see what I can do.”
Zetty glared back,
then moved away. Eli was there, doing his share of
glaring.
“Tell me,” he said,
his frown deepening and his blue eyes growing dark.
“Now.”
I frowned back.
“Jesus, Eli. Chill.”
He continued to
stare, waiting for an answer.
I sighed. “It was
another daydream. Very realistic—”
“How realistic?” he
asked.
I looked at him,
blocking out everyone else from the room. I focused solely on Eli.
“Very. I see a kill. Feel it. As if I’m the killer.” With my thumb
and forefinger, I rubbed my closed eyes, digging hard into the
sockets, trying to erase the images, the feelings. “I ... feel his
emotions, his desires, and they’re so gross—”
“Is it Victorian
Arcos?” Eli asked.
The fury in his face
was almost frightening. “No,” I answered. “But he’s male. In the
daydream, when I reach out, it’s not my hand but his.” I shook my
head and looked at him. “It’s freaky, and I hate it.” I inhaled.
“Can I get up now?”
Eli didn’t answer me,
but he grasped my hand and pulled me up.
“So what’s causing
it, Eli?” asked Phin. He ran a hand over his short blond hair and
stared at his brother. “I don’t like it, Bro. Something’s
up.”
Eli kept silent, his
gaze trained on me. “Yeah.” He inclined his head. “Let’s
go.”
“Where?” I asked.
“You know I don’t like to be bossed—”
“Now, Riley,” Eli
said, his stern expression edgy. “I mean it. To my parents’ study.
They’ have to know.”
Phin and Luc were
already halfway across the donjon floor. My gaze lit on Seth’, and
then on Josie, who stood right next to him. She looked at me, eyes
fixed and reading me as though she could see straight through me.
She picked up on my apprehension. “It’ll be cool,” she said with
encouragement. “Eli’s right. Mother and Papa can
help.”
With Eli’s hand on my
elbow, I made my way to the Duprés’ study. Phin and Luc had waited.
Eli reached around me, caught my gaze and held it, then turned the
antique cut-glass knob and pushed open the door. I walked through a
mixture of jasmine and the scent of a sweet cigar kicked up by a
whirling ceiling fan as I entered the room. In the next second, a
breeze grazed my cheek; Phin and Luc were across the room. I hadn’t
even seen them move. My gaze lit on Eli’s parents, seated at a
large mahogany desk near the window. Elise studied something on the
computer’s flat-screen monitor. Gilles leaned over her shoulder,
obviously interested.
“Take the bid up to
twenty-five pounds, love,” Gilles said to Elise.
“Ah, and then we’ll
wait and snipe,” Elise said, typing in her request. Gilles looked
up and smiled at me. “On eBay. I’ve a penchant for antique pocket
watches.”
“Papa,” Eli said, his
slight French accent catching my attention. “Riley has . . . an
issue. We need your counsel.”
Gilles rose and
walked to me, stopping no more than a few feet away. His profound
stare struck me. “What is the matter, ma
chérie?” He cocked his head. “Dreams, I see,” he said,
nodding, before I could answer. “Of kills? Tell me.”
I glanced at Eli, and
he nodded. I continued. “It’s as if . . . I’m him. The killer. And
it’s not Victorian Arcos. It’s another male, and I’m seeing through
his eyes. I can feel him. He attacks and feeds, but I can’t stop
what he does.” I shook my head. “I try, but I can’t speak, move, or
control his actions. It’s as if I’m . . . behind his eyelids.” I
looked at Eli’s dad. “I recognized the last victim by her tattoo.
It was my work.”
Gilles stroked his
smoothly shaven chin; clear blue eyes the same shocking color as
Eli’s regarded me. “You’ve a vampire’s venom inside you, Riley,” he
said. “Yet you say it is not Victorian.” His gaze, curious, sought
mine. “How do you know?”
It wasn’t that Gilles
frightened me; he didn’t. I trusted him, just as I did Eli. But
whenever I was around him, the feeling that I’d snuck and done
something wrong and had just been busted overcame me. I’d been
caught with Mary Jane stuffed in my locker in eighth grade once,
and the school security guard had walked right up and caught me
stuffing the plastic baggy in my backpack. He’d dragged me to the
principal’s office, and it was that feeling. Gilles Dupré was an
extremely profound soul.
Gilles smiled,
clearly amused. He truly loved to read my thoughts. “Again,
chérie. How do you know that it is not
Victorian? It can be no other, oui?”
“I ripped Valerian’s
heart out myself,” Eli said quietly.
“I helped Phin burn
the rest of his body,” said Luc. “No way can it be
him.”
“That leaves
Victorian,” said Phin. He moved to stand next to me, folding his
arms over his chest. “You have only the venom of the Arcoses. Like
Papa said, there can be no other.”
I shook my head and
looked first at Phin, then at Gilles. “I’ve seen his hand—it’s . .
. rougher in texture, older skin, leathery. Definitely not
Victorian’s young pale skin.”
Gilles glanced at
Elise, then directly at Eli. “This concerns me, then. My only other
guess is that another is projecting himself into you.” He regarded
me closely. “You’ve obviously captured another’s
attention.”
“Pissed them off is
probably more accurate,” said Luc, and he looked at me. With a flip
of his head, his shaggy dark blond hair swept out of his eyes.
“Could’ve been any of the newlings,” he said. “Or possibly someone
they’ve since turned.”
I closed my eyes,
grasped the bridge of my nose, and swore in Romanian under my
breath. “So what am I supposed to do? Watch innocent people die?
Deal?” It’s what I’d done my whole damn life, right? Why stop
now?
The room fell silent
for all of five seconds; everyone stared at me. I figured the whole
Dupré family had read my inner rant. At this point, I didn’t care
anymore. Let’em read.
“We find him,” Eli
said, that deadly edge back in his voice, his hand going
protectively to the small of my back. I shivered. “And we kill
him.”