by Elle Jasper
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 harnes
s 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.