Afterlight

by Elle Jasper

  Preacher gave a single nod, then turned to the door; he didn’t have to knock or ring a bell. The moment I stepped into the porch light beside him, the double-hung slabs of solid oak and brass opened, and an older man in a pristine tailored gray suit stood in the entranceway. Tall and wiry, with close-clipped gray hair, he gave me a double take, then addressed Preacher.

  “They’re waiting for you in the study, monsieur,” the man said with a vague French accent. He didn’t verbally acknowledge me, but he checked out my dragons, angel wing, and attire: a gauzy flower-print skirt that came just above my knees, a ripped white tee, black leather ankle boots, and a wide black velvet choker. “This way,” he said, and inclined his head. He started up the foyer, back ramrod straight, and turned into a room off the main floor, near the back. We followed, my heels clicking sharply against the parquet flooring, breaking a deafening silence. Antique vases, ancient oil portraits, and pristine turn-of-the-century furniture adorned what small portion of the house I could see. The moment I stepped into the room, I stiffened. No fewer than fifteen people were gathered, and all sets of eyes rested on me as we entered. Only six weren’t Gullah. A young girl, who seemed to be around the same age as Seth, stood beside an elegant, petite older woman and an older man. Immediately, my gaze scanned the room; I noticed two younger guys, around my age I guessed, and then I saw the hot guy who’d stared at me through Inksomnia’s storefront window. He stood near the back, the farthest away from me, and four big Gullah guys—I knew them all—stood around him, almost . . . shielding him. Seemingly un-bothered by it, he was propped casually against the wall, arms crossed over his chest, brown hair sideswept and falling over eyes that, even from this distance, I could tell studied me with expressionless intensity. Low-slung faded jeans with a ragged hole in the thigh, a leather belt, and a snug white tee covered a lean, well-defined body. Then I noticed his jaw, his profile, and familiarity surged through me. I stared back, slightly unhinged as another profile, in shadows as I was held against a wall, rushed over me. It was him. What the freak? But before I could demand what the hell was going on, a man’s voice pulled my attention away, effortlessly, as if I had zero control. It was smooth, French, and mesmerizing.

  “Bonsoir, ma chère,” the elderly man said as he slowly rose from a wine-colored upholstered wingback chair near the hearth. His gaze locked directly onto mine as he drew closer, and I found it difficult to think of anyone or anything else except him and his voice. He moved so gracefully, it almost seemed as though he glided across the massive room. Stopping just a few feet from me, he gave a small, sophisticated bow and a warm smile. “Accueillir à la maison de Duprè.”

  I stared blankly at the man, and just as I was about to tell him I had no idea what the hell he was saying, I felt Preacher’s hand move to the small of my back. I took that as a sign to keep my mouth shut.

  “Oh, Gilles,” said the petite woman, also with a French accent, “in English, love.” She gave me a glance.

  “Ah, oui—pardon,” the man—apparently Gilles—said to me, switching to English. “My apologies, young lady. ’Tis an old habit difficult to break, I’m afraid.” He gave me a curt nod. “Welcome to the House of Dupré.” A sharp cerulean blue gaze met mine and held it. “We’ve been expecting you.”

  What I wanted to say was, That’s great, really, but how can you help my brother? And what about the guy over there who has been stalking me? Firm pressure at my back from Preacher kept the question in check. With my eyes, though, I screamed, What’s going on? Why have you been expecting me?

  In the next instant, Preacher began speaking to Gilles Dupré in perfect French. I waited, stunned, and picked up only one word in the fast translation: Seth. It was getting more and more difficult to keep my mouth shut, and already I’d had more than I could take of all the silent stares and scrutiny. But just as I was about to lose it, Gilles turned back to me. He grasped both of my hands with his, and I stiffened. Preacher’s body went rigid beside me, but I remained calm. Well, calm for me, anyway. At least I didn’t flip the old guy onto his back.

  Gilles glanced down at our joined hands, and I watched his eyes follow the tail of my dragon tattoo up my arm before finding my gaze. Again, the sensation of complete fascination came over me as he spoke. “Riley Poe. The painted one,” he said, almost with admiration. “You are well loved by your dark brethren here, as is your brother. You are . . . family.” He released my hands and gave a grave nod. “I do understand about family, ma chère.” With a long, elegant sweep of his hand, he glanced to the others. “This is my family, Ms. Poe. There sits my beloved, Elise, my sweet daughter, Josephine, and my boys”—he motioned farther with his hand—“Séraphin, Jean-Luc, and over there in the corner, brooding, is my eldest, Eligius.”

  I stared wordlessly at the family Dupré. Elise, petite, with perfectly coiffed dark hair pulled back into an elegant ponytail, was at least fifteen years younger than her husband. She smiled warmly at me and gave a short, sophisticated nod. Their daughter, Josephine, stood next to her mother’s chair, watching me with inquisitiveness, and looked as though she wanted to say something as badly as I did. Light brown hair hung in naturally wild curls to nearly her waist and parted in the middle, long bangs pinned back hippy style, and wide cerulean blue eyes just like her parents’ stared blatantly at me. With a pair of dark skinny jeans, bright pink high-top sneakers, and a black T-shirt with a hot pink peace sign on the front, she looked like every other average teenager. She glanced at my feet, then met my gaze. “I like your boots. And it’s Josie.” She gave a wicked grin.

  Preacher once more pressed firmly against my back, silently telling me to keep quiet. I stared at Josie without saying a word, and her mouth tipped up into a smile—almost as if she knew my thoughts.

  Séraphin and Jean-Luc studied me, neither saying a word, and they looked so much alike, they could’ve easily been twins. Both with athletic physiques and dark blond hair, Séraphin wore his close clipped while Jean-Luc’s was longer and crazy. They regarded me in silence, yet their expressions revealed intense curiosity and something else I couldn’t define just then. Then Jean-Luc flashed me a peace sign and grinned. All I knew was, no matter how many in the room stared me down, Eligius was the one that affected me most. And that totally irritated me.

  I gave only a brief glance at him. Eligius Dupré. Clearly, I was familiar with his good looks and harsh stares and was beginning to get really pissed off at him and this whole situation. What the hell was all this about? Why had Eligius been following me, what had happened to the dead body, and—Shit! I was confused. Why had Preacher brought me here? How could these people help Seth? And why couldn’t I say anything? I glanced at Preacher, who also said nothing, but I knew that look. It said, Do what I said, girl. Finally, I returned my gaze to Gilles, who warmly smiled. I could do nothing more than wait.

  “Now that you have observed ma famille, chère, know us well. Just as we know you well; we will all become quite . . . close.” He grazed my jaw with a long, elegant finger, and I struggled not to knock it away. He smiled. “Ah, oui. Your Preacher has told us of your dislike for human touch.” He chuckled and slid a finger across my jaw once more. “I can assure you—’tis not what you think.”

  The rest of the Duprés chuckled as well—all except Eligius, and despite my previous promise, I just couldn’t help myself. I narrowed my eyes. “You’ve no idea what I think.”

  Preacher made a hissing sound beside me and muttered an African word whose meaning I didn’t know but had a pretty good idea about. I gave him a curious glance. “What?” I asked under my breath, although I knew good and well what.

  “Come, my fierce painted one,” Gilles said. He grasped my elbow and gently tugged me toward the chair he’d vacated earlier, and for some reason, I allowed it. “Sit. We’ve much to discuss.”

  I sat down, throwing a curious look at Preacher, who simply stared back expressionless. I didn’t have to wait long.

  Gilles stood at the hearth, elbow propp
ed against a long, polished antique mantel, and began. “Your Gullah brethren and my family have known one another for many years,” he said, his accent light, delicate. “And with regret I confess we’ve all grown complacent.” He sighed, briefly closed his eyes, then looked again at me. “We should never have let our guard down, even for a moment. It was—”

  “Gilles,” his wife, Elise, said softly. “Please.”

  “Oui, you’re so right, love,” he said. “Best to just come out and say it.” He sighed again. “A contract was made, centuries ago, between Preacher’s ancestors and the Dupré famille,” he said. “They would supply us with . . . necessities, and we in turn would give full protection to the city and outlying islands. A guardianship, if you will.”

  Gilles watched me, waiting for an understanding that I absolutely couldn’t give to him; I had no freaking idea what he was talking about. Although I wanted to question how an old man, a middle-aged woman, a teenage girl, and three young guys could still be carrying on some aged contract to guard an entire city—and from what—I kept quiet. A marathon for me, actually, but if Preacher’s grave expression meant anything, I knew this was something I needed to chill out with and listen to—for now, anyway. Somehow, this had to link back to what in hell was happening to my little brother. And strangely enough, I sensed a freakish strength radiating from Gilles Dupré. I couldn’t explain it, but I think it helped keep my mouth shut and my ass firmly planted in the chair.

  Gilles continued. “You see, my painted one, your brother and his young friends disrupted a tomb and inadvertently released two vicious souls—a pair of brothers. Valerian and Victorian Arcos.” He stepped close to me and cocked his head. “They, like us, are descendants from a powerful, rare bloodline of the strigoi in Romania. They will stop at nothing, chère, to take what they want, and trust me”—he gave a wan smile—“they will indeed want. They will not be so easy to subdue again.”

  Strigoi? What the hell? The vacant stare in my eyes had to be blatantly obvious; then, it hit me, and I couldn’t believe it. I glanced around at the entire room, despite having Preacher tell me to be still and keep quiet. I just couldn’t help it. The Gullah fixed their dark stares on me; the Duprés watched silently, all waiting for my response, I supposed. Slowly, I rose from the chair, shook my head, and gave a short laugh of disbelief. I still couldn’t believe it. I turned to Preacher. “Zombies, Preach? Seriously? You think Seth and his friends unleashed zombies from da hell stone? No disrespect—you know I heed your warnings—but zombies? You know I don’t believe in stuff like that, and I don’t have time for this,” I said, and started for the door. I glanced back over my shoulder. “I’ve got to look for my brother—”

  “Stay.”

  The familiar voice made my head spin around, and I gasped—then swore—in complete shock. Eligius Dupré blocked the doorway and stood so close, I could smell whatever earthy, seductive scent he was wearing. How had he moved so freaking fast? Every Gullah in the room, Preacher included, moved toward me, the room filled with a mixture of frantic African and French languages. All at once, the overwhelming urge to scream, cry, and run like hell overcame me, and I pushed past Eligius Dupré in an effort to try. “Move it, garçon,” I said sarcastically as a sob stuck in my throat and my voice cracked—two very unlikely behaviors for me. The foyer was clear, and I ran all the way to the front door, and then out of it. Outside, at the bottom of the steps, Eligius stood, waiting.

  “Shit!” I swore under my breath and stopped short. Again—how had he moved so fast? Twice! It was . . . impossible, and my brain couldn’t—wouldn’t—wrap around it. Wouldn’t even try. I honest to God could think of nothing better to say and was again in complete shock. “What the hell are you doing?” I asked, breathless with disbelief.

  “Trying to keep you from making an ass of yourself,” he said quietly, his smooth voice seemingly inside my head. “Now, come back inside if you want to find your brother.” He took two steps toward me, his features partially hidden by shadows. “Please.”

  The look of distrust on my face must have been more noticeable than I thought, because Eligius gave a slight smile. “Yes, there was a dead guy in the alley last night. I didn’t kill him. And we’re not zombies.” He inclined his head. “Can we go now?”

  When someone else said zombies, it sounded even more stupid than when I’d said it. What had I been thinking? But where Preacher was concerned, nothing—including zombies—could be ruled out. Preacher and Estelle firmly believed in them, among other things.

  “Child, come back in here now,” said Preacher from behind me. “Time is gittin’ by us, and your brodder is out dere.”

  Compelled by previous experiences to listen to Preacher, I gave Eligius one final hard stare, climbed the steps, and moved past my surrogate grandfather into the foyer wordlessly, but I didn’t miss the look he gave Eligius before following me in. I’d seen it hundreds of times before. It was a warning look, with the threat of retribution in his dark eyes. And that just didn’t make sense to me, even as I did as he asked. I entered the gathering room, hopefully for the last effing time, and was surprised to see everyone pretty much exactly where I’d left them.

  Gilles came forward. “My apologies, chère. I know this is much to take in. But please”—he gestured to the chair with his hand—“sit. There are things of which you must know.”

  I glanced at Preacher, who gave a short nod. I crossed the room and eased into the chair. Josie stood close, and she regarded me with an amused look. I sought out the other two Dupré boys, and their expressions were much the same as their sister’s.

  “As you can see, we’re not what you’d call . . . ordinary,” Gilles said, pacing slowly now before me. I crossed my legs, folded my arms over my chest, and kept my gaze trained on the older man: his pricey suit, his manicured nails, his aristocratic profile. In my peripheral I noted Eligius by the door, probably blocking any further escapes from me. My mind was a jumbled mess of doubts and panic; I’d do anything to help find Seth. But this was seriously wicked crazy.

  “Anything?” asked Gilles. He stopped and looked me in the eye. “Sincerely, chère?”

  My skin turned to ice; it seemed as if the old man had read my mind, or had I said it out loud? “Yes,” I responded in a sure, confident voice, calling off all earlier agreements I’d made with Preacher to keep quiet. And I was a little irritated. “Anything.”

  Gilles nodded. “Bon. Very good to hear.” He drew closer, stopped, and inclined his head. “But in order for you to help your brother, you must stay, and listen with an open mind and heart.”

  “I will,” I responded, recalling Preacher’s nearly exact same words.

  “Children?” he said to his family.

  Everything that happened next happened so freaking fast, I could barely keep up. I’d turned my head slightly to glance at Preacher, and when I looked back at Gilles, he wasn’t there. Jean-Luc was in his place. I searched out Josie, and while she’d just been standing beside her mother, she was now where Eligius had been, and he was now standing near the hearth. I stood, spun around, confused, only to notice that Gilles and Elise had traded places. No one stood where they once had, and they’d moved right before my eyes. I looked around, unsure, and felt myself beginning to shake nervously. “What’s . . . going on?” I asked quietly. What was this, some sort of freakish effing Cirque du Soleil family? French illusionists? Was I losing my mind?

  In the amount of time it took me to blink, Gilles stood once again before me. His smile was warm; his eyes gleamed . . . something else entirely different. Then a throat cleared loudly, and I glanced up to see Séraphin perched on the top of a tall bookcase in the corner. He jumped down with complete ease and was at my side in less than—swear to God—a second. I squelched a scream.

  “We are creatures of the afterlight,” said Gilles quietly. He reached down, grasped my hand, and continued to speak as he drew me across the room. I’m not sure why, but I willingly went as my mind spun wildly, trying
to figure out exactly what a creature of the afterlight was. “Nearly two centuries ago I was taken one night by another—an Arcos—and to this very day I know not why.” He closed his eyes and shook his head. “I left while my quickening took place, and once I was fully turned, I realized I couldn’t bear to be without my beloved family, so I selfishly took them, one by one, as they slept in their beds. I forced them to drink my tainted blood, and they, too, became like me. It was a hellish month of quickening that followed.”

  “Gilles, non,” said Elise quietly, and in the blink of an eye she was beside him, her arm linked through his. She laid her head on his shoulder. “Not selfish, mon bienaimé .”

  Now I shook my head, in complete and utter confusion. “Took them—creatures of the afterlight? Quickening? What does all that mean?” I asked. “And what’s it got to do with my brother and me?” Afterlight—what the Gullah called dusk—I got that; but the Arcos brothers, vicious killers, creatures of the afterlight? None of it made sense.

  Eligius was immediately at my side, and his eyes bored hard into mine. “The Arcoses are vampiric descendants of the strigoi,” he said, his voice seemingly inside my head once more. It was weird to finally see a face to match the voice, and I felt as though my gaze was fixed to his. His lips moved, and I couldn’t quite take my eyes off them, so he must have been speaking out loud. He gripped my arm, and just that fast, my reflexes kicked in. Only, they didn’t work. His grip was like a steel vise, and I couldn’t budge him. He drew closer, and from the corner of my eye I saw the Gullah men take a step forward. “A bloodline rarely heard of outside of Romanian tales and folklore. We are all considered members of the Kindred, all with a vein of strigoi blood, but there are differences. We are immortal and crave human blood, but our hunger has been satisfied in other ways—humane ways—by the Preacher, and his ancestors before him. The Arcoses have been entombed for over a hundred and fifty years, and now they’re out, and they’re not humane. They’re hunting.” His face was so close to mine, I could see the various flecks of color in his angry eyes. “They have no mercy, no remorse; they cannot be satiated. And they will not stop.”