Everdark

by Elle Jasper

  “No, thanks, Philippe,” I answered, and headed to the door, where I paused. “Eli’s gone,” I said, not really knowing why I did.

  “He will return,” Philippe said comfortingly, as though he knew.

  I nodded. “My brother?” I asked.

  “He is in the game room with the others,” Philippe answered. “Shall I call for him?”

  I shook my head. “That’s all right. I’ll call later.” No sense in dragging Seth home on a Sunday morning and making him suffer my badass mood. I had supplies to order for Inksomnia, some designs to go over with Nyx later, and a few things to pick up from the store—a typical Sunday. Seth might as well stay with Josie and the guys and have a little fun. “Later, Philippe,” I said, then pushed out of the kitchen’s screen door and into Savannah’s early morning.

  The sun wasn’t up yet, but a dim, hazy glow hung in the air as I made my way to the Jeep. Thick fog wafted over Monterey Square and slipped through the live oaks, swallowing the black iron streetlamps along the walkway. Barefoot, I tossed my pumps and purse into the passenger side of the Jeep.

  And into the lap of a body that wasn’t there a half breath ago.

  “Where ya goin’?”

  I jumped and sucked in a breath. Luc grinned, and I glared at him. “Don’t do that, Dupré. God. You’re gonna give me a freaking heart attack.” I slipped behind the wheel.

  He grinned wider. “I know CPR. I’d save you. So? Where?”

  I looked straight ahead. “Home. I got a business to run, you know.”

  “At five a.m.?”

  I jammed the keys into the ignition, but before I could start the Jeep, Luc’s hand stilled mine. I sighed. “He left.” I glanced at him.

  A slight breeze caught his crazy hair and tossed it across his forehead. He pushed it back and met my gaze in the dim light. “Yeah,” he said gently. “I know. He asked me to ride along.”

  “No,” I said. “I don’t need a babysitter anymore.” I turned the Jeep’s engine over. “I’m not a helpless mortal, Luc. I can take care of myself.”

  Luc grinned. “He said you’d say that.”

  “Well,” I answered, glancing at him, “Seth will be with me this time. And as far as we can tell, there is no threat close by, right? The newlings have moved on.”

  “Seth is here. And the newlings have moved on. For now.”

  I frowned. “Preacher is right next door. I’ll be fine.” I pointed. “Get out.”

  Luc didn’t budge.

  “Don’t you have a girlfriend or something?” I asked, knowing full well he did not. “Seriously dude—you’ve gotta move out of your parents’ house, or no decent chick will have anything to do with you.”

  He grinned. “That reminds me. I’ve been meaning to talk to you about Nyx. Is she involved?”

  I put the Jeep in reverse. “No way, Dupré. I wouldn’t want her mixed up in all of this.”

  Luc leapt out and was at my door before I could blink. He met my gaze with a sincere one. “Would you have held back from Eli, had you known what you know now?”

  “No.” I didn’t even have to think about it.

  Luc smiled and pushed off the door. The yard lamp cast a yellow glow down on him, and I studied the severe similarities between Luc and Eli. Other than the dark blond, crazy hair, they looked very much alike—same disturbing eyes, same cut of jaw, same mouth. Well, almost the same mouth. “Your mind, then, is open game for me. That way I’ll know if you’re in trouble,” he said, grinning, and gave a confident nod. “Yeah. I think I like this plan better, anyway.”

  I shook my head and glanced over my shoulder to back out. “I hate this plan. I think this plan sucks.”

  Luc laughed. “It’s either this plan, or the one where I come babysit you full-time.”

  I scowled. “Fine.”

  “Excellent,” he said, grinning. I’ll drop by later. And don’t worry about Seth. He’s cool. And Riley,” he said, his face serious. “He’ll be back. Soon.”

  Turning the Jeep, I rounded the graveled circle drive by the kitchen entrance and pulled up next to Luc. “I know he will. And seriously, thanks. I mean it.”

  “No prob.” He leaned over and tapped my temple with a forefinger. “I’ll be right here.”

  “That’s such a comfort,” I said, gave a half-forced grin, and pulled out into the square. Deciding to get myself together and grab a coffee, I headed to Skidaway to the original Krispy Kreme, where I got in a fairly short line of die-hard Kremers who wanted that first, fresh, hot batch of doughnuts of the morning. Being the JFJ (junk food junkie) that I am, I ordered a dozen regular glazed (they melt in your mouth) and a large coffee with cream and sugar, then headed back home. I listened to the relative silence of early Sunday morning in Savannah as I made my way back to Inksomnia. Eli had started teaching me how to concentrate, to filter out all the extra sounds I could now hear, and hone in on just my immediate surroundings by focusing on one single sound. I wasn’t totally good at it yet, but at least now I wasn’t going nuts. When he first taught me, I had to close my eyes, breathe deeply, and concentrate so hard that my brain hurt. It was like being in a large convention room with two thousand people, all of them droning. Finally, I did it, and it was a relief. It wasn’t easy to turn on and off, and sometimes it took me a few minutes to achieve control, but I was getting better, and I could now do it without squeezing my eyes shut. I mean, Jesus. It was kinda funny at first, but I quickly grew sick of hearing people humping and moaning all the friggin’ time. God, they were having sex everywhere. I felt trapped in a porn dream. So this morning, after I shut out the other unwanted noises, I found everything was pretty calm, as it used to be before I had two strigoi bloodsuckers try to drain my life force. Light traffic; somewhere, a dog barking its head off, and, in the distance, a semitruck grinding its gears and chugging along the bypass—these were normal sounds.

  I should have realized this was the beginning of a sonot-normal day.

  By the time I pulled onto the merchant’s drive and parked the Jeep behind Inksomnia, it was a few minutes after six a.m. Preacher and Estelle’s light in the kitchen flickered on, so I crossed the cobbles to their back door. The haze was brighter outside now, but the sun still hadn’t cracked over the city. I knocked lightly, and in seconds Preacher came to the door. The beam of light that shined behind him revealed his usual long-sleeved plaid shirt tucked neatly into a pair of worn dungarees and a big smile. He and Estelle always got up early, so I knew I wasn’t intruding. When his gaze lit on the Krispy Kreme box, the smile grew.

  “Oh yeah, dat’s my girl right dere,” he said, then kissed my cheek and pulled me into the small foyer. “Was cravin’ dem tings earlier. Almost went out myself to get dem.” He lifted a brow. “Don’t let your grandmodder see ’em. She says da sugar makes me act all crazy.” He chuckled softly.

  “I heard dat, ole man,” Estelle hollered from the kitchen. “Riley Poe, you git in here and bring dem tings wit you. Dat ole man acts crazy widdout da sugar, dat’s right. Sugar makes him crazier.”

  I smiled at Preacher. “Yes, ma’am.” I flipped open the box. Preacher lifted a doughnut out and in two bites had it gone. I shook my head, grabbed one myself, took a bite, and headed for the kitchen while my surrogate grandfather licked his fingers. I set the box on the table and sat down.

  “I hope you left room in dat bottomless pit of a stomach for some magic,” Estelle said with a fake scowl, inclining her head toward the simmering pot of tea on the burner. She grinned and glanced at the doughnut box. “You save me one now, dat’s right.”

  “Absolutely,” I said. “And yes, ma’am, I have plenty of room.”

  Estelle bustled over, wearing a hot pink Da Plat Eye T-shirt and a multicolored brush skirt, with a knotted head wrap to match. She smelled fresh, like Dove soap and something . . . herbal from the shop. Satin ebony skin shined in stark contrast to her white smile. “Drink up, Riley Poe. Don’t want dem Duprés lookin’ at you like you was a pork chop.”

>   I shook my head and smiled. “I don’t think they like me as much anymore,” I said, and shrugged at the questioning look on my surrogate grandmother’s face. “Tough meat.”

  Estelle stared for a second, then burst into laughter, shaking her head. “You crazy white painted girl, dat’s right.”

  I grinned at Preacher.

  He did not return the cheer.

  When Estelle left the kitchen, he leaned over the table and looked hard at me. “What’s wrong wit you, girl?”

  I met his stare. I could never get anything past Preacher. “Eli left. He’s going to kill Victorian. And I guess try to find the other one.”

  Preacher took a sip of steaming coffee and stared at me over the rim of his cup. “If he can find him, anyway. Dat Arcos boy is slippery.” He set the cup down. “And I ain’t too sure he’s as bad as his brodder was.” With a long, bony forefinger, he rubbed his jaw. “Sometimes, family makes a person do crazy tings, yeah? And he sure has it bad for you, Riley Poe.”

  The memory of Victorian’s recent words rushed through my head. “He . . . said he’s known me for a long time, Preacher. As in from when I was a kid.” I looked hard at him. “How can that be?”

  Preacher flicked something from his sleeve, rubbed his gnarled knuckle, then raised his head to look at me. “Maybe he been watchin’ you from da hell stone all dis time,” he said slowly. “I know dat when dey was entombed, dere powers was stripped, and dey was cursed. Dey couldn’t smell your blood, couldn’t crave. But maybe dey could see, hear. He must’ve picked up on you somehow, dat’s right.” He shook his head. “Might be why he wants you so powerful. Maybe he’s been knowin’ you for a long time, girl.”

  Victorian Arcos really did love me? “That’s . . . weird.”

  Preacher laughed softly. “Only you would say dat, Grandchild.” He grasped my hands between his dark leathery ones. “You watch yourself, baby, and I mean dat. Make sure your brodder stays wit you. And if you want Jack and Tuba to stay—”

  I smiled and shook my head. “No, Preach—it’s fine. Really,” I assured him. “But if things get crazy, I’ll let you know. Okay?”

  “Hrumph,” he grumbled. “You always did have dat hard head on ya. Don’t be shamed to ask for help, Riley Poe.” He rose and kissed my cheek. “I’ll take a stick to dat backside, and I mean dat.”

  “I know, and I promise,” I said, thinking it funny that Preacher had never taken a stick to my backside. “I love you,” I said, rose, and hugged him.

  “I love you, girl,” he said, and pushed a small sachet into my hand. I glanced down. It was coarse burlap, the size of a golf ball, and filled with . . . something. He looked at me gravely. “Sprinkle it outside your apartment door and all da windows,” he said quietly. “Do it tonight, before you go to bed.”

  I nodded. “Okay.” Hell only knew what was in the sachet.

  Estelle bustled back into the kitchen as I was leaving. “You want some crabs, Riley Poe? Capote bringin’ dem later on. He an’ Buck out dere on da Vernon right now pullin’ traps, dat’s right. I’m makin’ some hush puppies, too.”

  I grinned. The Vernon was a brackish saltwater river that ran close to Skidaway Island and emptied into the sound, and Capote, when not’ playing his sax, was out in the mouth of one of hundreds of creeks, crabbing with old Buck. And Estelle made the best hush puppies on the East Coast. “Definitely. I’ll come by later.” I kissed my dark grandmother good-bye, left several doughnuts on a plate for them, grabbed the remainder of the box, and left.

  At the time, I didn’t realize it, but soon I’d learn that nothing as simple as Savannah blue crabs, Gullah hush puppies, and Krispy Kreme doughnuts would ever grace my life again. But it took the rest of the afternoon to figure it out. The whole while, Eligius Dupré remained in my head. I’d be willing to bet a month’s pay he did it on purpose. Of course, he wasn’t the easiest guy to forget. I already missed him.

  After taking Chaz for a walk, I loaded my iPod into the home unit, selected Sevendust, and spent my morning cleaning the apartment, tidying up the shop, and ordering supplies online while jammin’ to “Unraveling” and “Ride Insane.” It was a cool freaking band, and for a while it put out of my head Eli Dupré and the heat and emotions he stirred within me. I cranked up the volume, hoped Bhing from SoHo Boutique next door wasn’t too irritated with the music, and rocked out. She was usually pretty cool about things like that, and for the most part, I didn’t abuse it. Like, I didn’t crank the music if it was too early or too late. This was the middle of the day, so I felt okay about it. The pounding hummed through my body, soothed, settled me. That was what fantastic tunes did to me. The music put me into the groove, and soon my bad mood had evaporated.

  I checked my business e-mail and discovered a special on Skin Candy ink. Since it was my favorite brand, I stocked up. I also ordered another load of Inksomnia tourist T-shirts. I confirmed my appearance and temporary shop at a tattoo convention in November, went over my scheduled appointments, and studied the descriptions I’d drawn on plastic wrap (I hold it to the client’s desired body part chosen for the person’s art and then draw a rough sketch to the contour of the person’s shape) of requests the clients had left. One girl, a nurse at St. Joseph’s, had asked for a dragon/flower combination. She wanted a feminine yet traditional dragon. I sketched the head of a dragon whose body wound around and turned into swirly vines and flowers. By the time Nyx arrived at four p.m., I’d settled onto the floor with my sketch pad. Nyx joined me, and together we hammered out some pretty sick designs. Several hours passed. Seth called to say he, Riggs, the Duprés, and Zetty were doing a little training and would be home around ten p.m. or so. I said fine. So after Nyx and I ran next door for crabs and hush puppies at Preacher’s, we settled back down with our designs. It was after eight p.m. Chevelle’s “Sleep Apnea” played quietly (as quietly as Chevelle could play) in the home unit, and Nyx and I slipped into artist mode.

  “That one is going to take at least two sittings,” Nyx finally said, leaning over the design I’d drawn for a girl of a Japanese cherry tree, with different-sized blossoms sprouting all over the spindly branches. It was a pretty large project that stretched from the thigh, up the rib cage, and over one shoulder.

  I glanced at my friend. Nyx wore her pigtails stuffed through side holes of a black and white striped skully, a black Iron Maiden T-shirt, and a pair of black jeggings and clunky Mary Janes. She scrunched her nose and peered at me with those huge, blue expressive Nyx eyes. “Don’t ya think?”

  I nodded, then froze. First, the fine hairs on the back of my neck rose. Chaz’s frantic yelp broke through my subconscious, and I leapt up. Second, a cold, frigid sensation crept over me. Third, my body jerked, totally on alert, and I scanned the living room. I’d toned my superhearing down so much that I’d not been paying attention as I should have. I’d definitely have to work on that.

  “What’s wrong?” Nyx asked, then followed my actions and glanced nervously around the living room. “Did you hear something?”

  Chaz’s growl, then high-pitched yelp met my ears.

  “She definitely heard something,” a voice said from the darkened hallway, coming from my bedroom. “Didn’t ya, babe?”

  I blinked, and three young male vampires stood in my apartment.

  I hadn’t even heard them enter.

  Too bad I hadn’t thought to sprinkle Preacher’s magic dust.

  I jumped up. As I stared at the speaker’s youthful face, positive I didn’t recognize him, my hand eased down the front of my baggy jeans to the concealed silver blade strapped neatly against my thigh. “What’d you do to my fuckin’ dog, asshole?”

  And in the very next split second, Nyx’s scream reverberated off my apartment walls as one of them grabbed my best friend by the throat.

  Part Five

  MERCILESS

  “Dark, dark! The horror of darkness, like a shroud, wraps me and bears me on through mist and cloud.”

  —Sophocles, Oedipus Rex


  “I’m pissed now. It’s one thing to fuck with me,

  but fuck with my loved ones? My best friend?

  My dog? Hell and no. I might be more arro-

  gant than what’s good for me, but arrogance

  might be what’s keeping me strong. Either that

  or I’m just freaking ignorant. Whichever one

  it is, I don’t care. I can kick serious ass now,

  and I can do it without Eli’s help. Good thing,

  too, because he’s long gone. Like it or not, I’m

  not fully mortal anymore, so why not use my

  tendencies to the fullest? You can bet your ass

  I won’t sit around waiting to be rescued like

  some weak little somethin’-somethin’. I got

  shit to do, people to see, and vamps to slay—

  all while running a goddamn business. Yeah,

  I’m pissed.”

  —Riley Poe

  Pure silver blades do nasty things to vampires.

  After this was over, I’d stash them all around my apartment.

  Nyx’s scream died in her throat as the newling—a stocky blond guy about twenty-three years old—released her and dropped her to the ground. The blade I’d thrown at him lay buried to the hilt, straight through the pleather jacket he wore, directly into his heart. His opaque stare dulled as his body seized and contracted, and a painful gurgling emerged from his throat. Slowly, his fangs began to retract, and some white gooey stuff began to leak from his eyes and mouth. That was all I noticed, because the other two newlings dove toward me. I reacted.

  In one leap, I fell onto the dying vampire, yanked the blade from his chest, crouched and leapt high, right at the two rushing me. In midair, I pulled my knees up to my chest, planted my feet against the rib cage of one, and pushed hard; he flew across the room and landed on an end table, shattering my favorite stain glass frame and falling against the wall. I plunged the blade into the other’s heart. He fell to the floor, writhing and seizing. I didn’t want to yank the blade out too soon, so I landed in a crouched position, my weight resting on my thighs, and faced the remaining vampire. He’d leapt to his feet and now crouched, waiting to pounce on me. He was older, about my age. I could tell he was not a new vamp; while his eyes were cloudy, insanely crazed, and vicious, I knew he was more experienced than the others. He wanted blood—mine or Nyx’s; it didn’t matter. And he had the patience to get it. I could hear my own heart, slow, sluggish, and Nyx’s beating a million times per minute like a hummingbird’s. She was terrified—so intensely that I could smell the scent of fear rolling off her body in the form of sweat.