Afterlight (Dark Ink Chronicles #1)

Afterlight (Dark Ink Chronicles #1) Page 34

He chuckled. “Sort of.” He glanced at me. “You’re going to have to learn how to aim, throw, and score while running, jumping, rolling, and flipping.” He grinned. “How’s that sound?”

I shrugged. “Almost as crazy as a family of vampires teaching a mortal how to kill vampires.”

His grin widened. “We’re not vampires. We’re creatures of the afterlight. We’re . . . special.”

So for the next several hours, I did a lot of watching and a lot of throwing of practice blades made of stainless steel. The pure silver blades, handcrafted in France and shipped to the House of Dupré, were to be used for the sole purpose of killing other vampires, and they were locked up.

“Okay. Your goal for the day is to simply try to hit the marks—the heart, of course—of the dummies, i.e., the Arcoses.” Luc sidled up beside me, placed a steel blade in my hand, closed his fingers over mine so that I’d grasp the short hilt, and then lifted my arm so that my hand rested directly behind my ear. “Like this,” he said. “Don’t let the blade loose until your arm is fully extended and pointing at your mark.”

“Got it,” I said, and did as he’d instructed. The blade flew across the room and landed square in the dummy’s forehead.

“Heart, Riley,” Phin said. “Aim for the heart.”

“I was,” I said, and everyone chuckled. An hour later, I finally hit the mark. I thought my arm would fall out of its socket, it was so sore.

Then Phin and Luc put me through a series of tests to gauge my existing fighting skills. That was one category where I efficiently proved myself. Of course, Phin and Luc were way stronger and faster than I’d ever be.

“You’re not even out of freaking breath,” I said, breathing hard, keeping my eyes fastened on Luc as he circled me, and waiting for the pounce.

“Cool, huh?” he said, grinning, his handsome face determinedly fixed on mine. “Vamp perk.”

I lifted a brow and inclined my head. “Where’d you get that headband?” I asked, noting the one keeping his long bangs from falling in his face. “The eighties?”

Luc’s expression darkened, and he lifted a hand to his band. “Hey, I—”

With a wide roundhouse kick, I knocked Luc’s feet out from under him and put him right onto his ass. I followed him down and straddled his middle. While his siblings laughed, Luc graciously accepted the fact that I’d gotten the best of him, and he laid there, sprawled out, arms spread wide in submission. “Nice move, mortal,” he said, then in one breathless move leapt up, flipped me, and had me flat on my back while he straddled me. He grinned. “Don’t hate the headband.”

He jumped up, bent over, and offered a hand up. I took it, then swept his legs with one solid kick and again had Luc on the mat.

“Dude, you might as well give up,” Phin said.

Luc glanced over at me and grinned. “You know I’m just fucking with you, right?” he said. “Building your esteem.”

I laughed. “Yeah, whatever.”

He rolled and got up, and this time I did let him help me stand. I wiped the sweat from my brow.

“You’re a pretty sick fighter,” Luc said, crossing his arms over his cut, bared chest. “But let’s add a few obstacles.”

I shrugged. “Okay, whatever you want.”

Luc grinned, and it made me shudder. That made him and Phin laugh.

When it came time to add in jumps and rolls and throwing blades while running? God, I needed practice. At least it would keep me busy, and part of my brain thought that was what the whole thing was about anyway: keeping my mind off of Seth. And Eli.

The real shocker came later that afternoon. “Hey, Luc, why don’t you and Phin be moving targets?” Josie said, smiling. “I think that would be wicked cool.”

I’m not sure why it took me by surprise, but it did, and I suppose the alarm was evident on my face.

“No, seriously—it’s fine,” Luc said, and flung a practice blade directly at Phin. I watched it sink into his flesh, all the way to the hilt.

“Whoa!” I hollered when Phin pulled it from his chest, flipped it, and flung it back at Luc. Luc caught it in midair. No blood anywhere, but then vampires don’t bleed their own blood, do they?

“Totally not real silver, don’t forget,” said Josie, who sat perched on the windowsill, swinging her skinny-jean-clad legs and All Stars. “The practice blades are sharp, but fake—steel. That’s why they’re practice blades.”

I glanced at her, then at Eli’s brothers. “That makes me feel lots better.”

They all laughed.

Over the next couple of hours I worked on moving targets, and I was glad not to have a squeamish stomach. It took a little getting used to at first—flinging a sharp blade at a live being, although technically, Luc and Phin weren’t alive. I missed—a lot.

When Phin laughed at a blade that pinged off the wall, I turned to him. “It’s a hell of a lot easier hitting still dummies than moving ones.” He merely laughed again.

Practice was grueling. I had good aim, though, and a steady hand—so said Gilles as he and Elise came to watch, and eventually I hit my mark—Luc and Phin—a few times. Jack and Tuba stood near the door like a couple of bouncers and kept their gazes trained on me. Big and silent, they were in fact intimidating. I’m not convinced they’d be a match for the Duprés, though I’d never confess that to Preacher. Maybe there was a lot more to Gullah magic than I originally thought. Rather, Preacher’s sort of magic. He and his family were definitely unconventional Gullah.

The last of my first practice day consisted of Luc and Phin tag teaming me while I threw. One would be the moving target; the other would come after me.

I started running from the back of the room, Luc and Phin flanking me. I aimed my practice blade at Luc and threw, then kept my eyes trained on Phin as he lunged toward me. I ducked, rolled, and hit my feet running, but he was too fast. His body full-impact hit me, and I landed on the mat with a heavy thud. His eyes twinkled down at me with victory. “This is the most fun I’ve had in a hundred years,” he said with a smirk.

“Get off me,” I said, struggling to breathe.

“Again,” Luc said.

I groaned.

I hit the mat so many times, I lost count. It was a hard workout for me, effortless for the Duprés. They’d crammed all the lessons into one day. Apparently I’d be doing the same every day from here on out. I could barely wait.

I jogged home from Monterey Square, Phin beside me, and dusk was just approaching. A slight breeze now shifted the moss hanging from the oaks, and I dodged tourists as they window-shopped the myriad antique and specialty stores lining the historic district. We jogged past a walking ghost tour, the tour guide dressed in Colonial wear and swinging a lantern, flashes from the tourists’ digital cameras lighting the darkness as they aimed at various structures. As I ran by, I noticed a horse-drawn carriage with a couple snuggled together, and the woman in the carriage glanced down and smiled at me. The first thought that crossed my mind was, You have no freaking clue what’s really out there, do you? How cynical I’d become. Phin chuckled.

After a quick shower, I quickly ate a can of SpaghettiOs and changed into something Phin suggested: comfortable, movable clothes. I wasn’t exactly sure what that meant, but I took no chances: a pair of baggy jeans that sat below my hips, a black ribbed tank, and a pair of well-worn Vans. I pulled my hair into a high ponytail, slipped on a belt to keep my baggy pants from falling around my knees, and was ready to go. At least, I thought I was. I was learning real fast to always expect the unexpected. I popped four ibuprofen tabs to keep away the soreness I knew my body would be experiencing—was already starting to feel—from the Dupré workout. It was well after dark when we left, and Luc as well as Josie joined us.

For the first hour, we simply mingled in the streets with the tourists. Sunday nights were typically slower than the rest of the week, but there were still a good handful who stepped out into the historic district to wallow in Savannah’s atmosphere. I found myself obsessively searching for a crowd of delinquents wearing dark hoodies but never caught the first sight of them. We hit all the main squares, walked Broughton Street east and west, and even strolled through Starbucks. Mullet was in there with his übertall girlfriend, and I spoke to them for just a few seconds before leaving.

It was nearly midnight when we found ourselves in a small alley two blocks over from the Panic Room, and that was when I caught sight of them. Huddled together, they knelt on the sidewalk next to a streetlamp, completely engrossed in . . . something on the ground. Phin grabbed my arm as I moved forward.

“No way, Riley,” Phin said, and we all fell into the shadows. “Watch, not approach, or don’t you remember the other night?”

I glanced at him. “Yeah, I remember.” Todd could have killed me.

“They grow stronger every day,” Josie said beside me. “And Seth doesn’t know you anymore.”

I’d already known it—Eli had said as much. But somehow it hit harder now, and it hurt. An ache spread through my chest at the thought of my brother not knowing me. I studied each of the boys and couldn’t determine which one was Seth.

Just then, one of the boys shifted, and I saw all too clearly what they were so intrigued by: a body. By the size of the chunky black boots I estimated a male; I couldn’t tell whether he was dead. My stomach lurched at the thought, and I wanted to react. No way in hell was I going to sit by and watch as my brother sucked the blood of some dude lying on a dirty sidewalk. I moved, and a hand abruptly stopped me.

“We can’t drink the blood of the dead,” Phin said, grasping me with a steely grip. “It’s lethal for us. That’s why they use dope.”

“To sedate and subdue,” Josie said flatly.

I felt my face lose what little color it had. “Will they kill him?” I asked, afraid of the answer.