Darklove (Dark Ink Chronicles #5)

Darklove (Dark Ink Chronicles #5) Page 10

The others all chuckle.

“Oy, are ya here, then, because o’ the murders?” Tate asks. He’s got wavy auburn hair that curls over his ears.

“Why would American cops be here investigatin’ Scottish murders, you horse’s arse?” Pete says.

“Shut the fook up,” Tate says with a laugh. “Just askin’.”

“Just passing through,” Noah says. “What murders?”

“Serial killer, mayhap,” Rhine claims. “Three killed so far.” He shakes his head. “Fookin’ gruesome.”

“Aye,” Gerry the drummer adds. “Girl just found this mornin’, all of her blood drained.”

“Unusual for Inverness,” Rhine says. “Take care where you go after dark.”

I look at the guys that Noah and I both had misjudged. I guess I’ll have to dip into minds a little more often before assuming. And on that note, I decide something before leaving. I give Rhine a smile. “Thanks. See ya round, maybe.”

He smiles back.

And I level my gaze at all four band members, ending with Rhine. Take the cigarettes out of your mouths, drop them onto the ground, and crush them.

Rhine immediately takes his cigarette out, drops it, and smashes it with his boot. The others, in sync, do the same.

Don’t smoke. Anything. Ever again. Cold-turkey quit. Nod if you understand.

All four guys nod at once.

Noah shakes his head and stares at me with admiration. Probably a little envy, too. He inclines his head, we say good-bye to the guys, and leave. When we round the block, he glances over at me. “So now you’re the poster child for the quit-smoking club, huh?”

I shrug. “Yeah, I guess. Just thought I’d throw it in. Wish some noble mind reader would’ve stopped my smoking habit when I was a little younger.”

“You stopped it yourself,” Noah says.

“Not really. I think Preacher and Estelle put some root doctor whammy on me.”

Noah chuckles, and we continue up the street. Surrounded by gray stone buildings, we draw closer to the touristy city center. We pass a chippy, a Celtic jeweler, and a kilt maker. As I glance into the large picture window of the kilt maker, an image catches my eye. Eli. My heart leaps.

In the middle of the walkway I snap my head to stare across the street. Passersby walk up and down the sidewalk. No Eli. No one out of the ordinary. Grabbing the door handle, I enter MacClennon’s Fine Kilts.

A wave of spice and lavender hits me in the nose as I walk into the small shop. Racks display finely pressed kilts of all sizes. An open oak closet exhibits woolen gloves, mittens, and hats. A thick iron-legged table presents rows of fingerless gloves of all colors, made of lamb’s wool. In the corner, my eyes light on the cashier. She’s wearing her graying hair in a high bun and sporting a dark green vest, a white cotton shirt, and a blue-and-black-plaid tie. She smiles broadly.

“Good afternoon,” she says. “May I help you?”

I smile back as my eyes scan the room. “No, thank you. Just looking.” I mull through the store, notice a few tourists sorting through the various sizes of kilts. One woman sifts through the gloves.

No sign of Eli. Or anyone who even remotely looks anything like him.

I wave at the graying woman, and turn to leave. I almost knock into Noah.

We both head outside. “What’s up?” he asks.

I stare across the street, then up and down the sidewalk. I shrug and walk on. “Nothing. Thought I saw something.”

We’re moving through the afternoon crowd now, and Noah is a half step behind me. Kids in school black-and-white uniforms are weaving with us, as well as a few tourists and locals. I wish I could send out one big mental warning, a juju heads-up, saying Everyone stay inside after dark! so that no one here gets butchered. I don’t like not knowing what’s what. And I seriously don’t like having the cold sensation of sensing Eli’s presence in a threatening way. It’s leaving an aftertaste in my mouth that’s beyond hideous.

“Riley?”

I glance up at Noah, then back to the sidewalk. “What?”

When we round the corner, he pulls me to a stop. “You thought you saw Eli again.”

A man passes by, and his eyes are level with mine. He spares Noah a brief glance and almost pauses, as though worried we’re having a domestic dispute. I can see it in his aging blue eyes. I smile at him and nod, and he returns the gesture and moves on. Nice to know chivalry exists still in humans.

I sigh and meet Noah’s penetrating gaze. “First, you have to stop glaring at me like that in public. And stop grabbing me, too. That old guy was an inch from busting your ass right here on the sidewalk.”

Noah’s body relaxes, and his eyes soften, just a little.

“Yes, I thought I saw Eli again,” I answer him. I shove my hands deep into the pockets of my jacket. “When I glanced at the store window as we passed that kilt maker’s store, I saw his reflection in the glass.” I looked up at him. “The second I turned my head to search the street, he wasn’t there. I think I’m losing my mind,” I finish.

Noah studies me for a second or two. His jaw muscle tightens. “I wish you were. That’s fixable.” He glances out over the cobbled street, and his gaze scales the building in front of us. He studies the skyline for a moment longer. “What scares me”—Noah looks back at me—“is that you’re not losing your mind.” With a nod, he inclines his head. “Let’s get back to the map. We’ve got about an hour and a half before nightfall.”

We start back up the street and head to the guesthouse. Noah’s words have bugged the hell out of me. He left his meaning unanswered, but I knew it, no matter how hard he disputed it. Knew it just as my body knows how to breathe without conscious thought. Yet his words claw at me the whole way back, and even while we’re sitting at the kitchen table, hunched over the map and planning our route for the night’s hunt, it bothers me.

He’s scared Eli is back from that alternative realm.

And that he’s not the same Eli.

A cold shiver runs down my spine at the thought. I try to push it aside, that thought, but it lingers, and soon it feels like fire ants are pinching and biting my insides. I need to get out. Get some fresh air. Just be alone for a few minutes.

I push away from the table and stand. “I’ll be back in a few.”

“Riley,” Noah warns, and rises with me.

“Don’t even,” I warn in return. “I have to get some air. Clear my head.” I frown at him. “Alone. Kinda like peeing without someone standing there, watching. I need a little alone time, Miles. Seriously.”

Emotion flutters across his handsome features, and I know he’s struggling with letting me out by myself. He wants to protect me, be by my side continuously to make sure nothing happens.

Well, that’s all great, but I gotta have a breather.

“Half an hour,” I say. “I’m just walking up the street to the market and back.” When his face still pinches with confliction, I force a small smile. “Promise. Back before dark.”

It’s almost funny to see a vampire imitate a sigh. It’s breathless, only going through the human motion he did for so long. Noah rubs his eyes and nods. “It’s not that I don’t think you can handle yourself. There’s something out there, Riley. And we don’t know exactly what yet.”

“Vampires,” I offer. “We knew that coming here.”

He frowns. “Smart-ass. It’s more than that and you know it.” He stares at me. “Call me if anything goes on. And I don’t mean on my cell phone.”

Pushing my arm through the sleeve of my leather jacket, I nod. “Will do.”

“Back in thirty,” Noah reminds me.

“Yep,” I agree, and close the door.

Outside, the shades of late-afternoon drift over the cobbles. It’s crazy here in the winter months. November, and it gets full-on dark at four thirty in the afternoon.

As I walk, it starts to drizzle a freezing, misting rain. I briefly meet the friendly gazes of passersby, young and old, as they hurry home, hurry to the pubs, to the market. A gray haze hangs in the air, so thick I have to fight not to swipe it away with my hand.

Suddenly, memories of home, of before Edinburgh and Eli’s . . . whatever that was . . . happened. I miss home. I miss Preacher and Estelle, my wonderful surrogate grandparents. I miss Nyx, my best friend. Seth, my baby brother. Eli’s family.

I miss that time. Living on the salt water surrounded by oaks and Spanish moss, tattooing people for a living. Eating Krystal hamburgers until I thought I’d puke. The pungent scent of the marsh at low tide. Having tea with Preacher and Estelle every morning.

And when I first fell in love with a vampire. When Eli was well, strong, and determined to guard the lives of Savannah’s mortals. I miss my tattoo shop, Inksomnia, and I miss creating, the artwork, the hum of my ink gun. How life has changed since then.

If I could only have Eli back, the rest I could deal with.

Almost finished with my self–pity party, I turn the corner and the open market is before me. Although the shadows from the building and pending nightfall stretch long over the row of flower bouquets and fruit containers, people mill about making their choices. I look out of place, dressed in all black with a wing inked at the corner of my eye. Long dark hair with a few random fuchsia chunks added in. And although people can’t see them, I have just under a half dozen blades sheathed beneath my clothes. Yeah. I love open markets, too. Flowers, food, and random stuff. Takes my mind off all the bullshit. . . .

Then, as I’m sifting through the hoards of gorgeous flowers, a sensation crawls over me. Without much thought, I glance over my shoulder. Through the crowd, his height and stature rises above everyone else. Everyone mortal. His gaze locks on to mine.

My slow-beating heart plummets to my stomach, and I drop the flowers back into the bin and move toward him. Don’t take your eyes off him this time, Poe. Keep staring.