Darklove (Dark Ink Chronicles #5)

Darklove (Dark Ink Chronicles #5) Page 9

Noah looks down at me, his silvery eyes soft. “I don’t think you are seeing him, darlin’. I think . . . ,” He grabs my chin and lifts it closer to him. “I think he is consuming your mind right now. You know Arcos made it out alive, and you want more than anything for the same to happen to Eli. I get that. And he may have. But he’s not killing innocents.” Noah’s eyes hold mine. “He’s just not.”

The sun is just cracking the horizon. What were shadows and darkness are now haze and fuzzy light. I see Noah’s face clearly. He’s probably the most sincere soul I know. “Then why,” I say to him, “am I seeing him in a bad way? Killing people?”

One corner of Noah’s mouth lifts. “Now, that I can’t explain, Ms. Poe. But you need to relax. Concentrate. And let’s get this job done. Then we’ll work on Eli.” He taps my nose. “Together. With Andorra.”

I heave a sigh. “Yeah. Okay.”

Noah inclines his head toward the ground. “You ready to hop off this rooftop before we draw a crowd?”

“Guess we’d better,” I say, and leap the two and a half stories to a side alley. Noah lands beside me, and we walk toward the river. Early-morning businesses are opening up. Bakers, butchers, tourist shops. It’s Friday morning, and there’s a certain feel in the wind. Maybe it’s coming from the youth, looking forward to a little fun? Kids out of school? Whatever it is, I know the streets of Inverness are no longer safe. Three rouge vampires killed already. One on the loose, and I have no idea who that one is.

Despite Noah’s insistence that it wasn’t Eli, I pray for it to not be.

It’s only a matter of time before the local police discover the bodies being drained of blood, or minus a very important organ, are more than a fluke. Nothing screams serial killer more than a few dead bodies piling up.

Makes me wonder if that guy, before I put the mind whammy on him, knows just how lucky he is. That he was a half second away from having his blood sucked from his body. Maybe it’s best that he doesn’t know. Sometimes I wish I didn’t.

“Let’s walk the city today, in the daylight,” Noah suggests. “Arriving here after dark, taking off on a blind hunt.” He shakes his head. “I don’t like to work that way. Inverness isn’t too big. Let’s head back to the guesthouse, get the maps Andorra gave us, and hit the streets.” He drapes an arm over one of my shoulders. “Come on.”

I meet Noah Miles’s encouraging gaze. If anyone can make you believe in yourself, or a cause, it’s Noah Freaking Miles. Must be left over in his human DNA from the Revolutionary War.

“Damn straight it is,” he says, reading my mind. “Let’s go.”

We slip into the streets of Inverness, mingling with the mortals walking to work, to school, tourists checking out St. Andrew’s Cathedral, Inverness Castle.

All completely incoherent to the fact that an immortal killer, the very top of the food chain, stalks them. Probably more than one.

Police sirens echo close by, resonating off the stone and brick of the buildings. I can tell where it’s headed. The park. To that poor dead girl we left there.

Yeah. No matter who is responsible. They have to be stopped.

Even if it kills me.

Part Three

OLDE BLOOD

A storm’s coming.

—James Bond, Skyfall, 2012

I don’t usually worry overmuch about Riley anymore, but after Miles’s mobile call, even I admit it. She’s worrying me. ’Tis a dangerous chance, entering that alternative world like she did. Victorian Arcos, well, I haven’t seen him myself, but I have spoken with him. He seems stable. Seems himself. I’ve reached into his mind, and I don’t sense anything sinister that wasn’t already there before. But one thing I do know about alternative realms. Sometimes what comes out isn’t always what went in. Riley Poe could be in more danger than she thinks. That doesn’t sit verra well with me.

—Jake Andorra

The rest of the morning is spent first going over the map of Inverness, spread out on the kitchen table. Noah and I hunch over the creased, new map, shoulder to shoulder, studying. Inverness isn’t very large, so we then head out into the city itself. We hit every main artery road, close, and dead-end street in the City Centre on foot, and fan out to the river and industrial park by cab. I suspect to most onlookers, Noah and I are just another touring couple on vacay. What they don’t know won’t hurt, as the saying goes. Rather, possibly, won’t kill.

Yet despite Noah’s encouraging words to get my mind in the game, my thoughts stray to Eli. I just can’t help it. He was taken from me, and I want him back. Badly. Why can’t he be here now? Why did Vic make it home, but not Eli?

As my eyes take in the Scottish city, I daydream about what it’d be like to be here just as a regular couple in love, touring the city. The Highlands. Taking a boat out onto Loch Ness and searching for Nessie. Walking the hillsides, and traipsing through ancient castle ruins. A ping of jealousy roils inside me at all the regular people living regular lives. Wake up, eat breakfast, go to work, socialize, come home. Normal stuff. Jesus Christ, I’m about as far from normal as I can possibly fucking be.

I want my goddamn life back.

“Hey,” Noah says, and I look at him. His eyes soften. “Stop that.”

I heave a sigh. “I swear, I’ll try.”

He pulls me into a side hug, kisses the top of my head, and we continue on.

The Scots are a friendly people whom I find I like more and more as I spend time here. I wish so much of this time wasn’t spent on killing and death. It’s inevitable, though, and the more I stop complaining about it, the faster I’ll accept it. It’s what we’re here to do. Stop a killer. Apparently, more than one. Wanna know something weird? Sometimes, even though I know it has to be done, somewhere far in the recesses of my brain, I’m saddened that I reduce bloodsuckers to a shimmering puddle of white goop. They used to be people. Sons. Daughters. Sisters. Brothers. Friends. Lovers. Who would ever look at a vampire, whether on TV, or in a movie, or like me, in life, and give him or her a soul? I guess it has to do with the fact that my family now is made up of age-old vampires who care not only about me, my brother, Seth, and other humans, but about one another. Makes me wonder how it’s possible they—Noah, Eli, and his family—can do it. How they can care, but others can’t. Or won’t. I’m doing a lot of reflecting lately. Whatever that means.

Noah stops a few people on the street, locals at the university, maybe. The early-twenties crowd. They tell us where the best clubs are, best cafés, best pubs. We find our way to some of the seedier parts of the city. Inverness is friendly and welcoming, so what’s seedy isn’t very noticeable to any ordinary eye. But Noah can sniff out a punk, and we find a group of four huddled against a building near the industrial park. Late teens, early twenties, trying their best to look tough as hell. Doing a good job of it, too. Every one of them is dragging on a cigarette. We walk up, and one kid, wearing a thick, ratty-looking gray woolen sweater and a black skully, pushes off the wall he’s leaning on and pulls long on his smoke. His eyes are locked on to mine. They shift momentarily to the black wing inked at the corner of my cheekbone.

“Aye?” he says in a thick accent. He moves his gaze to Noah.

“Where can we score some shit?” Noah asks.

The kid laughs, and the others chuckle with him. “Wha’ makes ya think I know where tae get shit?” the kid asks, then looks at me. “Americans. On holiday, aye? This your brother, love?” He inclines his head toward Noah.

A sharp sparkle lights his gaze as he studies Noah. Intelligent guy, maybe nineteen, and he’s pretty cute. Green eyes, along with a flawless complexion and strong jaw. Dark eyebrows, nicely shaped, so he must have dark hair beneath the skully. Makes me freaking sick that he’s such a dumb-ass, wasting his life on drugs. He must be early on in the game because his eyes are too quick for him to have been doing it for too long. They make easy prey for vampires, the druggies. It’s why we find them, find out where they hang, sell, buy. There’s a chance we might just save their sorry lives.

“How’d you guess?” I say to him.

“Hopin’,” he answers, and grins. Bright white, wide smile. Wicked-strong accent. Maybe we got these kids all wrong. He’s tall, stands eye to eye with Noah.

I just stare at him.

“I never fook wi’ the stuff,” he says to Noah, and studies him. “You dunna, either.” He glances at me, then back to Noah. “Cops?” His eyes drift from my feet to my eyes. “Nah. No’ cops. But somethin’ else.”

Yeah. Smart kid all right. “Clubs?” I ask. You got clubs people go to for a good time, drink, dance, and hook up. Then you have the ones notorious for . . . other stuff. Both are hunting grounds for a rogue vampire. But the one with high-traffic lawlessness instinctively draws the worst kinds. People and vamps.

“Boyo’s,” one of the other guys offers. He draws on his cigarette and points with it. “Four streets over, one up.”

“Cost ya eight quid tae get in,” another claims. “Worth every pence.”

“But if ya fancy a good tune or two, try Hush 51. Just up the river a ways,” the leader claims with a grin. “They’ve a fine live band this weekend.”

“Aye,” the other added. “finest in the bloody Highlands.”

I lift an eyebrow. Sassy little shits. We’re talking to the whole band.

Noah chuckles. “What time do you start?”

The leader blows smoke. “Nine.” He inclines his head. “Gerry. Tate. Pete. Drums, keyboard, electric fiddle.” He jabs his hand out to Noah. “Rhine,” he says, and winks at me. “Bass and vocals, love.”

What a hot dog.

“Noah, Riley,” Noah introduces. “Sorry for the mix-up.”

Rhine shrugs. “Happens,” he claims, and glances at his band. “We do look a wee bit thuggish, aye?”