Eventide (Dark Ink Chronicles #3)

Eventide (Dark Ink Chronicles #3) Page 4

“Must’ve gotten that at the rest area,” I say, and although his features are cast in shadow, I know he studies me with ferocious intensity.

“Let’s go home,” he says, and climbs in beside me. No smile. Eli is still angry.

Phin starts up the truck and exits the parking garage. It’s not until we hit Peachtree Street that I realize Victorian and I had made it all the way to Atlanta.

According to the digital clock in Phin’s truck, it’s close to four a.m. Traffic is nonexistent as we weave through the tall buildings and intertwining interstate dissections of downtown and make our way back to Savannah. Before we hit the interstate, Phin pulls into a BP and fuels up. I run inside and grab some drinks and a bag of Chic-O-Stix. Eli’s gaze is locked onto me the entire time. We settle in for the drive home.

Even with Eli’s body crowding mine in the cab of Phin’s truck, his hand protectively on my thigh, one thought pounds through my brain; one thing needles me and doesn’t let go.

Am I truly turning evil? Am I going to kill?

Will I crave blood?

Goddamn, I hope to hell not.

I’m sleepy again—why, I don’t know, but I feel like I haven’t slept in days. I close my eyes, and slumber soon takes over.

Part Two

TURMOIL

Dat girl ain’t right. I noticed time dey brought her back home. She got a mean look in her eye dat don match her face, or her mouth. I’ve seen it before, on odders, a long, long time ago. I know what it is, too. It’s evil, dat’s right. Pure dead evil. I don know if I can save her dis time, but I’ll die tryin’.

—Preacher

I feel different. Ever since I returned home from my wild ride to Atlanta in Victorian’s trunk, I can feel it. And that was over a week ago. It could be nothing more than my own imagination messing with me; it could be something else entirely.

Victorian’s shocking words that night rattled me. I may not have shown it, but they did. And Eli hardly leaves my side now, even less than before. As a matter of fact, right now is the very first time since we’ve returned that he’s left me alone for more than an hour. Eli did not go easy. But Preacher needed his and Seth’s help next door repairing a leak in the attic, so I’m taking full advantage of the situation and chillin’ in a hot bath. It’s Sunday evening, there’s finally a chilly bite to the mid-October air, and the shop’s closed. I’m relishing this time alone. Need this time to myself. Desperately.

Resting my head back against the air pillow, I sink deeper into the hot suds and close my eyes. How long ago it seems since Seth and I discovered everything Preacher had tried to shield us from. After our encounter with the Arcos brothers, sweet Seth’s personality totally changed. He wore stupid shades over his eyes all the time, slept all day long, and stopped eating. We didn’t know what was happening until we saw Seth hurling himself out of his top-story window, only to hit the ground running. The image will be emblazoned in my memory forever.

He’d nearly turned. But Preacher and his Gullah brethren, skilled in the cleansing of vampirism passed down by their ancestors, saved Seth. Saved his pal Riggs. Saved me, too. I know I wouldn’t be in the bathtub right now had it not been for Preacher and Estelle.

Like me, Seth and Riggs have tendencies. Mine are the strongest of all. Preacher warned me that my powers would change constantly, but the feeling growing inside me is unexpected. It leaves a bad taste in my mouth. I just hope Seth isn’t going through the same thing. I’ll tell you now: I’d die if something happened to my brother.

My thoughts return to Victorian’s words. Eli’s actions. Ever since our encounter with Vic, Eli’s been more intense. The fact that he won’t leave me alone is a definite sign that he thinks something really bad is up, too. He knows I can handle myself, but lately he treats me like I have zero abilities. He’s everywhere. Being protective is one thing. Not giving me space to breathe is another. But I have to be sympathetic. I know, long ago, that Eli accidentally killed a young woman he’d fallen in love with. He’ll never forgive himself for it, and I’m pretty positive he’s scared the same thing will happen to me. It won’t. But there’s no consoling him. Eli still worries he’ll lose control with me. So he’s careful. Extremely careful.

His image comes easily to my mind; his chiseled face, full, firm lips, clenched jaw. His disturbing blue eyes are always locked on me. And his expression? Painful. Like he’s in absolute physical agony. Kind of like when we first met.

Eli’s siblings are around a lot more, too, always in the shop. Phin, intense and always so deep in thought. With his short-clipped dark blond hair and crazy-clear Dupré eyes, he’s an attention getter to be sure. And he’s on my ass just as much as Eli lately. Eli’s other brother, Luc? He and Phin could pass for twins, but Luc’s hair is longer, with wild curls. He’s definitely the clown of the three brothers, although I’ve seen him turn pretty stinking mean in a vamp fight.

My best human friend and business partner, Nyxinnia Foster, has claimed Luc’s attentions of late. I didn’t think I’d like it, their coupling, but I do. Nyx is totally crazy about Luc, and he is just as into her. Nyx, with her sweet, loving, and annoyingly trusting behavior, is an easy target for Valerian and his gang of newlings. She’s a Goth princess and sticks out like a sore thumb. Luc protects Nyx. I feel comforted knowing that. I love Nyx like a sister.

Speaking of sisters, there’s Eli’s youngest sister, Josie. She looks like your average teen, with skinny jeans, Converses, and long, light brown hair nearly to her waist. She wears it parted in the middle with her bangs pinned to the side. Sweet as peaches, you might think. I know better, though. She can fight like her brothers. Trust me when I say it’s weird as hell to watch her kill. But she’s free-spirited and a kind soul. Unfortunately, she’s forever trapped in her fifteen-year-old body and is crazy about Seth. He’ll age. She won’t.

I’m surrounded by people I love, so I’m usually on my best behavior. But these days, I have to think about my next words, my next move, my next interaction with anyone I come in contact with. My fuse is shorter. Even when dealing with clients, I catch myself before saying something awful. It doesn’t take much to set me off. It’s like there’s this shade of irritability that lies just beneath the surface, ready to unleash. Luckily, I can sense it. It’s like…I can feel this thing clawing at the lining of my insides, trying to escape—digging, scratching, whispering. Almost like an entity, living inside of me, separate from my own self. I have no idea what keeps it locked up, other than my own will. But it wants out. I can tell. Weird. Just…weird.

Sometimes I wonder if Eli detects it, too. The way he stares at me? It’s beyond intense. His eyes go deep into mine, searching, perusing. I swear I can feel him inside of me. He can read my thoughts and is constantly in my head now, yet he still can’t pick up Victorian’s voice in my head. I wonder if he can sense this other thing? Because I swear, I feel like it’s alive inside of me. It’s like Eli…knows it’s there but just waits. Watches. I guess he trusts me to let him know when I can’t control it anymore. I hope to hell and back that day never comes.

The clicking of paws through my room alerts me to my dog Chaz’s arrival. He pushes the door open with his nose and peers in at me. He whines.

“Hey, boy,” I croon. “Wanna go for a walk?”

His back end wags, just before he lets out a single bark. And I swear, he smiles.

“Okay, okay, I’m coming,” I say, and climb from the tub. Quickly drying off, glad I’d pinned my hair up instead of washing it, I change into a pair of sweats, long-sleeved Inksomnia T-shirt, and my black Adidas sneaks, pull my hair into a ponytail, and head downstairs with Chaz. He lets out an excited yelp as I grab his leash and hook it to his collar. We head outside.

The chilly bite sinks into my skin and we take off up the merchant’s drive. As Chaz inspects every little thing, I scan our surroundings. We’re all alone. I allow my hearing to open full blast. At first chaotic, with sounds and voices and music all overlapping, soon it filters, becomes selective as Eli has taught me. I listen for anyone who signals distress—a tinge of panic in their voice, or excited talking, pleading. All I hear is swearing, ice clinking in glasses, idle chatter, a fight between angry guys. Drawing in a lungful of air, I taste the inhalation. Allow it to settle against my tongue. Newlings, I’ve discovered, have a unique scent. Slight though it may be, if I concentrate, I can detect it. It’s not smelly, or pungent, but it’s definitely different from anything else. Tonight, I smell nothing. So far, anyway. I have no idea of the distance my wolflike capabilities and senses are able to travel. Guess I’ll eventually find out.

Chaz takes care of his doggy business, but I’m in no mood to head back inside. Something pulls me, something inside of me. The crisp night and unusual tranquility of the city lure me, and we cross Bay Street and head into the squares. There are scattered tourists on benches or strolling along the walk, a few locals. Time slips by—how much, I don’t know. It has become unimportant. Along with the crispness of October, there is dampness in the air that suggests an approaching storm. Soon, the crowds thin. Loud, drunken laughter spills from The Boar’s Head on River Street. Although I’m on Broughton, it sounds as though I’m right in the bar. I can feel the heat from the patrons’ bodies. Smell their cigarette smoke, their breath, their sweat. Almost taste the alcohol they’ve consumed emanating from their pores on my tongue. Irritation and disgust consume me, and I try to tune those senses out. It doesn’t work. The sounds of the city, the scent of humans, suffocate me. Wait, I’m still human. Aren’t I? Hell if I know what I am anymore. All I know is that I’m unsettled. Confusion makes my brain hurt. I begin to run. To escape.

For a block or two, it’s a slow run, and I’m still vaguely aware of Chaz on the other end of the leash I’m still gripping. At some point, though, I drop it. He follows for a while, but soon he can’t keep up, and I feel glad to be alone. As his single bark echoes off the brick buildings surrounding me, I slip farther into the shadows, away from Broughton Street, away from people. The night envelops me, swallows me up like some ravaged beast, and for a brief second the Eagles’ “Hotel California” plays in my mind. They stab it with their steely knives, but they just can’t kill the beast. For some reason, that line has always freaked me out. I like it. It’s my favorite verse.