Eventide

Page 32

Ronnie nods and heads upstairs with the kids. The little one in his arms turns around and looks at me. His shiny black hair swings with the movement of his head. He points. “Mommy bad.”
“Mommy’s just…sick,” I correct. “She’ll be okay.” But by the look in his dark brown eyes, he doesn’t really believe me.
I hope to prove him wrong.
Just as I swing out of Inksomnia at a full run, Eli heads out of SoHo.
Bhing, kicking, screaming bloody murder, and swearing in Dagala is head-first over Eli’s shoulder.
“I’ve got to get her to Da Island,” he says. “She’s out of control.”
I move around his back to take a look for myself. Bhing lifts her head and stares at me. Her glasses are gone and her eyes are milky white. She snaps at me like a freaking zombie, yet her perfectly-cut black bob swings just as easily as her toddler’s. A frightening sight to be sure. “Eesh,” I say. “Definitely get her there. Fast.”
“What are you going to tell Ronnie?” Eli asks, heading to the Jeep.
“I have no idea. I’ll think of something,” I say. “Hurry.”
I help Eli bind Bhing’s arms and legs, then strap her into the Jeep. He takes off, and I walk inside to hopefully convince Ronnie and the kids that their adorable little Bhing isn’t a monster after all.
After some hasty explanations, and a promise to help his wife, Ronnie and the kids head back to SoHo to start cleaning up the mess. I tell him the same thing we told Nyx when Seth was experiencing a quickening: drugs. I hated doing it, but it was better than the truth: vampires.
An hour later, Eli returns, and we continue on to bigger problems.
Scaling the fence at Bonaventure seems much easier now. One leap and I’m over. No more showing my ass to wind, or clinging for dear life to the metal. Up and over. Gotta love the tendencies.
I shine my flashlight to a discarded pile of items half buried in the dirt. A finger of dread inches across my spine. “This is not good.”
“A hairbrush, plate, coffee mug, a toothbrush. A remote control. A plastic container with—a box of cigarettes and lighter?” Eli says, noting the items. “What the hell?”
I draw a breath and stand. “Wow.”
“A Gullah grave,” Eli says. “Strange. It’s an old tradition, one that’s not practiced much anymore. Especially here on the mainland.”
I reach for the remote.
“No,” Eli says. “Don’t touch it.”
I think a moment, then remember Preacher’s teachings. “The Gullah believe that in order to guarantee the safety of the living, they must placate the dead.” I point to the items. “They leave the deceased person’s favorite personal belongings behind, to keep them from returning and bothering the living.”
Eli pulls me away. “To touch any of it would be…bad.”
“You’re right,” I agree.
Eli peers over the edge of the grave. “Looks like they didn’t make it all the way down.”
I look. They hadn’t even reached the coffin. “Good thing, too.”
“No doubt,” he answers.
I glance around. “I’m not sure why Darling sent us here, but I got a bad feeling, Dupré. Let’s go. Bad juju being this close to a desecrated Gullah grave.”
“Where are Luc and the others?” Eli asks, looking behind him. “I thought they were heading over here?”
I glance around. “I don’t know but I don’t wanna stick around for them.”
“Let’s go,” Eli says.
I turn off the flashlight and we head back to the Jeep, through the lengthened shadows that distort perception, make everything seem…surreal.
But the familiar pungent scent of nearby salt marsh remains steady, and it wafts through the darkened Bonaventure and penetrates my sensitive senses. Crickets chirp, a deafening chorus of melodies echoing through the oaks and magnolia trees. Still no cicadas, though. Not even one since this whole mess started.
As quickly as I noticed it, everything stopped. Dead, deafening silence. Not one strand of moss moved. Not one frog croaked. Quiet.
Too quiet.
Eli stares down at me, his eyes glistening in the moonlight.
A rotting stench, however, masks the brine from the salt marsh.
“Vampires,” I whisper. “Newlings. Damn, they stink.”
Eli senses it too and moves his body close.
I slide a look around. Although subtle, the lengthened shadows shorten inch by inch, stretching gray fingers over the milky white headstones and twisting around them. The longer I stare, the more discombobulated things become. I resist rubbing my eyes. It’ll do no good. I steady the irregular breaths that puff out of my lungs and for once, I’m grateful for my sluggish heart rate. Adrenaline, though, pumps rapidly through my veins.
I blink.
In that fraction of a second it takes for my lashes to brush my cheek and lift again, newlings drop from the mossy shadows above, landing in a gap-toothed crescent around us. All punks—at least, they at one time were. Now they are punks with powers.
Eli tenses and moves a muscular arm across my chest, shielding me. “Get behind me, Ri.”
His voice lowers with a lethal resonance.
He’s got to be kidding.
I stay to his left, curve slightly around his backside, but I don’t cower behind him. We just had this discussion. Eligius Dupré has about the hardest freaking head I’ve ever encountered.
Lifting my ankle, I retrieve a knife and palm the handle. My eyes pan left to right.
Seven against two. Where the frig are Luc and the others?
“Steady, woman,” Eli whispers.
I palm another blade and brace myself.
Eli’s strong presence comforts me. Pisses me off, too. I press my head against his shoulder. “Here they come—”
Shrill yells echo throughout Bonaventure. Out of the shadows, moonlight illuminates the newlings moving toward us. Great. Fucking great.
“Ready to die, bitch?” the one closest to me says. “You won’t be leaving this graveyard alive—”
My arm shoots out, lightning fast, and a whizzing noise rushes the night as my silver cuts the air. Twice.
Two newlings, on their knees now, grip their throats, a gurgled, sputtering choke of a scream breaking from their throats. Within seconds, both fall over, face to the dirt. They begin to seize. A rumble runs through the others.
“Five left,” I say, palming two more blades.
Then all hell breaks loose.
More newlings surge from the shadows, and I break away from Eli, blades in hand. “Don’t watch me,” I warn him. “Just fight!”
The words barely leave my mouth when two newlings run toward me. Three more are already on Eli. Christ, where have they all come from? Legs braced wide apart, I shift my weight and ready myself. This won’t be easy.
One reaches me first, and with an in-air, roundhouse kick, I land a foot against the newling’s throat, then shove my blade deep into its heart. As it drops to its knees and screams, I land and slam my fist into the other newling’s face, sending it backward and down. The crunch of bone and cartilage mixes with the gurgle of fluid as I shove my blade into its throat. Crouching, I palm two more blades.
Another newling grabs me from behind. Shit.
Lifting my foot, I bang it down on the newling’s instep, but it doesn’t turn me loose. Strong fingers squeeze my biceps and push my elbows awkwardly together. I curse and explode. Too late, though.
The force of another newling barreling into my gut comes unexpectedly, and the air whooshes from my lungs. For a moment, I’m dazed.
“Riley!” Eli shouts.
I want to shout back and tell him to just take care of the ones he has, but I can’t speak. What’s wrong with me? Why am I so freaking weak?
The newling behind me pushes my elbows together, and the pain forces my hands to open, dropping both blades. The newling in front of me smiles, his face contorting into his vampiric form, that convoluted mouth lifting, jaw dropping, exposing several jagged fangs. I shoot a glance at Eli. He has no fewer than five newlings on him. Damn it!
With a closed fist, the newling in front of me slams into my left eye. My head swings hard right, and stars flitter behind my lids. “That’s for Charleston, bitch,” the newling says. “But I’ve more for you.”
I shake my head, trying to gather myself. “Fuck off—”
Like a flash of light, his arm shoots out and fists my other eye, then my ribs.
I fall forward, feeling the bone give in my side, but the newling holding me jerks me back up. “No, no, not done yet, Fight Club.”
Ah, so that’s it. A couple of disgruntled fighters.
I gather myself. I feel the energy inside me grow. I’ve got this…
Then, the one in front disappears as a flying hulk of muscle tackles him to the ground.
I wheeze, draw in as much air as I can, and lift both knees to my chest. That rib is digging into my lung or something because it’s hard to breathe. I ignore it and push. The shift in my weight throws the newling holding me from behind off balance, and I twist one arm free. I turn, ignore the blinding pain in my ribs and rear back my foot, then sink it deep into the vamp’s groin. Even vampires have sensitive peckers, so it seems. Another chilling, high-pitched scream breaks Bonaventure’s silence.
I’m finally free and I double over, catching my breath. I scan the ground, find my blades, and lunge for them. With both firmly in each hand, I throw one at the newling holding its crotch. The silver buries to the hilt. The other vamp—a short, stocky punk with a shaved head and a tattoo on his throat, hurls himself straight at me. I roundhouse kick and land him flat on his back. I follow him down, straddling his chest in one move. With my knees, I pin his arms by his side. I press the blade to his thick, muscular neck. Jaw unhinged, fangs dropped, eyes white and pupils pinpoint red, he glares at me. Hisses, even. Hisses!
Then, Eli is beside me. “Riley, move off.”
“No. I got it.” I press the blade deeper, and the newling’s eyes bulge.