Afterlight

and shoved it into his pocket.

I did as he asked, although my mind was buzzing. I called Preacher first, then Phin. Preacher showed up first.

My surrogate grandfather walked in through the back and came straight to me. “You tell me what happened, girl,” he said, and reached out with a thumb and wiped the blood off my lip. I told him about the Panic Room, about Kelter, and about me being questioned yesterday.

“The detective showed up while Eli was showering. He . . . wanted to check the place out.” I rubbed the back of my neck. “Then, I don’t know — he started talking dirty to me, then put his hands on me.” I looked at Preacher, and it was only then that I noticed that the other three Dupré men, Gilles included, had walked in. I glanced at them and continued. “I reacted — I elbowed him, and then I punched him.” I looked at Eli, whose eyes were almost back to normal, but he was still silent, furious. “Eli didn’t kill him,” I said fervently. “He didn’t. I think . . . he had a heart attack after seeing Eli change.”

Preacher began speaking in French to Gilles; I of course didn’t know what they spoke of.

“Preacher’s telling my father what Murray did to you as a child,” Phin offered, and I gave him a nod of thanks.

I glanced at Gilles, and he looked at me. “Worry not, chère; all will be well. You will soon learn that a creature of the afterlight cherishes beyond mortal imagination what is his, and will protect fiercely if challenged.” He glanced at Eli, down at the detective, and back to me. “We no longer routinely kill; in this case, it could not be helped.” Gilles and Preacher stepped off together and continued to speak in French. Eli grasped me by the elbow.

“Go upstairs, Riley,” he said. “Josie and my mother are on their way.” He glanced behind him, at the detective. “We have to take care of things now.” He brushed a knuckle against my cheek. “I couldn’t help it.”

I covered his hand with mine. “Yeah, I know.” Our gazes lingered for a moment, and I’d never felt the full weight of a man’s stare before like I did with Eli. “Tell me this is going to be okay,” I asked. I wanted him to say it badly.

“It will,” he said. “I promise.”

I left then, without a backward glance. I didn’t want to see any more than I already had. I didn’t want to think of how they’d get rid of the detective’s body, his car, or any trace of him being and dying in Inksomnia. I had to trust Eli, and I found myself surprised once again — I truly did trust him. It wasn’t until I was upstairs, and Josie, Elise, and Estelle were sitting in my kitchen, that I felt how my energy had drained. I sat at the table, Estelle made me a pot of tea, and two vampires, a Gullah root doctor’s wife, and I kept one another company. It was so weird I almost laughed out loud. And if I thought that was weird, later on, when we all drove to Wal-Mart to pick up a few necessities for my stay at the Duprés’? Now, that was funky. As we stepped inside the double automatic doors, a woman in her midthirties or early forties standing at the bulletin boards caught my eye. Her despondent expression as she thumbtacked a picture to the corkboard made me ache inside. I watched her for several moments as she stared at the photo, and my eyes followed hers to the picture — a young guy Seth’s age, wearing an Atlanta Braves baseball cap and smiling like there was nothing better in life. She stroked his face and walked away, and I continued to stare at that wall. In three of the pictures I recognized Seth’s friends. There were many more hanging there.

“It’ll be over soon, chère,” Elise said, placing a hand on my shoulder. “We’ll get the boys to safety and fix this. My husband, Eli and his brothers, your dark fellows, they never fail.”

“Dat’s right, baby,” Estelle said, and she linked her dark arm through my snowy white one. “Dem boys are tough as nails. Dey won’t give up. Neither will your Preacher man, dat’s right.”

Josie watched me curiously; she amazed me by how much of her environment she soaked in by merely listening to others. Even she gave me a smile. “No worries.”

Later that day, as I was packing up in the apartment, the news came on announcing the death of one of Savannah’s finest, Detective Claude Murray; he’d succumbed to a long-standing cardiac problem. His funeral would be in two days. I didn’t ask how, or why. I simply felt relief — and a little guilt. I’d hated that freaky guy, and inside, I wasn’t sad he’d croaked pissing his pants over the sight of Eli’s transformation. Not one bit sad.

Over the next several days, the Duprés put me under the most strenuous workouts I’ve ever experienced. During the day, I remained in the donjon on the top floor, and everyone got a poke at me; every family member had something unique to offer. Josie taught me the latest in acrobatics; I could now run toward a wall, run up it a ways, and flip completely over. My body felt strong, vibrant, alive. I felt like those guys in The Matrix Reloaded . Call me Neo. I am the One. Rather, I was, until Luc laid me flat on my ass. You know, there are those fight-club guys who kick and punch and just go nuts when they fight; then there are those like Luc who can almost remain perfectly still and catch you completely off guard while knocking you senseless. He showed me a few moves, and I began practicing. He let me win a couple of times.

Phin was a fantastic dodger and roller. Of course, moving like lightning helped, but seriously — he was a fine, fine free runner in his own right. When we weren’t in the donjon, we were outside, working every plane and flat surface of the Dupré House, its outbuildings, its wall. I already had natural abilities and athleticism, but perfecting the moves of a free runner was going to take a little time. Still — when I made it to the roof for the first time, I squealed like a cheerleader.

Elise was an expert markswoman when it came to throwing a blade; she’d been taught by the best: her husband. Thank God they didn’t participate in the practices where I used a moving target. No way could I have thrown a blade at that sweet little woman — no matter that she could rip a throat out in the blink of an eye.

Of course, in my opinion, Eli was the master of all. Yes, all. On and off the donjon mat, I might add. He was wicked fast, could free run like a mofo, and rivaled his mother with blade accuracy. I supposed when you live for as long as they have, you tend to just get good at stuff. I didn’t have a century’s worth of training, but I had a heart full of determination. I knew this was the only way for me to be able to help my brother. No way would Eli let me get near the boys, so close to the completion of their quickening, without a little more training. I worked hard, all day, every day. It wasn’t until the fourth day of training that I began to feel weary. Extraordinarily weary, like I was coming down with the flu or something. My body ached — and it was more than just soreness from the workouts, or the sex marathons with Eli. I didn’t want to seem like a wiener, so I kept it to myself. I hated a complainer anyway.

The interior of the Dupré House was enormous; you could literally go days inside without running into anyone, if that was what you wanted. As vampires, they pinched about two hours of sleep during the middle of the day; the rest of the time they were awake, out and about, mingling with Savannah’s society. Elise loved antique shops. Gilles loved to go to the shooting range and had a massive gun collection. It was all very eye-opening.

I stayed with Eli; there was no question about that from the get-go. The moment I’d arrived, he’d carried my bags and led me straight to the west wing of the third floor, to a massive chamber. Inside were a large fireplace, a king-sized bed with intricately carved posts and headboards, and a gauzy white bed curtain. It was . . . perfect. Gilles and Elise were on the first floor; the others had rooms on the second floor. Philippe the butler had a room in the back of the first floor, and stayed with the Duprés twenty-four seven. He was a cool enough guy, and I always caught him checking out my inks. Pretty damn funny if you asked me. I bet he wanted one himself.

So while my days were filled with boot-camp, Parris Island-type, bad-vampire-slaying training, my nights were filled with edging the darkest, seediest places in the historic district, and tracking the boys. The Arcoses moved to a different place each night, making it more difficult to keep an eye on them. They were chronic, though — dark places where kids looking for trouble would certainly find some. They offered drugs, alcohol, even women. Horrified, I’d witnessed two prostitutes being killed; we’d prevented several others from becoming prey. I knew where the darkest of souls hung out after dark; I used to be one of them. After Kelter Phillips’ death, the Panic Room had closed its doors. Now the Morgue and the Asylum both were filled to the gills. Rarely did Eli let me out of his reach when inside, either. He knew I could fight; he’d watched me kick Luc’s ass plenty of times, although Luc had toned his skills down to match my mortal ones. Still, Eli was severely protective over me and my body. One groping hand to the ass and he’d scatter the crowd just to find out which one did it. Honestly. I’d dealt with scumbags so often in my past that they didn’t offend me. These guys were pathetic, and it didn’t take much for me to jerk an arm behind some pig’s back, or twist a set of nuts until the jerk squealed like a girl. Eli didn’t like others touching me; he secretly loved how much of a badass I was. I knew it.

It was my third night in the Dupré House, and Eli had left me soaking in a bath to go speak to his