It was low tide — I could tell without even seeing the water. The rotting sea life was always thicker at low tide. Cattails and oyster shoals sat visible in the river muck as we crept along.
After we crossed over the main bridge to Tybee, Eli turned into the first subdivision and down several streets before stopping at a stilted house at the end of a cul-desac. An old white caddy sat parked in the driveway. I climbed down, and Eli turned the engine off, threw his leg over the tank, sat, took off his shades, and looked at me.
“What?” I asked, and looked around. “What’re we doing here?”
“There’s something you need to know,” he said, and beneath the streetlight I saw his eyes studying me.
I had no idea what to expect. “Okay,” I said, and waited.
“Remember when you asked if any of Preacher’s people had changed, way back when?” he asked. “And I told you a mortal quickening couldn’t occur unless they drank the blood of a vampire?”
“Yeah,” I said slowly, not liking at all where this was going. “So?”
“Well,” he said just as slowly. “That’s not completely true.”
I could do nothing more than stare and wait for the rest of the explanation.
“More than just the Gullah were used, at first. If a mortal is fed upon, and too much blood is taken, they die. Plain and simple. But if they’re bitten and live, they gain . . . tendencies.” He gauged my reaction. “Vampiric tendencies.”
I shifted my weight and cocked my head. “And they include . . . ?”
Eli shrugged. “It all depends on who did the biting, their genetic makeup. Excessive speed. Ability to jump high, maybe defy gravity for a while. Read thoughts. Crave raw meat.” He shrugged again. “They live longer, with a slow rate of aging. They also have the ability to rapidly heal.”
“Okay,” I said, not fully understanding. “And are there a lot of these people still around?”
“Yes.”
I nodded and considered that enlightening news. “All right. Weird, but okay. So why are we
“Ned Gillespie. Bitten in 1912, when he was fourteen years old.”
I stared in disbelief. “You bit a kid?”
Eli shook his head. “Josie did.” He looked at me. “But back then, yeah — I would have. We were just learning to be humane, Riley. We couldn’t help it.”
“So why are we here to see Ned Gillespie?” I asked, glancing at the two-story house perched above the marsh.
“He and Josie were . . . close, I guess, until they outgrew one another,” he answered. “Ned knows about the Arcoses — can sniff a vampire thirty miles away.” He climbed off the bike. “I thought maybe he’d heard something or . . . smelled something.” He nodded toward the house. “Come on.”
As we walked up the inclined drive, I glanced at Eli. “Is Ned going to freak me out?” I could only imagine what
“Yep,” Eli answered, and I took a deep breath and followed him to the door. Just as we walked under the porch light, the front door opened; there stood a young guy, mid-to late twenties, with crazy brown hair and frosted tips, a yellow and black Led Zeppelin T-shirt, and destroyed jeans. His eyes crinkled in the corners as he grinned and bumped fists with Eli.
“Dude, what’s up? Haven’t seen you in a while,” he said to Eli, then looked at me. “Whoa. Who’s the babe?” He leaned closer to Eli. “Is she a bloodsucker? That’s sick, man.” Then his eyes landed on my dragons. “Damn — sweet tats.” He walked around me, looking. “Sweet.”
Eli shook his head and laughed. “No, Ned. She’s” — he looked at me — “a friend. A mortal friend.” He inclined his head. “Ned Gillespie, Riley Poe.”
Ned stuck out his hand to shake mine, and I allowed it, although I was in shock to see Ned as a young guy instead of a hundred-and-twelve-year-old.
I shot a quick glance at Eli. “Yeah, sure.” I thought I’d fallen through a time warp and straight into one of Bill and Ted’s excellent adventures.
“Well, come on in to my humble abode,” he said. “Come in.”
Eli gave me a glance and a nod, and I went inside first. It was an open floor plan, with cathedral ceilings and a walkway at the top that encircled the entire room. No sooner did Ned close the door behind us than a cell phone rang, and he patted his pockets, then cursed.
“Be right back,” he said, and swear to God, had I not seen it with my own two eyes, I’d never have believed it — even knowing what I now know about vampires, I wouldn’t have believed it. In one leap Ned cleared the wooden railing of the walkway — an easy twenty feet if not more. He disappeared into a room, and in the next second he was leaping down again. He looked at me as he landed.
“Missed call,” he said, as if what he’d done was absolutely normal.
I could do nothing more than lift my brows in astonishment.
“Listen, Ned,” Eli said. “Have you sensed any other vampires lately?”
Ned dramatically lifted his nose to the air and sniffed. “Yeah, dude, I have. It’s not strong, though — so weak actually I thought it was farther up the coast. Why, what’s up?”
“The Arcoses,” Eli said. “You haven’t seen or heard anything?”
Ned looked at Eli, and seriousness replaced the carefree attitude he’d just had.
“There’s a pack of them. Young, not fully transformed, but a load of trouble, if you know what I mean,” Eli said, inclining his head toward me. “One of them is her brother.”
Ned regarded me. “That sucks.”
“Have you sensed them around here?” Eli asked. “On the island?”
Ned shook his head. “Been in Atlanta at a gaming convention.” He glanced at me and grinned. “I created Urban Bloodsuckers,” he said, waiting for me to comprehend. “The computer game? You know, software? Badass.”
“Congratulations,” I said, and he shrugged.
Eli and Ned exchanged few more words, and then we said good-bye, with Ned’s promise that he’d contact us if Seth or the others showed up on the island. I felt skeptical — Ned seemed to be in his own little software world despite the superpowers having been bitten by a vampire had awarded him. “Live long and prosper,” Ned hollered from his front door as we climbed on the bike and left. Eli explained over his shoulder, “He’s a big Trekky.” I fully could see that — especially since he’d been around since before Captain James Kirk was even a spark in his daddy’s eye.
A spitting rain had begun just as we turned off of President Street and onto Bay, and we made it to the Panic Room just before the bottom fell out. A nondescript brick building, the club was completely void of neon lights or signs; the entrance was a plain set of haint blue double doors, and if you didn’t know of the Panic Room, you’d never have found it on your own. It was sort of a word-of-mouth type of place, and only a select few could waltz right in. A lot of shit happened in the Panic Room — drugs, sex, prostitution — but the owner’s attorney was a pit bull. They’d already sued the city for a bust without probable cause and a warrant, and not only did the attorney rake in the dough because of it, but the incident had made the SPD extremely cautious about raiding the Panic Room again. We parked the bike along the sidewalk and hurried to the entrance.
“Who’s the big guy with the braid?” Eli leaned toward my ear and whispered.
I turned into his neck and was surprised by the thrill that shot through me at the intimate closeness. “Zetty’s in his midthirties, from Tibet. He serves as the Panic Room’s resident doorman.” Zetty, with a black braid that reached his waist, always dressed in traditional Tibetan clothing, with a long red yak-wool wrap and black baggy pants tucked into a worn pair of shin-high leather boots. “He was once a Shiva follower,” I said. “See the symbol of a god inked into his forehead?”
Eli looked down at me. “Yeah.”
Tattooed into Zetty’s forehead were brightly colored squares of yellow and red adorned with dots that extended just down the bridge of his nose. He wore round, brightly colored stone earrings and carried a traditional Tibetan knife in a multicolored, handwoven sheath secured across his chest. “I’ve seen him use that knife, too, so don’t be stupid.” No one fucked with Zetty.
“Don’t worry,” Eli said, and placed his hand to my lower back and urged me forward.
