Afterlight

potions that never failed to intrigue me. The walls were lined with dark-stained oak shelves, and every space was filled with a jar or vial of something. Eye of newt? Sure. Graveyard dust? Absolutely. Dead man’s nails? Got it. Shredded feathers? Yep. Jars and jars of unknown, wonderful concoctions were everywhere, including tins of tea. The handwoven sweetgrass baskets of all shapes and sizes that hung from pegs on the wall and the wooden rafters were absolutely gorgeous, as were the long strip quilts. The Gullah were renowned for preserving their heritage through language, as well as art, skills, and unique cooking. I had several baskets, quilts, and jars of spices that Estelle and her sisters had made and given me. Everything handmade by the Gullah, and one of a kind.

Estelle emerged from behind the curtain. “Oh, dahlin’, your Preacher man had to leave. Your brodder is upstairs, doh, printin’ da walls. Dat boy don’t look so good. He sick?”

“Yes, ma’am,” I answered, and headed to the back. “Or at least he’s trying to come down with something. Probably just a cold. Where’d Preacher go?”

“He got called to Da Island for somethin’,” she answered. “Wouldn’t tell me what. Prob’ly removin’ some hex. Won’t be back for a few days, dat crazy ole man.”

I patted her arm as I passed by. “I’m gonna go upstairs and check on Seth. I’ll be right back down.”

“Okay, dahlin’,” she answered. “I just looked in on him a bit ago. He should be ’bout done.”

I eased up the narrow wooden flight of steps, just like mine and Seth’s, and for some reason, my stomach felt funny. You know — the kind of funny where you feel something’s not right? I hit the five-by-five landing and made my way down the hall. After looking in three rooms, I found him. Stepping inside, I noticed the fresh newsprint plastered to the wall, and Seth, curled up on the floor near the window. My heart jumped again, just like earlier, and I hurried over to him. Once more, I felt his hand, then his cheek, and noticed the slight rise and fall of his chest. Asleep. The little brat was asleep. Again. This time with his shades on.

“Seth,” I said, and tugged on his arm. “Come on, Bro, wake up. I’m taking you to the hospital and get you checked out.”

“No, I’m good,” he mumbled, and shook off my hand. “Sincerely, Ri, I’m good. I feel fine, just . . . tired. I don’t need a doctor.” He yawned. “I just wanna go home.”

I sighed. “Fine. Then, let’s get you home. Estelle doesn’t want you hanging out in here all night.” I tugged again, and this time he allowed me to help him up. I looked at him. “If you don’t kick whatever this is, and I mean soon, I’m taking you to the Immediate Med. Got it? You’re freaking me out, Bro.”

“Sorry,” he said, and leaned into me as we made our way to the stairs. “Just so tired.”

We eased slowly down the steps and stepped through the curtain. “Have you eaten anything at all today?”

“No,” he said groggily. “Not hungry.”

“Tough crap,” I answered, and slid off his shades. He squinted and looked away. “You’ve got to have something,” I insisted.

“Oh, dat is right, boy,” Estelle said, and bustled over. “I got somethin’ for him,” she said, and hurried to the kitchen, still talking. “I said earlier, dat boy needed to rest. Asked him if he wanted a sandwich, but he said no. He always wantin’ food, you know, so dat wasn’t good.” She emerged from behind the curtain holding a snap-lid container. “You give dat boy some of dis soup, Riley Poe. I jes made it dis mornin’. Chicken.” She cocked her head to the side and studied him. “He look awful pasty, girl.”

“I know — I’m putting him straight to bed after I force some of this down his throat — not that it needs forcing. I’m sure it’s great. Thanks, Estelle,” I said, and accepted the soup as my Gullah granny frowned and shook her head. “Call me if you need anything while Preacher’s gone, okay?” I gave her a smile. “I’ll see ya in the morning.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll have your tea ready, girl,” Estelle said. “You take care of dat boy, now.”

We went through the back of Inksomnia, just in case Seth decided to barf all over the place. “Nyx, I’m taking Seth upstairs — be right back down,” I called out.

“Need some help?”

“Nope — I’ve got it. Thanks,” I answered, and headed upstairs, my brother dragging his feet. Our kitchen is just at the top of the stairs, so we stopped there, and I poured some of Estelle’s soup into a coffee cup, draining off the chunks of chicken and vegetables. I pushed the cup into Seth’s hand. “Here, lunkhead,” I said. “Drink up. At least some of it.”

Seth made a face but drained the cup. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and set the mug on the counter. “Happy?”

I frowned. “Hardly, but it’ll do for now. I knew you were coming down with something. Just get to bed and rest. I’m sure it’s just a summertime cold.”

Seth turned out of the kitchen and started down the hall, then stopped, walked back, and surprised me with a tight hug. “Thanks for watching out for me, Ri,” he said, his long, lean arms wrapped around me like a vise, and he pushed his face into my hair, close to my ear. “Love ya.”

Damn, that kid knew how to absolutely melt my heart, and I hugged him fiercely back. “I love you, too, Little Bro. If you need me during the night, come and get me, okay?”

Seth was already walking down the hall, his back to me. “Sure,” he answered, then disappeared into his room.

I watched for a minute longer before heading back downstairs to finish up with Nyx. In the back of my mind, though, I worried — about Seth, about why Preacher had to leave in such a rush, especially before I had the chance to talk to him. Preacher was getting a little too old to be hauling ass anywhere, much less hopping a boat to Da Island. Anything could happen so far out in the sound, but he wouldn’t listen.

And of course, no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t get rid of the image of that one guy, staring at me through the storefront, and it irritated me that I dwelled on it. I mean, dozens of guys stare, and dozens come into the shop, and a dozen more hit on me — a lot of them are pretty cute, too. So what was it about this guy? Was it because he didn’t hit on me? The thought nearly made me laugh. Wasn’t that a dude’s way of thinking?

Surprisingly, the night went by uneventfully, and that was truly a miracle for a Saturday night. We had a pack of punks come in just before we closed, acting loud and obnoxious (and totally reminding me of me at that age), and one made a grave mistake. One of the boys walked up behind me and took me by surprise when he put his hand on my arm. Before he could say a word, I had his arm yanked behind him and jacked up high enough that he stood on the toes of his All Stars, yelping, “Hey!,” his pubescent voice cracking. He was a big kid, too — at least six feet tall. I jacked his arm higher up his back. “Okay, okay!”

“Oh, yeah,” Nyx said apologetically. “You don’t want to ever do that.” She smiled, her auburn pigtails swinging as she shook her head. “She doesn’t like to be touched.”

“You guys come back when you find your manners,” I said, and gave the kid a little shove. He glared at me, and his friends laughed. I lifted a brow. “And when those IDs are legit, big guy.”

“Goddamn, she’s hot!” one of them said as they all rushed from the store and headed up the sidewalk. I just shook my head and glanced at Nyx, who grinned. It being so late, I released her from her obligation of dinner at Garibaldi’s — for the time being, anyway. I didn’t want to leave Seth home alone. Instead, I ordered from Chen’s (orange chicken, vegetable lo mein noodles, and two shrimp egg rolls) and stayed in for the night. I worked out (I have a kickboxing bag hanging in my bedroom that I knock the hell out of daily) and took a long bath. Seth was still hard asleep when I took Chaz for a walk around eleven forty-five.

I walked along Factor’s Walk toward Emmet Park. No one was close by, although in the distance I saw people crossing Bay Street, and down on the riverfront I could hear laughter and music pouring from the bars. Lamplight burned a dim glow against the cobbles, making the shadows pitch long from the cannon and cross. The slightest of breezes wafted by, and it was at the same moment Chaz jerked to a stop and sniffed the air that the hair on my neck lifted. I turned fast around but found no one. “Come on, boy,” I told Chaz, and although he continued to sniff the ground, he’d pause, too, and look cautiously around.

We’d walked all the way to the end of Emmet Park and down the cobbled curve onto River Street, the Waving Girl Statue in view, when the feeling struck again. I jerked a look behind me, scanned the shadows, but noticed nothing unusual. A low growl emanated from Chaz’s throat, and I tugged on his leash. “Let’s go, boy.”

“Nah, don’t go yet,” a voice said from the recesses of the darkness. “Party’s just startin’, babe.”

Four guys emerged into the lamplight, and I immediately recognized two of them as the punks who’d come