people, all of them droning. Finally, I did it, and it was a relief. It wasn’t easy to turn on and off, and sometimes it took me a few minutes to achieve control, but I was getting better, and I could now do it without squeezing my eyes shut. I mean, Jesus. It was kinda funny at first, but I quickly grew sick of hearing people humping and moaning all the friggin’ time. God, they were having sex everywhere. I felt trapped in a porn dream. So this morning, after I shut out the other unwanted noises, I found everything was pretty calm, as it used to be before I had two strigoi bloodsuckers try to drain my life force. Light traffic; somewhere, a dog barking its head off, and, in the distance, a semitruck grinding its gears and chugging along the bypass—these were normal sounds.
I should have realized this was the beginning of a sonot-normal day.
By the time I pulled onto the merchant’s drive and parked the Jeep behind Inksomnia, it was a few minutes after six a.m. Preacher and Estelle’s light in the kitchen flickered on, so I crossed the cobbles to their back door. The haze was brighter outside now, but the sun still hadn’t cracked over the city. I knocked lightly, and in seconds Preacher came to the door. The beam of light that shined behind him revealed his usual long-sleeved plaid shirt tucked neatly into a pair of worn dungarees and a big smile. He and Estelle always got up early, so I knew I wasn’t intruding. When his gaze lit on the Krispy Kreme box, the smile grew.
“Oh yeah, dat’s my girl right dere,” he said, then kissed my cheek and pulled me into the small foyer. “Was cravin’ dem tings earlier. Almost went out myself to get dem.” He lifted a brow. “Don’t let your grandmodder see ’em. She says da sugar makes me act all crazy.” He chuckled softly.
“I heard dat, ole man,” Estelle hollered from the kitchen. “Riley Poe, you git in here and bring dem tings wit you. Dat ole man acts crazy widdout da sugar, dat’s right. Sugar makes him crazier.”
I smiled at Preacher. “Yes, ma’am.” I flipped open the box. Preacher lifted a doughnut out and in two bites had it gone. I shook my head, grabbed one myself, took a bite, and headed for the kitchen while my surrogate grandfather licked his fingers. I set the box on the table and sat down.
“I hope you left room in dat bottomless pit of a stomach for some magic,” Estelle said with a fake scowl, inclining her head toward the simmering pot of tea on the burner. She grinned and glanced at the doughnut box. “You save me one now, dat’s right.”
“Absolutely,” I said. “And yes, ma’am, I have plenty of room.”
Estelle bustled over, wearing a hot pink Da Plat Eye T-shirt and a multicolored brush skirt, with a knotted head wrap to match. She smelled fresh, like Dove soap and something . . . herbal from the shop. Satin ebony skin shined in stark contrast to her white smile. “Drink up, Riley Poe. Don’t want dem Duprés lookin’ at you like you was a pork chop.”
I shook my head and smiled. “I don’t think they like me as much anymore,” I said, and shrugged at the questioning look on my surrogate grandmother’s face. “Tough meat.”
Estelle stared for a second, then burst into laughter, shaking her head. “You crazy white painted girl, dat’s right.”
I grinned at Preacher.
He did not return the cheer.
When Estelle left the kitchen, he leaned over the table and looked hard at me. “What’s wrong wit you, girl?”
I met his stare. I could never get anything past Preacher. “Eli left. He’s going to kill Victorian. And I guess try to find the other one.”
Preacher took a sip of steaming coffee and stared at me over the rim of his cup. “If he can find him, anyway. Dat Arcos boy is slippery.” He set the cup down. “And I ain’t too sure he’s as bad as his brodder was.” With a long, bony forefinger, he rubbed his jaw. “Sometimes, family makes a person do crazy tings, yeah? And he sure has it bad for you, Riley Poe.”
The memory of Victorian’s recent words rushed through my head. “He . . . said he’s known me for a long time, Preacher. As in from when I was a kid.” I looked hard at him. “How can that be?”
Preacher flicked something from his sleeve, rubbed his gnarled knuckle, then raised his head to look at me. “Maybe he been watchin’ you from da hell stone all dis time,” he said slowly. “I know dat when dey was entombed, dere powers was stripped, and dey was cursed. Dey couldn’t smell your blood, couldn’t crave. But maybe dey could see, hear. He must’ve picked up on you somehow, dat’s right.” He shook his head. “Might be why he wants you so powerful. Maybe he’s been knowin’ you for a long time, girl.”
Victorian Arcos really did love me? “That’s . . . weird.”
Preacher laughed softly. “Only you would say dat, Grandchild.” He grasped my hands between his dark leathery ones. “You watch yourself, baby, and I mean dat. Make sure your brodder stays wit you. And if you want Jack and Tuba to stay—”
I smiled and shook my head. “No, Preach—it’s fine. Really,” I assured him. “But if things get crazy, I’ll let you know. Okay?”
“Hrumph,” he grumbled. “You always did have dat hard head on ya. Don’t be shamed to ask for help, Riley Poe.” He rose and kissed my cheek. “I’ll take a stick to dat backside, and I mean dat.”
“I know, and I promise,” I said, thinking it funny that Preacher had never taken a stick to my backside. “I love you,” I said, rose, and hugged him.
“I love you, girl,” he said, and pushed a small sachet into my hand. I glanced down. It was coarse burlap, the size of a golf ball, and filled with . . . something. He looked at me gravely. “Sprinkle it outside your apartment door and all da windows,” he said quietly. “Do it tonight, before you go to bed.”
I nodded. “Okay.” Hell only knew what was in the sachet.
Estelle bustled back into the kitchen as I was leaving. “You want some crabs, Riley Poe? Capote bringin’ dem later on. He an’ Buck out dere on da Vernon right now pullin’ traps, dat’s right. I’m makin’ some hush puppies, too.”
I grinned. The Vernon was a brackish saltwater river that ran close to Skidaway Island and emptied into the sound, and Capote, when not’ playing his sax, was out in the mouth of one of hundreds of creeks, crabbing with old Buck. And Estelle made the best hush puppies on the East Coast. “Definitely. I’ll come by later.” I kissed my dark grandmother good-bye, left several doughnuts on a plate for them, grabbed the remainder of the box, and left.
At the time, I didn’t realize it, but soon I’d learn that nothing as simple as Savannah blue crabs, Gullah hush puppies, and Krispy Kreme doughnuts would ever grace my life again. But it took the rest of the afternoon to figure it out. The whole while, Eligius Dupré remained in my head. I’d be willing to bet a month’s pay he did it on purpose. Of course, he wasn’t the easiest guy to forget. I already missed him.
After taking Chaz for a walk, I loaded my iPod into the home unit, selected Sevendust, and spent my morning cleaning the apartment, tidying up the shop, and ordering supplies online while jammin’ to “Unraveling” and “Ride Insane.” It was a cool freaking band, and for a while it put out of my head Eli Dupré and the heat and emotions he stirred within me. I cranked up the volume, hoped Bhing from SoHo Boutique next door wasn’t too irritated with the music, and rocked out. She was usually pretty cool about things like that, and for the most part, I didn’t abuse it. Like, I didn’t crank the music if it was too early or too late. This was the middle of the day, so I felt okay about it. The pounding hummed through my body, soothed, settled me. That was what fantastic tunes did to me. The music put me into the groove, and soon my bad mood had evaporated.
I checked my business e-mail and discovered a special on Skin Candy ink. Since it was my favorite brand, I stocked up. I also ordered another load of Inksomnia tourist T-shirts. I confirmed my appearance and temporary shop at a tattoo convention in November, went over my scheduled appointments, and studied the descriptions I’d drawn on plastic wrap (I hold it to the client’s desired body part chosen for the person’s art and then draw a rough sketch to the contour of the person’s shape) of requests the clients had left. One girl, a nurse at St. Joseph’s, had asked for a dragon/flower combination. She wanted a feminine yet traditional dragon. I sketched the head of a dragon whose body wound around and turned into swirly vines and flowers. By the time Nyx arrived at four p.m., I’d settled onto the floor with my sketch pad. Nyx joined me, and together we hammered out some pretty sick designs. Several hours passed. Seth called to say he, Riggs, the Duprés, and Zetty were doing a little training and would be home around ten p.m. or so. I said fine. So after Nyx and I ran next door for crabs and hush puppies at Preacher’s, we settled back down with our designs. It was after eight p.m. Chevelle’s “Sleep Apnea” played quietly (as quietly as Chevelle could play) in the home unit, and Nyx and I slipped into artist mode.
“That one is going to take at least two sittings,” Nyx finally said, leaning over the design I’d drawn for a girl of a Japanese cherry tree, with different-sized blossoms sprouting all over the spindly branches. It was a pretty
