hide a confession? I’m attracted to Victorian. Now, don’t get your panties all wadded up. I don’t mean boom- chick-a-wow-wow attracted. He’s beautiful and sexy as damn friggin’ hell—I’ll give him that. But no—that’s not how I mean. I mean . . . shit. I don’t know what I mean. It’s hard to explain. Don’t misunderstand me, please—Eli is my heart, my soul, even though I can’t admit it out loud yet, and the more he’s away from me, the more pissy I become, which equals, in my book anyway, the more I care about him. Despite the sexual dreams I always seem to be involved in with Victorian, that’s not how I feel about him. A kindred spirit—that’s it! I feel sort of a kindred spirit with him. Does that make sense? Probably not. It doesn’t, even to me. And I’m pretty sure Victorian would hate it. He’s made no qualms about his intentions with me; he wants in my pants. Probably more, but it ain’t happening. All I know is that, while it irritates me to the point of wanting to hit someone that Victorian intrudes his kinky self into my dreams, I don’t want him dead anymore. I just don’t feel that he’s evil. As a matter of fact, I’m positive he’d help me, if times called for his help. And I’m pretty sure all that sets Eli’s ass on fire.”
“A woman’s mutilated body was found in the city’s pineapple fountain early this morning by city workers. An autopsy is being performed. Next, a new cannon for the battery? No, says Charleston’s historical society. More details at six.”
I shook my head and glanced at Phin, who sat perched on the kitchen counter, watching me eat a bowl of Cap’n Crunch. Sunlight streamed in from the window, making his short buzzed hair glow golden at the tips. “I hate being right,” I said. “I knew I recognized that fountain.” I was on edge, pissed, and uncertain ... about everything. “Does Eli know what’s going on here? Victorian is not the threat—it’s him. That monster. Whoever he is.”
Phin’s gaze softened. “Yeah, he knows, and he trusts us to keep you safe until he returns—which should be very soon. And he thinks otherwise, Riley. He believes Victorian is a full threat. I’m not positive why you feel otherwise, but please, don’t be fooled.”
It wasn’t as if I wanted to jump up and leave Savannah. I had a business to run, and I’d more than once dumped my share of work onto Nyx’s shoulders. No offense to Nyx, and pardon my arrogance, but people sought me out. The ones who made an appointment with me wanted art by me in particular. Not all, but some. Okay, most. It’d be like having gone to OCC to have a custom chopper made and you didn’t get Pauly Sr. or Pauly Jr., or even Mikey. You got a fine craftsman, but not the one you wanted. It was my job, my career, and I enjoyed giving people one-of-a-kind body art. I hated ditching my customers again. Yet one thing I knew for damn sure was that I couldn’t bear the thought of innocents dying at the hand of that motherfucker. I couldn’t bear watching it—damn, almost participating in it. Something had to freaking give.
“It will give,” Phin said, his gaze direct, assured. “And we have a contact in Charleston. A small group of guardians, if you will. They’re not ready for us yet. When they are, we’ll go. Until then, I watch your ass, you carry on your business, Seth gets tutored by Mama. Period.”
I narrowed my gaze. “You could have just asked me. You don’t have to go fishing inside my noggin, ya know.”
He wagged his blond brows. “What fun would that be?”
“A group of guardians?” I asked, curious. “This sitaround-and-wait crap is sounding a lot like what happened here. Why can’t we just pack silver, rush Charleston, hook up with the gang, and kick ass?”
Phin sighed, frustration etched in his forehead. “It’s never that easy. First, we don’t step on each other’s toes. They’re a prideful street gang, and some of the members have been guardians of Charleston for centuries. Very rough around the edges and prefer to handle their own problems. Still governed by Preacher’s family, though. They watch over the city. Like Savannah, they haven’t had trouble in a long, long time. And I’m not frustrated.”
I narrowed my gaze. “They’re not doing such a hot job lately,” I said. I knew Preacher had kin in Charleston, and some in Buford and Edisto. I did not know he had a rough gang of vampiric guardians acting in the same manner as the Duprés.
“All had been calm until the Arcoses were released,” Phin said, rubbing his hand over his hair. “I’m pretty sure the trouble’s being caused by newlings created by the brothers. And the ones they’ve created. It’s a snowball now.”
“I guess you’re right,” I said, although I didn’t agree with him on one brother. “Well, if they don’t get a grip soon, we’ll have to go whether they call us or not.” I stared hard at him. “I don’t like what I’m seeing, Phin. I don’t. And for the sake of sounding selfish, I’d really rather not be the eyeballs of a vicious killer. Know what I mean?”
Phin slipped off the counter and placed a hand on my shoulder. “I know, Ri. Hang in there. We’ll get through this.”
After dumping a few cups of Gullah tea in my system, I pulled on a pair of faded jeans, an Inksomnia T- shirt, and Vans, and I ran Chaz to the vet. The sweet dog was acting normal, but moving a little more slowly than usual. The vet checked him out and assured me he was okay, probably just a little sore, and to let Chaz monitor his own activity. I felt sure the main thought that ran through Chaz’s head as he whizzed through the air was
When I got back home, Nyx was in the kitchen making scrambled eggs and toast. She was dressed for work, wearing a black 1940’s-themed pencil dress with a sweetheart neckline, stockings with the seam up the back of the leg, and peep-toe pumps. Her hair was pulled into a pair of curled pigtails, and she wore bright red lipstick and a black choker with a silver spiderweb dangling from the throat. She reminded me of an adorably Goth version of
Eli was still gone. It still hurt.
It pissed me off even more.
I felt as if I were having an out-of-body experience the whole day; I was there, but it wasn’t really me. It was more as if I were looking down and watching myself. Nothing felt real. Everything felt surreal, as if I were trapped in a dream, in an old black-and-white movie.
That was the story of my life lately.
Even with Jimi Hendrix’s “Valleys of Neptune” thumping in the shop, I couldn’t be pulled into that zone I loved. I managed good work, but my heart wasn’t in it like usual, and that pissed me off.
The early part of the day rolled by; I’d inked that flower dragon on the lower back of a skinny biology major. Without the cushion of a little fat, she said it felt as if I was inking her backbone, and honestly I thought she was going to pass out. I hadn’t had a passer-outer in quite some time . I had to stop, give her some water, let her catch her breath. I was impressed, though; she was a trouper and wanted to continue. We finally finished the outline, and I made her appointment for six weeks to come by for the fill-in. By the time she left Inksomnia, her color had returned. All I could think was that I probably was not going to be here.
“Thanks,” she said, then jumped as Gene, the stuffed black raven, cawed at her exit.
“Later,” I said, then decided to grab some lunch. Luc offered to go get it, but I needed some air, needed to be alone, and needed to just . . . release my thoughts, I guess, or maybe my bad mood. It was four p.m. and daylight; there was no fear of vampires lurking in the shadows, so the Duprés didn’t push. My next appointment wasn’t until five fifteen, so I grabbed my backpack and left.
Stifling, humid air hit me the moment I stepped out of Inksomnia, and I drew in a deep breath of the everpresent brine rolling off the Savannah River directly across the cobbles from my shop. I turned left. The tourists had thinned but hadn’t completely disappeared, and I dodged bodies of all types and ages, wearing everything from plaid Bermuda shorts and T-shirts to long pull-over beach dresses and flip-flops; smiling, unwary people pointing in windows, snapping photos of the river walk and riverboats, and walking out of shops with bags of goodies from historic Savannah.
All I could think about was that dark-haired girl, her ripped-open chest, and her head cracking against the pineapple fountain in Charleston.
I stopped in at Kevin Barry’s Irish Pub, ordered a corned beef Reuben on pumpernickel with double fries and malt vinegar, a large sweet tea, and headed out to the river walk to park on a bench and chow down. The
