“Oh,” Luc said, nodding, apparently reading my thoughts. “Gotcha.”
I shot him a glare. “Put your seat belt on.” I shot Zetty a similar one. “You, too.” A final one I shot at Eli, who’d already started to pull his on. “That’s better.” He merely grinned.
I glared at Luc in the rearview mirror. In the early-morning light, his skin nearly blended with the fog. He smiled and did as I asked. “Sure thing, babe.” Zetty also complied, but silently. I learned that most of the time the Tibetan didn’t have a whole lot to say.
Once we pulled out onto Interstate 16, I flipped the stereo on, shoved in a Drowning Pool CD, and cranked the volume to rise over the wind. “More Than Worthless” rocked us all the way to the Interstate 95 exit where we headed north. More than once I glanced at Eli, who silently returned my look. His hand rested on my thigh. We didn’t talk. Luc was pretending to be asleep; I suppose he was simply enjoying the ride. His crazy long hair blew all over the place, a content, peaceful look settling into his flawless features. And as the morning light grew stronger, it winked off the silver hoop in his lip.
“Flawless, huh?” he hollered over the wind. “Thanks, babe.”
“Stay out of my noggin,” I yelled back. He smiled. We continued on.
Ten miles later, my fuel light flashed. “Wanna call Phin and Jack? I need gas,” I said. Luc pulled his cell from the pocket of his baggy cargo shorts and called his brother. At the next exit, I pulled into a Sunoco and stopped at one of the empty pumps. Phin, Jack, and Tuba pulled in and parked near the exit. Eli unbuckled his belt to get out. “I got it,” I said, and waved him down. “Won’t take but a sec.” Eli stared at me for a moment, then gave a nod, and I slid from my seat. Only then did I notice the debit card feature wasn’t working. “Please see manager inside” was written on little white pieces of paper, on all the pumps. “Damn,” I muttered, tempted to drive off and choose another gas station. Instead, I started across the parking lot. One pickup truck and a semitruck, parked in the back, were the only other vehicles around. I pushed inside and walked up to the counter where a middle-aged woman, rail-thin with hard life written all over her, gave me a nod.
“Mornin’,” she said in a smoker’s raspy voice. Her gaze went to my dragon-inked arms.
I handed her my debit card. “Forty on number three,” I said, then thought better of it. “Wait.” My ravenous appetite kicked in, and I suddenly wanted junk. Turning up the candy aisle, I grabbed a handful of Chick-O-Sticks, a bag of salt and vinegar chips, and a package of those cupcakes with waxy icing on top and gooey white cream in the middle. While debating on a pouch of spicy roasted peanuts, I felt a presence behind me. I glanced; a pair of big, dirty knobby-toed boots stood close. Too close.
It happened all too fast.
“Drop the shit and get up. Nice and slow,” the voice belonging to the nasty boots said. His hand grasped my ponytail and pulled, slowly but firmly. “And don’t cause a scene. I know you got boys outside.”
I momentarily closed my eyes. “Are you freaking kidding me?” I said under my breath. I left my junk food in a pile on the floor and slowly rose. “Dude, you really don’t want—”
“Shut up,” the voice commanded. “To the back of the store. Exit door by the head. Do it now, bitch.” I felt the cold press of steel against my ribs through my shirt. “I’ll stick you if you make a sound.”
Even before I’d been introduced to my new tendencies, or to the vampiric world, humans hadn’t scared me. This guy, with his knife that he’d stick me with, damn sure didn’t scare me. He was a loser punk who hung out at gas stations robbing people on the interstate. He was the very least of my problems. But something wasn’t right. It wasn’t three o’clock in the morning. It wasn’t the middle of the night. It was like when you noticed a nocturnal animal, like a raccoon, out in the middle of the day, you knew something was wrong. That raccoon had to be sick. This guy had to be sick. Not wanting to cause the cashier any stress, I did as he asked; I’d take care of him out back, get my junk food, gas, and leave.
I eased out the exit door, and a second later, the idiot followed.
Before the door closed, I swung my leg high and around, knocked the knife from his hand, and shoved him hard against the concrete wall. It was the first look I’d had at him, other than his booted feet. My height, stocky, and appearing to be late twenties, he wore an Atlanta Braves baseball cap pulled down over a burred head of sandy hair. He wore shades.
Just that fast, he turned and knocked me to the ground. I managed to sweep him with my leg before I hit. I landed on my backside. He landed on his backside. His shades fell off. Opaque eyes stared hard and angry back at me.
Well damn. Didn’t see that one coming. Frickin’ frackin’ newling at the Sunoco. Go figure. He must’ve gotten loose from whatever changed him. Great. Freeroaming newlings.
I leapt up just as he lunged; we met head-on. He was wild, uncontrolled, unaware of his powers. I was not. Just as his fangs dropped, I reached for the blade sheathed at my back. The silver flashed in the early-morning light, and the newling’s eyes widened. A nasty snarl curled his inhuman lips.
“You’re her,” he murmured, and shoved me.
Just then Eli appeared, Luc and Zetty right behind him.
The newling’s eyes grazed both, then back to me. “Later,” he said, his voice not matching the newling face. With a fierce shove, he flung me against the wall. By the time I scrambled up, he was across the parking lot and disappearing into the dense copse of tall planted pines behind the Sunoco.
Grasping my knees, I breathed hard, catching my breath. First, I kept my eyes trained at the tree line. Then, the silence drew my attention to my parking lot companions.
Luc stood, frowning. Zetty stood, frowning more.
Eli took off after the newling.
“What the freak is wrong with you, Riley?” Luc said. He shoved his fingers through his hair, staring hard at me. “Do you honestly think you can handle everything by yourself?”
I rose and met his gaze. “Sure. Why not?”
Luc continued to stare for several seconds, as though trying to see something, then blinked. “Unbelievable.”
I jammed the blade back in its sheath. “What?” I asked.
Luc shook his head. “Never thought I’d see a head harder than Eli’s. Do you have a problem asking anyone for help, or just from me? Or Eli?”
I shrugged. “I had him, Luc. If I’d needed help, I would have definitely asked.” I scratched my jaw. “He said, ‘You’re her.’ What’s that supposed to mean? And why was he out here in the early morning, alone? Don’t newlings usually run in groups? At least, for a while?”
“Usually,” Luc said, and led the way into the store. “But we’re dealing with Romanian magic—or so Ned says, and I tend to believe him. There’s no telling what we’re up against anymore.” He rounded on me as we stopped at the pile of junk food sitting on the floor where I left it. “Which is why you freaking need to call for help”—he tapped my temple—“when something’s going down. Got it? Or do you really want to see Eli kick my ass?”
I glanced at Zetty, whose dark gaze remained fixed on mine. He merely shrugged.
A cynical laugh slipped from my throat. “Whatever, Dupré.” I bent down and gathered my junk food, then headed to the cooler. “I gotta tell ya—I’m pretty sick of hearing how Eli’s going to kick everyone’s asses for me getting into trouble.” I flung open the cooler, grabbed a Yoo-hoo, and let the door slam shut. “Where is he, anyway? It’s been too long.”
Eli walked through the front door. He shook his head. “He’s fast. Got away.”
Luc and Zetty followed me up to the front. The cashier, who’d stepped out the front to smoke, was just making her way back behind the counter. I set my junk food on the counter. “You can add this stuff to the gas,” I said. She rang it up, looking at me uncertainly the whole time.
“Receipt?” she asked.
“No, thanks, “I responded, scooped up my stuff, and left.
My cell vibrated. I dumped my junk food in my driver’s seat and grasped the phone from my back pocket. I glanced at the screen and rolled my eyes when I saw Phin’s name. I answered. “Hey.” Eli glared at me.
“The next time you pull something like that, Riley I will personally kick your ass,” Phin said.
I hung the phone up and flashed him the bird.
I was really, really getting tired of all the ass-kicking threats.
Already, I was getting irritated, and it wasn’t even eight o’clock in the morning yet. I opened my gas cap, lifted the fuel nozzle, and jammed it in. “Aren’t we going to go after him?” I asked about the newling. “He’s pretty close to Savannah.”
“No,” Eli said, leaning against the Jeep’s fender. “I told Papa. He and my mother will take care of it. Just like I will take care of you.”
I eyed Luc in the rearview; his grin spoke volumes. Finished pumping, I stuck the nozzle back in the pump, screwed the gas cap back on, and looked at all three of my Jeep occupants. “Let’s get out of here.”
I’d already had enough newling excitement for one morning.
Twenty-seven miles later we merged onto US 17 North. I’d shucked out of my jacket, and cars filed down both lanes. Palm trees and live oaks dripping with Spanish moss gathered along the highway, along with the occasional Gullah woman, sitting out beneath a pitched half tent, or a beach umbrella, in a plastic and metal lawn chair with a quilt spread on the ground and dozens of sweetgrass baskets for sale. Small country stores advertising homemade peach preserves and boiled peanuts, along with fruit stands, gathered at the edge of the highway. In between those fruit stands were pieces of plywood nailed to trees: PEACHES, WATERMELONS, PECANS, FIVE MILES. It was all unique, very South Carolina. Very Charleston.
“You like it here,” Eli said, peering at me behind a pair of aviators.
I regarded him behind my own pair of shades and smiled. “I remember my mom taking Seth and me here, to Folly Beach, when we were very young,” I said. “We’d stay at the Holiday Inn, and Seth and I would hang out at the ice machine, eating it by the handfuls. Nice memories.”
“They’re good to have,” he answered. “Hold on to them.”
It was the best piece of advice I’d been given in a while.
By the time we drove the sixty-plus miles to Charleston, the sun drove harshly into the open top of my Jeep. Overhead, white fluffy clouds drifted in a sky of pure blue, and the breeze that whipped at my face and my ponytail, felt warm, at times smoldering—typical dog days of summer. One would never think such ease and beauty would lead to immortal monsters jabbing their fangs into the hearts of humans, or crazy vampire cult fight clubs taking place while the city slept. Or worse—newlings hanging out at the Sunoco, waiting for victims. Fucked up, I tell ya.
More palms and mossy oaks stood along old neighborhood streets as we hit the historic district. Spearing the sky was the tall, spindly spire of St. Michael’s, and farther along Church Street, the well-known and aged French Huguenot Church. I downshifted with the slower traffic along Market Street, glancing over at the Gullah women and their wares in the city market. Sweetgrass baskets of all shapes and sizes and strip quilts covered the market stands, filled with goods varying from fruit preserves to handmade jewelry. We didn’t stop; instead, we continued toward the harbor, following Phin, east of the Ashley River and all the way to South Battery. We pulled in behind the two trucks Phin and Jack were driving. We were parked on the driveway of a large, white, three-story historic home. It looked like something out of
Southern Living
magazine. I’m talking full-front verandas, large-paddled ceiling fans, white rocking chairs, and dozens of huge green Boston ferns, and flanked by tall palms, crepe myrtle trees, and aged magnolias with large, waxy green leaves. It sat in the famous line of battery houses overlooking Charleston Harbor. We pulled around back and parked in the shade. I threw the Jeep into neutral and yanked the emergency brake.
I looked at the battery mansion before us. “Whose place is this?”
Eli looked at me over his shades. “Belongs to Jake Andorra, but he won’t be here. It’ll just be us.”
“So where’s Jake Andorra if he’s not here?” I asked, unfastening my seat belt and sliding out the Jeep’s door.
Luc grinned and answered. “London.”
“And . . . how long has Jake Andorra been dead?” I continued.
“About four hundred and sixty years,” Eli said with a laugh. “Good thing he’s not here.”
“Why?” I asked, pushing my shades up into my hair.
Eli stared at me for a moment, his grin widening. “He’d like you too much.”
I shook my head. Eli grabbed my bags and his from the backseat and rounded the Jeep; Luc did the same, as did the ever-silent Zetty. We walked toward the others. I glanced at Luc. “And does he drink V8’ like the Duprés, or—”
“Don’t ask,” Luc replied. I couldn’t tell by his expression what that meant exactly, so I dropped it.
Phin, Josie, and Seth, loaded down with backpacks, and Jack and Tuba, loaded down with . . . something, turned to us as we walked up.
“We’ll get our gear inside. Zetty, Jack, Tuba, and Josie will make the place safe while you and Seth learn the city,” Phin said. He stared at me. “Ready?”