Darklove (7 page)

All completely incoherent to the fact that an immortal killer, the very top of the food chain, stalks them. Probably more than one.

Police sirens echo close by, resonating off the stone and brick of the buildings. I can tell where it's headed. The park. To that poor dead girl we left there.

Yeah. No matter who is responsible. They have to be stopped.

Even if it kills me.

OLDE BLOOD

A storm's coming.

—James Bond,
Skyfall,
2012

I don't usually worry overmuch about Riley anymore, but after Miles's mobile call, even I admit it. She's worrying me. 'Tis a dangerous chance, entering that alternative world like she did. Victorian Arcos, well, I haven't seen him myself, but I have spoken with him. He seems stable. Seems himself. I've reached into his mind, and I don't sense anything sinister that wasn't already there before. But one thing I do know about alternative realms. Sometimes what comes out isn't always what went in. Riley Poe could be in more danger than she thinks. That doesn't sit verra well with me.

—Jake Andorra

T
he rest of the morning is spent first going over the map of Inverness, spread out on the kitchen table. Noah and I hunch over the creased, new map, shoulder to shoulder, studying. Inverness isn't very large, so we then head out into the city itself. We hit every main artery road, close, and dead-end street in the City Centre on foot, and fan out to the river and industrial park by cab. I suspect to most onlookers, Noah and I are just another touring couple on vacay. What they don't know won't hurt, as the saying goes. Rather, possibly, won't kill.

Yet despite Noah's encouraging words to get my mind in the game, my thoughts stray to Eli. I just can't help it. He was taken from me, and I want him back. Badly. Why can't he be here now? Why did Vic make it home, but not Eli?

As my eyes take in the Scottish city, I daydream about what it'd be like to be here just as a regular couple in love, touring the city. The Highlands. Taking a boat out onto Loch Ness and searching for Nessie. Walking the hillsides, and traipsing through ancient castle ruins. A ping of jealousy roils inside me at all the regular people living regular lives. Wake up, eat breakfast, go to work, socialize, come home. Normal stuff. Jesus Christ, I'm about as far from normal as I can possibly fucking be.

I want my goddamn life back.

“Hey,” Noah says, and I look at him. His eyes soften. “Stop that.”

I heave a sigh. “I swear, I'll try.”

He pulls me into a side hug, kisses the top of my head, and we continue on.

The Scots are a friendly people whom I find I like more and more as I spend time here. I wish so much of this time wasn't spent on killing and death. It's inevitable, though, and the more I stop complaining about it, the faster I'll accept it. It's what we're here to do. Stop a killer. Apparently, more than one. Wanna know something weird? Sometimes, even though I know it has to be done, somewhere far in the recesses of my brain, I'm saddened that I reduce bloodsuckers to a shimmering puddle of white goop. They used to be people. Sons. Daughters. Sisters. Brothers. Friends. Lovers. Who would ever look at a vampire, whether on TV, or in a movie, or like me, in life, and give him or her a soul? I guess it has to do with the fact that my family now is made up of age-old vampires who care not only about me, my brother, Seth, and other humans, but about one another. Makes me wonder how it's possible they—Noah, Eli, and his family—can do it. How they can care, but others can't. Or won't. I'm doing a lot of reflecting lately. Whatever that means.

Noah stops a few people on the street, locals at the university, maybe. The early-twenties crowd. They tell us where the best clubs are, best cafés, best pubs. We find our way to some of the seedier parts of the city. Inverness is friendly and welcoming, so what's seedy isn't very noticeable to any ordinary eye. But Noah can sniff out a punk, and we find a group of four huddled against a building near the industrial park. Late teens, early twenties, trying their best to look tough as hell. Doing a good job of it, too. Every one of them is dragging on a cigarette. We walk up, and one kid, wearing a thick, ratty-looking gray woolen sweater and a black skully, pushes off the wall he's leaning on and pulls long on his smoke. His eyes are locked on to mine. They shift momentarily to the black wing inked at the corner of my cheekbone.

“Aye?” he says in a thick accent. He moves his gaze to Noah.

“Where can we score some shit?” Noah asks.

The kid laughs, and the others chuckle with him. “Wha' makes ya think I know where tae get shit?” the kid asks, then looks at me. “Americans. On holiday, aye? This your brother, love?” He inclines his head toward Noah.

A sharp sparkle lights his gaze as he studies Noah. Intelligent guy, maybe nineteen, and he's pretty cute. Green eyes, along with a flawless complexion and strong jaw. Dark eyebrows, nicely shaped, so he must have dark hair beneath the skully. Makes me freaking sick that he's such a dumb-ass, wasting his life on drugs. He must be early on in the game because his eyes are too quick for him to have been doing it for too long. They make easy prey for vampires, the druggies. It's why we find them, find out where they hang, sell, buy. There's a chance we might just save their sorry lives.

“How'd you guess?” I say to him.

“Hopin',” he answers, and grins. Bright white, wide smile. Wicked-strong accent. Maybe we got these kids all wrong. He's tall, stands eye to eye with Noah.

I just stare at him.

“I never fook wi' the stuff,” he says to Noah, and studies him. “You dunna, either.” He glances at me, then back to Noah. “Cops?” His eyes drift from my feet to my eyes. “Nah. No' cops. But somethin' else.”

Yeah. Smart kid all right. “Clubs?” I ask. You got clubs people go to for a good time, drink, dance, and hook up. Then you have the ones notorious for . . . other stuff. Both are hunting grounds for a rogue vampire. But the one with high-traffic lawlessness instinctively draws the worst kinds. People and vamps.

“Boyo's,” one of the other guys offers. He draws on his cigarette and points with it. “Four streets over, one up.”

“Cost ya eight quid tae get in,” another claims. “Worth every pence.”

“But if ya fancy a good tune or two, try Hush 51. Just up the river a ways,” the leader claims with a grin. “They've a fine live band this weekend.”

“Aye,” the other added. “finest in the bloody Highlands.”

I lift an eyebrow. Sassy little shits. We're talking to the whole band.

Noah chuckles. “What time do you start?”

The leader blows smoke. “Nine.” He inclines his head. “Gerry. Tate. Pete. Drums, keyboard, electric fiddle.” He jabs his hand out to Noah. “Rhine,” he says, and winks at me. “Bass and vocals, love.”

What a hot dog.

“Noah, Riley,” Noah introduces. “Sorry for the mix-up.”

Rhine shrugs. “Happens,” he claims, and glances at his band. “We do look a wee bit thuggish, aye?”

The others all chuckle.

“Oy, are ya here, then, because o' the murders?” Tate asks. He's got wavy auburn hair that curls over his ears.

“Why would American cops be here investigatin' Scottish murders, you horse's arse?” Pete says.

“Shut the fook up,” Tate says with a laugh. “Just askin'.”

“Just passing through,” Noah says. “What murders?”

“Serial killer, mayhap,” Rhine claims. “Three killed so far.” He shakes his head. “Fookin' gruesome.”

“Aye,” Gerry the drummer adds. “Girl just found this mornin', all of her blood drained.”

“Unusual for Inverness,” Rhine says. “Take care where you go after dark.”

I look at the guys that Noah and I both had misjudged. I guess I'll have to dip into minds a little more often before assuming. And on that note, I decide something before leaving. I give Rhine a smile. “Thanks. See ya round, maybe.”

He smiles back.

And I level my gaze at all four band members, ending with Rhine.
Take the cigarettes out of your mouths, drop them onto the ground, and crush them.

Rhine immediately takes his cigarette out, drops it, and smashes it with his boot. The others, in sync, do the same.

Don't smoke. Anything. Ever again. Cold-turkey quit. Nod if you understand.

All four guys nod at once.

Noah shakes his head and stares at me with admiration. Probably a little envy, too. He inclines his head, we say good-bye to the guys, and leave. When we round the block, he glances over at me. “So now you're the poster child for the quit-smoking club, huh?”

I shrug. “Yeah, I guess. Just thought I'd throw it in. Wish some noble mind reader would've stopped my smoking habit when I was a little younger.”

“You stopped it yourself,” Noah says.

“Not really. I think Preacher and Estelle put some root doctor whammy on me.”

Noah chuckles, and we continue up the street. Surrounded by gray stone buildings, we draw closer to the touristy city center. We pass a chippy, a Celtic jeweler, and a kilt maker. As I glance into the large picture window of the kilt maker, an image catches my eye.
Eli
. My heart leaps.

In the middle of the walkway I snap my head to stare across the street. Passersby walk up and down the sidewalk. No Eli. No one out of the ordinary. Grabbing the door handle, I enter MacClennon's Fine Kilts.

A wave of spice and lavender hits me in the nose as I walk into the small shop. Racks display finely pressed kilts of all sizes. An open oak closet exhibits woolen gloves, mittens, and hats. A thick iron-legged table presents rows of fingerless gloves of all colors, made of lamb's wool. In the corner, my eyes light on the cashier. She's wearing her graying hair in a high bun and sporting a dark green vest, a white cotton shirt, and a blue-and-black-plaid tie. She smiles broadly.

“Good afternoon,” she says. “May I help you?”

I smile back as my eyes scan the room. “No, thank you. Just looking.” I mull through the store, notice a few tourists sorting through the various sizes of kilts. One woman sifts through the gloves.

No sign of Eli. Or anyone who even remotely looks anything like him.

I wave at the graying woman, and turn to leave. I almost knock into Noah.

We both head outside. “What's up?” he asks.

I stare across the street, then up and down the sidewalk. I shrug and walk on. “Nothing. Thought I saw something.”

We're moving through the afternoon crowd now, and Noah is a half step behind me. Kids in school black-and-white uniforms are weaving with us, as well as a few tourists and locals. I wish I could send out one big mental warning, a juju heads-up, saying
Everyone stay inside after dark!
so that no one here gets butchered. I don't like not knowing what's what. And I seriously don't like having the cold sensation of sensing Eli's presence in a threatening way. It's leaving an aftertaste in my mouth that's beyond hideous.

“Riley?”

I glance up at Noah, then back to the sidewalk. “What?”

When we round the corner, he pulls me to a stop. “You thought you saw Eli again.”

A man passes by, and his eyes are level with mine. He spares Noah a brief glance and almost pauses, as though worried we're having a domestic dispute. I can see it in his aging blue eyes. I smile at him and nod, and he returns the gesture and moves on. Nice to know chivalry exists still in humans.

I sigh and meet Noah's penetrating gaze. “First, you have to stop glaring at me like that in public. And stop grabbing me, too. That old guy was an inch from busting your ass right here on the sidewalk.”

Noah's body relaxes, and his eyes soften, just a little.

“Yes, I thought I saw Eli again,” I answer him. I shove my hands deep into the pockets of my jacket. “When I glanced at the store window as we passed that kilt maker's store, I saw his reflection in the glass.” I looked up at him. “The second I turned my head to search the street, he wasn't there. I think I'm losing my mind,” I finish.

Noah studies me for a second or two. His jaw muscle tightens. “I wish you were. That's fixable.” He glances out over the cobbled street, and his gaze scales the building in front of us. He studies the skyline for a moment longer. “What scares me”—Noah looks back at me—“is that you're not losing your mind.” With a nod, he inclines his head. “Let's get back to the map. We've got about an hour and a half before nightfall.”

We start back up the street and head to the guesthouse. Noah's words have bugged the hell out of me. He left his meaning unanswered, but I knew it, no matter how hard he disputed it. Knew it just as my body knows how to breathe without conscious thought. Yet his words claw at me the whole way back, and even while we're sitting at the kitchen table, hunched over the map and planning our route for the night's hunt, it bothers me.

He's scared Eli is back from that alternative realm.

And that he's not the same Eli.

A cold shiver runs down my spine at the thought. I try to push it aside, that thought, but it lingers, and soon it feels like fire ants are pinching and biting my insides. I need to get out. Get some fresh air. Just be alone for a few minutes.

I push away from the table and stand. “I'll be back in a few.”

“Riley,” Noah warns, and rises with me.

“Don't even,” I warn in return. “I have to get some air. Clear my head.” I frown at him. “Alone. Kinda like peeing without someone standing there, watching. I need a little alone time, Miles. Seriously.”

Emotion flutters across his handsome features, and I know he's struggling with letting me out by myself. He wants to protect me, be by my side continuously to make sure nothing happens.

Well, that's all great, but I gotta have a breather.

“Half an hour,” I say. “I'm just walking up the street to the market and back.” When his face still pinches with confliction, I force a small smile. “Promise. Back before dark.”

It's almost funny to see a vampire imitate a sigh. It's breathless, only going through the human motion he did for so long. Noah rubs his eyes and nods. “It's not that I don't think you can handle yourself. There's something out there, Riley. And we don't know exactly what yet.”