Afterlight (Page 27)

“Ned Gillespie. Bitten in 1912, when he was fourteen years old.”

I stared in disbelief. “You bit a kid?”

Eli shook his head. “Josie did.” He looked at me. “But back then, yeah—I would have. We were just learning to be humane, Riley. We couldn’t help it.”

“So why are we here to see Ned Gillespie?” I asked, glancing at the two-story house perched above the marsh.

“He and Josie were . . . close, I guess, until they outgrew one another,” he answered. “Ned knows about the Arcoses—can sniff a vampire thirty miles away.” He climbed off the bike. “I thought maybe he’d heard something or . . . smelled something.” He nodded toward the house. “Come on.”

As we walked up the inclined drive, I glanced at Eli. “Is Ned going to freak me out?” I could only imagine what tendencies he might have.

“Yep,” Eli answered, and I took a deep breath and followed him to the door. Just as we walked under the porch light, the front door opened; there stood a young guy, mid-to late twenties, with crazy brown hair and frosted tips, a yellow and black Led Zeppelin T-shirt, and destroyed jeans. His eyes crinkled in the corners as he grinned and bumped fists with Eli.

“Dude, what’s up? Haven’t seen you in a while,” he said to Eli, then looked at me. “Whoa. Who’s the babe?” He leaned closer to Eli. “Is she a bloodsucker? That’s sick, man.” Then his eyes landed on my dragons. “Damn—sweet tats.” He walked around me, looking. “Sweet.”

Eli shook his head and laughed. “No, Ned. She’s”—he looked at me—“a friend. A mortal friend.” He inclined his head. “Ned Gillespie, Riley Poe.”

Ned stuck out his hand to shake mine, and I allowed it, although I was in shock to see Ned as a young guy instead of a hundred-and-twelve-year-old. Weird. “Well, Riley Poe, this is the dawning of the age of Aquarius, don’t ya think? Vamps, Tendies, and mortals, chillin’ together. Pretty awesome, huh?”

I shot a quick glance at Eli. “Yeah, sure.” I thought I’d fallen through a time warp and straight into one of Bill and Ted’s excellent adventures.

“Well, come on in to my humble abode,” he said. “Come in.”

Eli gave me a glance and a nod, and I went inside first. It was an open floor plan, with cathedral ceilings and a walkway at the top that encircled the entire room. No sooner did Ned close the door behind us than a cell phone rang, and he patted his pockets, then cursed.

“Be right back,” he said, and swear to God, had I not seen it with my own two eyes, I’d never have believed it—even knowing what I now know about vampires, I wouldn’t have believed it. In one leap Ned cleared the wooden railing of the walkway—an easy twenty feet if not more. He disappeared into a room, and in the next second he was leaping down again. He looked at me as he landed.

“Missed call,” he said, as if what he’d done was absolutely normal.

I could do nothing more than lift my brows in astonishment.

“Listen, Ned,” Eli said. “Have you sensed any other vampires lately?”

Ned dramatically lifted his nose to the air and sniffed. “Yeah, dude, I have. It’s not strong, though—so weak actually I thought it was farther up the coast. Why, what’s up?”

“The Arcoses,” Eli said. “You haven’t seen or heard anything?”

Ned looked at Eli, and seriousness replaced the carefree attitude he’d just had.

“There’s a pack of them. Young, not fully transformed, but a load of trouble, if you know what I mean,” Eli said, inclining his head toward me. “One of them is her brother.”

Ned regarded me. “That sucks.”

“Have you sensed them around here?” Eli asked. “On the island?”

Ned shook his head. “Been in Atlanta at a gaming convention.” He glanced at me and grinned. “I created Urban Bloodsuckers,” he said, waiting for me to comprehend. “The computer game? You know, software? Badass.”

“Congratulations,” I said, and he shrugged.

Eli and Ned exchanged few more words, and then we said good-bye, with Ned’s promise that he’d contact us if Seth or the others showed up on the island. I felt skeptical—Ned seemed to be in his own little software world despite the superpowers having been bitten by a vampire had awarded him. “Live long and prosper,” Ned hollered from his front door as we climbed on the bike and left. Eli explained over his shoulder, “He’s a big Trekky.” I fully could see that—especially since he’d been around since before Captain James Kirk was even a spark in his daddy’s eye.

A spitting rain had begun just as we turned off of President Street and onto Bay, and we made it to the Panic Room just before the bottom fell out. A nondescript brick building, the club was completely void of neon lights or signs; the entrance was a plain set of haint blue double doors, and if you didn’t know of the Panic Room, you’d never have found it on your own. It was sort of a word-of-mouth type of place, and only a select few could waltz right in. A lot of shit happened in the Panic Room—drugs, sex, prostitution—but the owner’s attorney was a pit bull. They’d already sued the city for a bust without probable cause and a warrant, and not only did the attorney rake in the dough because of it, but the incident had made the SPD extremely cautious about raiding the Panic Room again. We parked the bike along the sidewalk and hurried to the entrance.

“Who’s the big guy with the braid?” Eli leaned toward my ear and whispered.

I turned into his neck and was surprised by the thrill that shot through me at the intimate closeness. “Zetty’s in his midthirties, from Tibet. He serves as the Panic Room’s resident doorman.” Zetty, with a black braid that reached his waist, always dressed in traditional Tibetan clothing, with a long red yak-wool wrap and black baggy pants tucked into a worn pair of shin-high leather boots. “He was once a Shiva follower,” I said. “See the symbol of a god inked into his forehead?”

Eli looked down at me. “Yeah.”

Tattooed into Zetty’s forehead were brightly colored squares of yellow and red adorned with dots that extended just down the bridge of his nose. He wore round, brightly colored stone earrings and carried a traditional Tibetan knife in a multicolored, handwoven sheath secured across his chest. “I’ve seen him use that knife, too, so don’t be stupid.” No one fucked with Zetty.

“Don’t worry,” Eli said, and placed his hand to my lower back and urged me forward.

Zetty smiled at me as we drew close, and recognition made his eyes shine. It was the kind of look that made his already intimidating features even scarier. “Riley Poe. What are you doing here?” he said in his heavy Tibetan accent, and grasped my shoulder.

Eli immediately stiffened and moved slightly in front of me, causing Zetty’s gaze to move from me to Eli. Zetty frowned.

“It’s okay,” I said quietly to Eli, and placed my hand on his back. “Zetty’s an old friend.” I looked at the bouncer. “Just here to hang out. So how ya been, Zetty?” I asked.

“Cannot complain,” he answered, but his attention was now on Eli.

“Good. Nice seeing ya,” I said, and tugged on Eli’s arm.

Zetty turned his eyes on me. “Stay out of the back rooms, Riley,” he said with a deadpan tone. “Nothing there for you anymore.”

We walked away, and I averted my gaze from Zetty.

“What’s up with him?” Eli asked as we passed through the small foyer where the music reverberated through another set of double doors that led into the club. “He seems too protective over you.”

“He probably thought the same thing about you.” I smiled. “Zetty does his job and only his job,” I said, glancing at him. “He always hated that I’d gotten messed up, and while he knows what goes on in the back panic rooms, he doesn’t get involved.” I shrugged. “Except for once. He pulled me out of a bad situation and almost killed a guy doing it. Otherwise, he merely stays up front and keeps the peace.”

“He knows what I am,” Eli said matter-of-factly.

“I wouldn’t doubt it,” I answered, knowing he’d read Zetty’s mind, and to be honest, I wasn’t all that surprised. Zetty had been sort of a mystical man in Tibet, mysterious and deadly. I was always grateful he liked me, for whatever reason.

As we pushed into the crowd, the black walls and strobe lights swallowed us, and “The Raven and the Rose” by My Dying Bride slammed through the sound system and hummed through me; Eli’s body crowded mine, his palm and fingers pressed possessively to the bare skin of my lower back as he guided me through a sea of smoke, black leather, silver spikes, and exotic makeup. This part of the Panic Room was tame—the club part, the dancing, the music, the drinks, and most of the people. What I knew lay in the back rooms—the dark panic rooms—was something else altogether. I’d experienced them, and I’d be a liar if I said it didn’t bother me to be back. And yet with Eli’s hand against my skin, and the music bounding through my body, it sort of thrilled me, too.

“I’d ask what’s wrong, but I already know,” Eli said, his mouth grazing the shell of my ear as he leaned close. I turned and looked at him, our faces close, intoxicating, erotic. His eyes were mesmerizing, and I was drawn to them. Him. I was drawn to him.

“This is the easy part,” I said, and I knew he understood that I meant where we were now. “Kelter Phillips owns this place. I know how to get in, know how to act. And I know exactly what to do to be accepted back.” Now I pushed my lips to Eli’s ear. “You say the Arcoses are into the dark stuff, right? It’s where they’ll gather their freaky vampiric army?” I purposely pressed my mouth to Eli’s jaw. “Then it’s this place they’ll come, and I swear to God, I’m not leaving here tonight without finding something out about my brother or those assholes that have him under their control.” I pulled back and held Eli’s gaze with my very determined one. “You’re going to have to back off, Eli, and trust me. These aren’t vampires. They’re people.” I lifted my chin. “I can damn well handle people.” He stared hard, contemplating probably, then gave a begrudging single nod, and his eyes flared as they bored into mine. I couldn’t tell whether he was impressed or turned on. With his hand resting on my hip, Eli guided me to the bar; I ordered a shot of whiskey, and to my surprise Eli did the same. As I lifted the glass and swallowed the fiery liquid, Eli watched, his gaze following the path of the whiskey as it slipped down my throat. Raw male power and deliberate sexual hunger lit his eyes, and to say that the sensation it stirred within me was erotic was a freaking understatement. He was driving me crazy, and I had to literally make a conscious effort not to put my hands on him. It was so easy to submerge into the seductive darkness of our surroundings; the music, the forced intimacy, the whiskey—they were all drugs in their own right. And I was an ex-junkie to it all.