Afterlight

Part 3 Changes

Slowly, Seth’s heavy lids lifted, and confusion glazed over his green eyes as he tried to focus on me.“What?”

A breath of relief escaped me, along with the feeling that I was behaving like an overreacting mom. With the back of my hand I felt my brother’s cheeks, his forehead, and he just kept right on staring at me as though I’d grown a swirling horn from the center of my head. I searched his face. “Do you feel okay?”

Seth tried to rise but fell back against the sheets. “Yeah. Fine. Just . . . tired.”

I brushed the hair from his face. “Thanks to your fun run at Bonaventure, you’re probably coming down with something.” I wasn’t sure that was how you came down with anything, especially in the dog days of summer in the South, but Mom had always said it, and it sounded pretty good now. “Just stay in bed for now and rest. Do you want anything to drink? Eat?”

Seth’s eyes were already closing again. “No, thanks.” He turned onto his stomach. “You’re not sneakin’ smokes, are ya?” he mumbled into his pillow.

At that, I grinned. “No, Mommy. If you keep stressing me out, I just might. Now, get some sleep.” Worrying about my baby brother was something foreign to me; he’d never been sick, and as I’d said before, he’d never been in trouble. I suppose that made me a bit complacent. Now? I worried. And I didn’t like it. Seth, on the other hand, worried about me constantly. “All right. I’ll check on you in a little while.” I kissed the top of his head. “Love you.”

“Love you, too,” Seth mumbled, and was fast asleep before I left the room.

Inksomnia stayed busy the rest of the day. I had appointments until seven p.m., and Nyx usually didn’t make appointments on Saturdays at all — she kept that day open for walk-ins, and they kept her Widow running hot all day long. The entire day, I couldn’t stop thinking about two things: my overly tired baby brother and that guy at the window. I don’t know — something about him struck me hard. All I could remember about the guy was a black T-shirt, dark brown hair that was kind of shaggy and swept to the side, and pale skin. He’d been too far away to see detail — except for a pair of perfect full lips. So why had he affected me so much? Secretly, I kept hoping he’d show back up; I was positive he would, and I bet I glanced at the storefront a gazillion times. He didn’t show, and it really wasn’t a surprise after all; although he’d certainly caught my attention, usually the guys who were attracted to me didn’t exactly look like him. Let’s face it. A guy had to be pretty confident and open-minded to be interested in a woman with a dragon tattooed up her back and both arms. Did I mention that I had a black angel wing inked at the corner of my left eye? That one was done in my angsty teen years — my first tat — and to be perfectly honest, I don’t even remember getting it. I’d been out partying, woke up the next afternoon, and bam — there it was, the delicate skin around it as red as a beet, and in complete contrast to my character, as I was anything but an angel. I must have been pretty wasted not to feel it. Seriously pathetic. But I’m stuck with it now, and I just go with the flow. Besides. If there was one thing I demanded in a guy, it was confidence. Fit that with open-minded, and that right there was probably the main reason I didn’t have a boyfriend. Two difficult traits to come already combined. Not that I was actively looking.

“What are you looking for?” Nyx asked. She peered at me over the back of an airman as she inked. She inclined her head toward the front window. “Did I miss something exciting?”

I shook my head. “Hardly.”

“Liar.”

I grinned, shook my head again, and continued with my work.

Nyx checked on Seth twice, and I ran upstairs just before my last client arrived to check on him myself. He was still hard sleeping. That was a lot of effing sleep, but I chalked it up to . . . whatever. Teenager-itis maybe? I ran across the street, grabbed a couple of funnel cakes, and headed back inside. Nyx and I ate them while they were still hot, the powdered sugar turning to delicious gooey glue. Nothing better.

It was just after seven p.m., and Nyx and I were both busy inking clients when, finally, Seth wandered into the shop. The moment he came in, Chaz’s head lifted from his paws and he growled. “Chaz, stop it!” I commanded. “What is wrong with you?” He’d never growled at Seth, or any of us, before.

“What’s up with him?” asked Seth, glaring at the dog. It looked like he’d showered — his hair was wet, and he didn’t smell like he had earlier, thank God. But he still didn’t seem himself, even after all that rest.

“I don’t know,” I answered. “Maybe he knows you’re not feeling well.”

“Maybe,” he said, stepping close and inspecting my design. “Looks good, Sis.”

I wiped the specks of blood from my client’s back with gauze, gave Seth a quick glance, then continued with the needle. “Thanks,” I said, and concentrated on my work, the low hum of the Widow pulling me into the zone. “Preacher wants you to help him put up some newsprint, if you’re up to it.” I finished the section I was working on, wiped, then let off the pedal. “I didn’t tell him about last night yet. You know he’s gonna freak, so let me do it. I’ll be over there once I finish up here. I’m on my last client.”

Seth just nodded, then pushed his long bangs out of his face. “Okay. Yeah, I feel all right. I’ll see ya.” He pulled a pair of shades from his back pocket, slid them on his face, and walked up front. “Hey, Nyx,” he said.

“Hey, Little Bro,” she replied. “Nice specs.”

“Thanks.” Without a backward glance, Seth was out the door and headed up the sidewalk to Da Plat Eye. Nyx shot me a questioning look. It wasn’t like Seth to blow through so fast. He adored Nyx and never let a day go by without hugging her or picking on her. He was such a lovable guy. Today he did neither.

“He must really feel like crap,” Nyx said. “Poor little man.”

“Yeah,” I agreed, and continued with my work. By nine fifteen, I’d finished my last client, and Nyx was working on a last-minute walk-in. I was cleaning up my station when Gene (named after Gene Simmons, of course) alerted us to another customer. Gene was a big, stuffed, inky black raven, perched right above the entrance, and when someone came in or out, it cawed — loudly. Funniest damn thing I’d ever seen. Nyx had given it to me when I’d first opened Inksomnia. I looked over my shoulder in time to see a middle-aged woman with short hair, pressed khaki slacks, and a blue buttoned-up oxford step through the door. She smiled, laid a pamphlet on the coffee table, and hurried out. Nyx shot me a look, and I grinned as I walked to the front.

“Greetings from Saint James,” I read from the pamphlet. I looked at Nyx and lifted a brow. “You owe me dinner, sista.”

“That totally wasn’t a woman of the cloth,” Nyx said with a fake pout.

“Totally a nun.” I tucked the pamphlet in my drawer. “They don’t wear habits anymore, goofball.” I made for the front door. “I’m going to check on Seth. I’ll be right back, okay?”

“Sure,” Nyx said, and I stepped outside for the second time that day. By now, the crowds from earlier were dwindling; a new crowd emerged, a different type of reveler. The night crowd. The ones responsible for the stinky urine and alcohol smell in the back alleys. Lots of interesting things happen after dark on River Street. I’ve seen them firsthand. I was in quite a lot myself, back in the day.

As I walked to Da Plat Eye, I breathed in the heavy brine from the Savannah River, and a band played down the street. Funny — I could pick Capote’s unique sax out of the hundreds of people downtown, and his melody hung on the air as thick as the scent of pralines wafting downwind from River Street Sweets. Damn, those things were addictive. Pure sugar and cream. Just thinking about them made my stomach growl.

I stepped through the front door of Preacher’s shop and took in the unique scent of herbs and unknown potions that never failed to intrigue me. The walls were lined with dark-stained oak shelves, and every space was filled with a jar or vial of something. Eye of newt? Sure. Graveyard dust? Absolutely. Dead man’s nails? Got it. Shredded feathers? Yep. Jars and jars of unknown, wonderful concoctions were everywhere, including tins of tea. The handwoven sweetgrass baskets of all shapes and sizes that hung from pegs on the wall and the wooden rafters were absolutely gorgeous, as were the long strip quilts. The Gullah were renowned for preserving their heritage through language, as well as art, skills, and unique cooking. I had several baskets, quilts, and jars of spices that Estelle and her sisters had made and given me. Everything handmade by the Gullah, and one of a kind.

Estelle emerged from behind the curtain. “Oh, dahlin’, your Preacher man had to leave. Your brodder is upstairs, doh, printin’ da walls. Dat boy don’t look so good. He sick?”

“Yes, ma’am,” I answered, and headed to the back. “Or at least he’s trying to come down with something. Probably just a cold. Where’d Preacher go?”

“He got called to Da Island for somethin’,” she answered. “Wouldn’t tell me what. Prob’ly removin’ some hex. Won’t be back for a few days, dat crazy ole man.”

I patted her arm as I passed by. “I’m gonna go upstairs and check on Seth. I’ll be right back down.”

“Okay, dahlin’,” she answered. “I just looked in on him a bit ago. He should be ’bout done.”

I eased up the narrow wooden flight of steps, just like mine and Seth’s, and for some reason, my stomach felt funny. You know — the kind of funny where you feel something’s not right? I hit the five-by-five landing and made my way down the hall. After looking in three rooms, I found him. Stepping inside, I noticed the fresh newsprint plastered to the wall, and Seth, curled up on the floor near the window. My heart jumped again, just like earlier, and I hurried over to him. Once more, I felt his hand, then his cheek, and noticed the slight rise and fall of his chest. Asleep. The little brat was asleep. Again. This time with his shades on.

“Seth,” I said, and tugged on his arm. “Come on, Bro, wake up. I’m taking you to the hospital and get you checked out.”

“No, I’m good,” he mumbled, and shook off my hand. “Sincerely, Ri, I’m good. I feel fine, just . . . tired. I don’t need a doctor.” He yawned. “I just wanna go home.”

I sighed. “Fine. Then, let’s get you home. Estelle doesn’t want you hanging out in here all night.” I tugged again, and this time he allowed me to help him up. I looked at him. “If you don’t kick whatever this is, and I mean soon, I’m taking you to the Immediate Med. Got it? You’re freaking me out, Bro.”

“Sorry,” he said, and leaned into me as we made our way to the stairs. “Just so tired.”

We eased slowly down the steps and stepped through the curtain. “Have you eaten anything at all today?”

“No,” he said groggily. “Not hungry.”

“Tough crap,” I answered, and slid off his shades. He squinted and looked away. “You’ve got to have something,” I insisted.

“Oh, dat is right, boy,” Estelle said, and bustled over. “I got somethin’ for him,” she said, and hurried to the kitchen, still talking. “I said earlier, dat boy needed to rest. Asked him if he wanted a sandwich, but he said no. He always wantin’ food, you know, so dat wasn’t good.” She emerged from behind the curtain holding a snap-lid container. “You give dat boy some of dis soup, Riley Poe. I jes made it dis mornin’. Chicken.” She cocked her head to the side and studied him. “He look awful pasty, girl.”

“I know — I’m putting him straight to bed after I force some of this down his throat — not that it needs forcing. I’m sure it’s great. Thanks, Estelle,” I said, and accepted the soup as my Gullah granny frowned and shook her head. “Call me if you need anything while Preacher’s gone, okay?” I gave her a smile. “I’ll see ya in the morning.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll have your tea ready, girl,” Estelle said. “You take care of dat boy, now.”

We went through the back of Inksomnia, just in case Seth decided to barf all over the place. “Nyx, I’m taking Seth upstairs — be right back down,” I called out.

“Need some help?”

“Nope — I’ve got it. Thanks,” I answered, and headed upstairs, my brother dragging his feet. Our kitchen is just at the top of the stairs, so we stopped there, and I poured some of Estelle’s soup into a coffee cup, draining off the chunks of chicken and vegetables. I pushed the cup into Seth’s hand. “Here, lunkhead,” I said. “Drink up. At least some of it.”

Seth made a face but drained the cup. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and set the mug on the counter. “Happy?”

I frowned. “Hardly, but it’ll do for now. I knew you were coming down with something. Just get to bed and rest. I’m sure it’s just a summertime cold.”

Seth turned out of the kitchen and started down the hall, then stopped, walked back, and surprised me with a tight hug. “Thanks for watching out for me, Ri,” he said, his long, lean arms wrapped around me like a vise, and he pushed his face into my hair, close to my ear. “Love ya.”

Damn, that kid knew how to absolutely melt my heart, and I hugged him fiercely back. “I love you, too, Little Bro. If you need me during the night, come and get me, okay?”

Seth was already walking down the hall, his back to me. “Sure,” he answered, then disappeared into his room.

I watched for a minute longer before heading back downstairs to finish up with Nyx. In the back of my mind, though, I worried — about Seth, about why Preacher had to leave in such a rush, especially before I had the chance to talk to him. Preacher was getting a little too old to be hauling ass anywhere, much less hopping a boat to Da Island. Anything could happen so far out in the sound, but he wouldn’t listen.

And of course, no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t get rid of the image of that one guy, staring at me through the storefront, and it irritated me that I dwelled on it. I mean, dozens of guys stare, and dozens come into the shop, and a dozen more hit on me — a lot of them are pretty cute, too. So what was it about this guy? Was it because he didn’t hit on me? The thought nearly made me laugh. Wasn’t that a dude’s way of thinking?

Surprisingly, the night went by uneventfully, and that was truly a miracle for a Saturday night. We had a pack of punks come in just before we closed, acting loud and obnoxious (and totally reminding me of me at that age), and one made a grave mistake. One of the boys walked up behind me and took me by surprise when he put his hand on my arm. Before he could say a word, I had his arm yanked behind him and jacked up high enough that he stood on the toes of his All Stars, yelping, “Hey!,” his pubescent voice cracking. He was a big kid, too — at least six feet tall. I jacked his arm higher up his back. “Okay, okay!”

“Oh, yeah,” Nyx said apologetically. “You don’t want to ever do that.” She smiled, her auburn pigtails swinging as she shook her head. “She doesn’t like to be touched.”

“You guys come back when you find your manners,” I said, and gave the kid a little shove. He glared at me, and his friends laughed. I lifted a brow. “And when those IDs are legit, big guy.”

“Goddamn, she’s hot!” one of them said as they all rushed from the store and headed up the sidewalk. I just shook my head and glanced at Nyx, who grinned. It being so late, I released her from her obligation of dinner at Garibaldi’s — for the time being, anyway. I didn’t want to leave Seth home alone. Instead, I ordered from Chen’s (orange chicken, vegetable lo mein noodles, and two shrimp egg rolls) and stayed in for the night. I worked out (I have a kickboxing bag hanging in my bedroom that I knock the hell out of daily) and took a long bath. Seth was still hard asleep when I took Chaz for a walk around eleven forty-five.

I walked along Factor’s Walk toward Emmet Park. No one was close by, although in the distance I saw people crossing Bay Street, and down on the riverfront I could hear laughter and music pouring from the bars. Lamplight burned a dim glow against the cobbles, making the shadows pitch long from the cannon and cross. The slightest of breezes wafted by, and it was at the same moment Chaz jerked to a stop and sniffed the air that the hair on my neck lifted. I turned fast around but found no one. “Come on, boy,” I told Chaz, and although he continued to sniff the ground, he’d pause, too, and look cautiously around.

We’d walked all the way to the end of Emmet Park and down the cobbled curve onto River Street, the Waving Girl Statue in view, when the feeling struck again. I jerked a look behind me, scanned the shadows, but noticed nothing unusual. A low growl emanated from Chaz’s throat, and I tugged on his leash. “Let’s go, boy.”

“Nah, don’t go yet,” a voice said from the recesses of the darkness. “Party’s just startin’, babe.”

Four guys emerged into the lamplight, and I immediately recognized two of them as the punks who’d come into Inksomnia earlier. The one talking was the kid I’d jacked up. Figures. I’d bruised his pubescent pride, and now he wanted to get me back. Chaz growled. “Yeah, I don’t think so,” I said, and turned to walk away.

“Oh, man, you just got blowed,” one said, and they all laughed. The kid I’d jacked moved in front of me, and I stopped. The others, who seemed a little older, crowded around me, but just out of reach of Chaz, whose growling deepened. I tugged his leash. “Down, boy.” Great. Here we go. I hated having to kick juvenile ass, but I’d do it if forced. And it looked like I was being forced. “Don’t make me give him the command,” I said.

I lifted a brow. “Sic balls,” I whispered. One of my most favorite movie quotes, from Stand by Me. Loved that freaking movie.

“I can change your mind, you know,” the jacked kid said, ignoring my humor. Half his face was hooded in shadow, but the other half was all cocky smiles and teenage smugness.

“About what?” I said, barely able to keep from laughing.

“Being touched,” he answered, and stepped toward me. He rubbed his hand over his burr-cut hair. “Your friend said you didn’t like it, but I think I can change your mind.”

I dropped Chaz’s leash and glanced at the half circle of guys. “Stay, Chaz,” I commanded. “So let me get this straight. You’re what? Gonna hold me down while your little friend here puts the moves on me? Really?”

“You’re on my turf now,” he said, shrugging. “No one around but us, babe.”

I laughed, stepped closer, and gave him a seductive stare. His eyes widened at what looked like anticipation. “Did you really just say turf? Please.” And just that fast I kneed his crotch. He yelled and bent over at the waist, and I brought my knee up hard and connected with his chin.

“Fuck!” he screamed, and dropped to the ground in agony.

“And don’t call me babe,” I added, and glanced at the others. They all had blank stares on their faces as they looked at their friend on the ground.

Something moved from the shadows — so fast my eyes couldn’t keep up. I stood frozen in place, no time to react. All three guys were lifted off their feet and flung in opposite directions, their muffled curses cracking the night air, followed by heavy thumps as they crumpled to the ground. I twisted and turned, searching in all directions. “Hey!” I hollered. What the hell?

Then, from the corner of the building, a figure moved but did not emerge. From the tall, lean shape I could tell it was a guy. I moved closer.

“Don’t,” he said, and I stopped. His smooth and slightly accented voice crossed the darkness to my ears, firm, commanding. Groans from the fallen punks drifted on the night air. Chaz, who sat still, growled low in his throat.

My insides shook. Not out of fear, but out of adrenaline. What had I just seen? Rather, not seen? And why was he hiding? “You’re pretty quick. Thanks — ”

“Are you stupid?” he asked, his tone steady, angry, as he interrupted me. “Why would you come out here so late? Alone?” He swore under his breath.

I blinked in surprise. “Uh, my dog had to pee. Thanks for the help.” I turned, grabbed Chaz’s leash, and started back up the cobbled curve to head home. Who the hell was that guy? A citizen vigilante? He didn’t have to know I needed no help at all, but damn. Why was he angry? Not all females were helpless. I shook my head and crossed the park, and I made it all the way to Inksomnia’s back door before his voice jolted me. One second I’m pushing the key into the lock and Chaz runs inside, and in the next second, he is standing directly beside me. My reflexes kicked in, and my fist flew up to his jaw, but he easily caught it in one hand. His grip was like steel, and I couldn’t budge my arm. I lifted my knee, but before I could cram it into his crotch (in case you haven’t noticed, a favorite move of mine), he had me completely pinned against the brick wall of my shop. With the streetlight shining behind him, his face was nothing more than a dark shadow. With one hand he closed the door. My heart thumped fast. This was not a situation I wanted to be in. I stared at his darkened face, waiting.

“You’re too careless,” he warned. “Those punks outnumbered you. They could’ve hurt you.” He drew his head closer, and I could barely see the outline of a strong jaw, shaggy hair. He looked . . . familiar. “I could hurt you,” he said, his voice deathly quiet.

I knew he could see every inch of my face — I could feel his gaze searching every feature I had. The streetlamp’s light poured directly onto me. I jutted out my jaw and narrowed my eyes. “Well, either hurt me or get the fuck off me,” I said, just as quiet. “Now.” One scream would have any of my neighbors running outside, but I waited. He seemed to weigh the situation as he stared at me. I felt threatened but not fearful. Weird.

It was several seconds before he released me from the wall. “Don’t be so reckless,” he said. “You’re not as strong as you think.”

I wasn’t stupid. Even though I felt no fear, I didn’t exactly want this guy forcing his way into my apartment, although I guess he could have done that earlier, had he wanted to. I kept my eyes trained on his shadowy face and eased my hand behind me, to the door handle. “I’ll keep that in mind.” I gently turned the knob. A sound behind my Jeep made me jump — a can rolling, something. I glanced, and when my gaze returned to my almost-attacker, I blinked. He was gone. Yeah, just that fast. I took a quick glimpse up and down merchant’s drive, but he was nowhere. No-freaking-where. I didn’t wait for a reappearance. I hurried inside and locked the door. As I got ready for bed and checked on Seth, who — surprise — was still sleeping, I tried to put the whole strange incident out of my head. Who was that guy? And why did he give a rat’s ass if I was reckless or not? Finally, I drifted off.

Sometime later, a noise pulled me out of sleep, and I sat straight up in bed. My breath came fast, and I could actually feel my heart pound through my T-shirt. Chaz, on his bed in the corner, kept silent. The streetlamp shone straight into my room, against the aged white brick wall, and for a flash second I thought someone stood in the shadows, watching me. My heart nearly stopped, thinking my personal vigilante had returned. Then I thought better. “Seth?” I said, thinking he’d come in and needed me. “Is that you?” I reached over and turned on the lamp. When I looked again, no one was there. The gauzy white curtains hanging at the balcony’s French doors billowed out on a breeze. I didn’t remember leaving the doors open. I listened for a few seconds, my groggy head trying to clear. I then realized the TV was on in the living room. Stumbling out of bed, I closed the French doors and followed the sounds to find Seth, sitting on the sofa, watching MTV. With his shades on. I stood in the archway, yawning. “What’s up? You feel better?”

“Yeah,” Seth answered without turning to face me. “Guess I had enough sleep.”

“Good.” I glanced around the room. “Did you eat?”

“Nah,” he said. “Not hungry.”

The room was all shadowy and dark, as you would expect at two in the morning, and the TV threw flickers of light against the wall. “What’s up with the shades?”

“Light’s hurting my eyes.”

I stared at him, all lean muscles, lankiness, and shirtless in his worn, holey jeans, sprawled out on the sofa, and shook my head. “All right. There’s more of Estelle’s soup in the fridge if you get hungry, and some leftover Chen’s. See ya in the morning.”

“Yeah,” he answered, and I couldn’t tell if he had even looked my way once.

Sunday arrived like an ordinary Sunday. I turned on the TV and heard the morning news reporting that a woman’s body was found in Daffin Park by a garbage street crew. No details were given regarding the cause of her death, but the reporter described the woman to be in her early forties, and apparently she had been robbed. I’d assumed murdered. Police were on the case. For some reason, she remained on my mind for the rest of the morning. She, along with the mystery guy from the night before. I heard his voice over and over in my head, and for some strange reason, I liked it. Don’t ask me why.

Sunday was the only day of the week I closed Inksomnia, and I spent the rest of the morning with Estelle. Seth seemed to have his days and nights mixed up, and he spent the majority of the day sleeping. He never had a fever, so I didn’t run him to the ER. But I watched him, and he just wasn’t himself. Not sick, just not himself . Whenever he was awake, he had his shades on, and he was quiet, aloof, and . . . not Seth Poe at all. Usually my brother was a sweet, charming kid, with a great sense of humor. I know things change when puberty hits, but this was ridiculous. The change had happened overnight. Now, when he slept, he slept like the dead — literally. I could barely rouse him. And Chaz’s behavior toward Seth just didn’t make sense. He growled every time Seth entered the same room. Chaz had never been anything but loving and faithful to all of us, especially Seth, and the dog usually slept on the foot of Seth’s bed. It was just bizarre, and to be perfectly honest, it was starting to freak me out. I wished Preacher were here to check him over, but he wasn’t due back from Da Island until Tuesday. Until then, I’d nurse the peculiar feeling nagging the pit of my gut.

And for the record, I never again saw that guy from the storefront. Yeah, shamefully, I found myself looking for him, and yeah, it’d only been one day. But he never stopped by again, and I admitted only to myself that I was disappointed. I think it stung a little, too. I had no idea why, but it did.

Sunday afternoon I asked Estelle to keep an eye out for Seth while I picked up a few things at the grocery store. I threw on a pair of button-fly jeans and a white Inksomnia tee. (Okay — I self-promote. Can you blame me? Plus the logo is wicked cool.) I pulled on my black boots and headed out. Food Lion was packed, and I hurried through my list. The moment I left the store, I felt . . . watched. People pushed their grocery carts all around me, the parking lot was full, yet out of all the eyes surrounding me, I sensed only one pair honed in on me. With my shades covering my gaze, I looked around. I saw no one paying any particular attention to me. I couldn’t help but wonder if the vigilante watched from his car, or from another store.

When I got home, Seth was still asleep. I made sure he was okay — still no fever, still breathing — and wandered outside with Chaz to the riverfront. Capote was just a few yards up the walk playing, so I found a bench close by; he gave me a nod of acknowledgment, and I listened while I nibbled on a praline from the sweet shop. The walk was still crawling with people, so I ended up sharing the bench with an elderly couple, Chaz at my feet. With my peripheral I noticed them both sneaking peeks at me, and the smirk on Capote’s face let me know he noticed, too. I guess my dragons entertained all age-groups.

I decided to walk along the riverfront for a while, just to stretch my legs and give Chaz a little exercise, so I threw a twenty in Capote’s sax case. He tipped his hat, and I waved, and Chaz and I wandered off. There was a slight breeze blowing, the sun was starting to drop, and it seemed like a perfect August evening. The Savannah River Queen was just pulling in from a river tour, and the passengers lined the railing, waving. The Shrimp Factory’s grill spilled the mouthwatering scent of seared spiced meat. Yet the whole time I walked, I felt as though someone watched me, followed me. I had a few quirks when it came to hoodoo beliefs (I do admit to carrying a small container of graveyard dust in my backpack that Preacher gave me, and a special vial of protection herbs), but people did not frighten me. I was strong and very capable, with a six-pack that made most guys jealous. . . . I again wondered whether the shadowy guy from the other night followed me. Once I even turned completely around and stopped, legs braced, hands on hips, and probably looking a whole lot like a freakish version of a Charlie’s Angel, yet still — I saw no one. Finally, as the sun sank, the crowds thinned, and I headed back home. I spent an hour ordering supplies online, sent a few e-mails, agreed to do an exhibit at an ink convention in California in November, and called it quits.

Nyx came over later and we hung out, sketching new designs and eating pizza. Seth stayed in his room until around eight thirty, when he wandered into the living room. Yes, with his shades on. Chaz growled, staring at my brother. “Be quiet, Chaz,” I commanded. I jumped up from where I was sitting cross-legged on the floor, sketch sheets spread out before me, and hurried over to where Seth plopped down on the sofa. I felt his cheek and forehead. Actually, instead of feeling warm, he felt a little cool.

“Wow,” Nyx said, her wide smile seemingly reaching each ear. “I’ve never seen this motherly side of you, Poe. It’s kinda sweet.”

I shot Nyx a glare and turned to my brother. I moved to pull his shades off, and he jerked his head away. The abrupt shift wasn’t anything like Seth’s usual demeanor.

“Lay off, Riley,” he snapped. “Jesus, I’m fine.”

This time, Chaz jumped to his feet, head lowered, and moved toward Seth, growling. “Back,” I snapped. Chaz froze in his tracks, and I returned my gaze to my brother.

No one, and I repeat, no one, had the power to hurt my feelings. Ever. I just didn’t have that weakness in me anymore — except with Seth, and maybe Preacher. And that small snub actually wounded me. “Yeah, well,” I said, and moved away. “I’m worried about you, Seth.”

“Don’t be,” he said just as sharply. He stood. “And keep that freaking dog away from me.” He left the room, and I could do nothing more than stare after him, shocked.

“Hey,” Nyx said gently. “Take it easy on the kid, Riley. He’s fifteen. Hormones, remember? Just leave him alone for a bit.” She patted the floor. “Here, have another slice of spinach and mushroom and finish this design. Looks wicked fab so far.” She lifted a wide wedge from the box on the floor and took a big bite. Nyx’s appetite was legendary, and hopefully it’d keep her busy for a while, because I just couldn’t let my brother walk off.

“I’ll be right back,” I said, and followed Seth. His door was cracked, so I gently pushed it open and stuck my head in. Seth stood by the window, his back to me as he stared out over River Street. “Can we talk?” I asked. When he didn’t answer, I pushed. “What’s going on, Seth? Talk to me.” Still, he kept his back to me, not answering, and I moved into the room to stand beside him. I could feel the air between us grow cold, and his posture stiffened, as though he couldn’t stand me being close. It hurt like hell. “Please?”

“Nothin’ to talk about,” he said quietly. “Just need space.”

I moved closer. “Seth, take your shades off and look at me.”

For a moment, he simply stood, rigid, debating whether or not to do as I’d asked, I supposed. Then, with a heavy sigh, he did, but he stared at the floor, at the wall, out the window — anywhere but at me. For now, I accepted it.

“Look — I don’t know what you’re going through right now, but . . . just hear me out, okay?” I asked. “I used to be your age, too, ya know, and not that long ago. Some things I do understand. I’m here for you — no matter what, okay? If there’s something bothering you, tell me. Or if Riggs and the guys — ”

“There’s nothing bothering me, Riley,” he said sharply, and this time, he did look at me, and his gaze was cold, angry, the green a shade or two lighter, and he slipped his shades back on and returned his stare to the window. An instant dismissal.

I stared at my brother’s profile for several seconds — noticed the tousled brown waves, his straight nose and firm jaw — and suddenly, I couldn’t see my baby brother anymore. I saw a young guy. An angry young guy. “Okay,” I said, and placed my hand on his shoulder. “But I’m here anyway.” I didn’t linger or wait for a response, but simply left the room. Inside, my heart hurt — literally ached — from Seth’s coldness, but I knew that to stay and try to pry stuff out of this new Seth wouldn’t do any good, so I put my brother’s behavior behind me for the night. It wasn’t easy. I’d gone from street punk to grown-up real fast, and I’d been responsible for Seth since I was nineteen. I loved him more than life, and I now knew what my mom probably went through when I did the same thing to her.

When I walked back into the living room, I instantly saw Nyx’s already pale face staring at the TV, a shocked expression pulling her mouth taut. “Oh my God,” she muttered, and I glanced at the flat screen to see what it was. The local news was on, and the reporter, standing in front of the Cotton Exchange building, looked grave as he reported the brutal murder of a young marine recruit. A police car blazed blue lights nearby, and the rapid-fire flash recoiled off the black plastic bag covering the body strapped on the gurney. Then a picture of a handsome marine recruit flashed across the screen, along with a name: Zachary Murphy, age nineteen. “Zac,” I muttered. My heart seized as I recognized the young guy who’d come in for the Celtic lizard tattoo Saturday, and a wave of sadness swept over me. “Damn, Nyx,” I said, and glanced over at her. “That’s two murders in one day. I wonder what happened to him.” God, his poor parents. I knew exactly what they were going through.

Over the next few days, Seth’s condition changed. I’m not positive it worsened, just . . . evolved. What made matters worse was that Preacher had extended his trip to Da Island, so I didn’t have his counsel to rely on. Seth’s excessive sleeping eased up somewhat, but he wore his shades all the time, indoors and outdoors, sunshine or no sunshine. He barely spoke a word to me, or Nyx, and as soon as it was dusk, he was out, saying he wanted to hang out with his friends before school started. I’d never let him just run the streets — I knew where that could lead, and no way in hell was I about to let my brother screw up like I had. No freaking way. So when Riggs and the other boys showed up at Inksomnia at sundown, all wearing shades and looking like a band of thugs, I put my foot down. God, I sounded like an old stick-in-the-mud. But this was Seth, and I wasn’t about to let him set even one size-eleven sneaker in the wrong direction if I could help it.

“Hey, babe, where’s your brother?” Riggs asked. He leaned a hip against my vacant inking table, arms crossed over his chest, trying way too hard to look cool.

Chaz rose from his rug, the hair along his back bristled, his head down, and the now-familiar low growl emanated from deep in his throat. This time, I let him. I turned to Riggs.

“Babe? Yeah, I don’t think so, porcupine. Try again. And take off those stupid glasses,” I said, totally irritated.

Riggs’ expression turned . . . I don’t know, hateful, and froze into place like stone. Slowly, he slid his shades off, and if the look on his face had seemed startling, the glare in his eyes was even worse. They seemed like ice, his eyes, without feeling, or anything, really. They even looked lighter than before. How could that be? Inwardly, I flinched, and that shocked me. The boy might be a teenage peckerhead now, but I’d known Riggs Parker since he was a little guy, and until tonight I’d known him to be harmless. Now? He studied me with the intensity of a predator, and that made me want to smack him on the back of the head.

“Where’s Seth, Ms. Poe?” His smile was as icy as his eyes. “Better?”

“Hardly.”

“Right here,” my brother said behind me. “Ready?”

I continued to scrutinize Riggs. “Where are you guys going?”

A small grin tipped the boy’s mouth. “Mellow Mushroom. See?” he pulled out a wad of balled-up bills. “My mommy gave me money.” He slid his glasses back on and looked up at me. “Don’t worry, babe,” he said sarcastically. “We’ll be home early.”

The others laughed — including Seth — and Chaz grew more agitated. He began to bark threateningly. “Chaz, back,” I said, and my gaze snapped to Seth as I swallowed the hurt. “By eleven, Bro. Don’t make me come looking for you. I’m dead serious.”

“Whatever,” he mumbled, which again irritated me because we all know what whatever really meant. Eff you. The boys left the shop. Outside, Riggs glanced back at me through the storefront and smiled, and swear to God, it gave me chills. Chaz noticed and lunged at the window, barking like crazy. I knew the feeling. I wanted right then to go knock the hell out of him, and if he’d been of legal age, I would have.

“What’s up with Chaz lately?” Nyx asked, rubbing the fur between his ears, talking soothingly to him. “Don’t worry, Riley,” she said comfortingly. “He’ll be all right.” She grinned. “He’s just trying to show off in front of his friends. I’ll bet you were the exact same way at fifteen.”

I continued to stare out of the storefront. “Way, way worse, Nyxinnia. That’s what worries me.” And that was exactly what I did for the rest of the evening — worried. I beat the hell out of the bag that night, hoping to work out some of the tension, and by the time I’d worn myself out, my knuckles, feet, and shins hurt like hell. I was in the kitchen sucking down a bottle of water when Seth came trudging up the stairs, right at eleven on the nose. He didn’t even acknowledge me and instead went straight to his room and shut the door. I almost followed. But Nyx’s words rang in my head, so I cut him some slack — especially since he’d made it home on time — and decided to talk to him in the morning. Obviously, something was bothering him, and I hated that he didn’t trust me to help him.

I showered and got ready for bed, but sleep evaded me. Instead of tossing restlessly, I wandered out onto the small balcony outside my bedroom. There was just enough room to stand, with a black, wrought-iron railing to keep me from tumbling over. I stood there and stared out into the night, watching the sliver of moon glimmer over the river. The night was still, and I felt vulnerable, not a feeling I particularly liked. My thoughts turned to Zac, a guy I didn’t even know, and how he’d been so young and had died so young. What had happened? I couldn’t help but wonder who’d done it, and think about how the killer right now walked the very streets my brother and I lived on. I mean, the Cotton Exchange building was two seconds from Inksomnia. I could see it from my back door.

I turned to leave, but before I stepped back inside, that gnawing feeling came over me once more — the one that made me look over my shoulder. I stared out into the night, into the afterlight, searching the darkness. I felt with all certainty that a pair of eyes watched me from the shadows. Swear to God, I couldn’t take much more. It was happening all too frequently, and frankly, it was pissing me off. Especially if it was that tough guy from the other night. I closed and locked the balcony door. I did not sleep well after.

Sometime later, I jerked wide-awake with a gasp and sat straight up. At the same time, I heard Chaz’s lowthroated growl. My blurred vision, groggy from sleep, scanned the dark corners of my room, straining to see. My insides froze. Someone was in my room. I slipped my hand slowly toward the back left bedpost, where I kept a baseball bat. My fingers gripped the handle. I slid my feet slowly to the floor and lifted the bat over my shoulder. A car ambled down the cobbles on the street below, and the headlights cast an illuminated arc across my bedroom wall — and my brother. Again, I gasped, taken off guard. “Seth? What are you doing?” I lowered the bat.

Seth didn’t speak or move; he stood completely still. I couldn’t see his expression now, but I had for a fleeting second as the car had passed. He’d looked . . . vacant, angry. I won’t lie — it scared the hell out of me. What scared me even more was that I hadn’t loosened my grip on the bat.

“Seth?” I said, not too loud, but definitely assertive. “What’s up, Bro? Are you sick?”

Chaz now stood and had taken a few steps toward my bed. His growling grew louder. Seth remained silent.

“Hey,” I said, and eased toward him. “Want me to — ”

“No,” Seth finally said. His voice sounded . . . different. Strained. Deeper.

“Okay, okay,” I said, forcing myself to remain calm. “I’m going to turn on the light — ”

“No!” Seth yelled, and lunged at me. Chaz lunged at Seth, knocked him down, and latched onto his arm. Seth cried out in pain, struggling to shake Chaz’s grip loose. “Get off me!” he cried, and shoved Chaz hard with his free hand. The dog flew across the room and landed against the wall with a shrill yelp. He immediately leapt up and charged Seth.

“Chaz, no!” I yelled, and ran to grab his collar. Seth slammed out of my room, and seconds later the back door downstairs crashed against the wall. Yanking on the shorts I’d worn earlier, I slid into my flip-flops and took off after my brother. What was wrong with him? I ran outside, the heavy, early-morning air thick and soupy as a mist rolled in from the river; I closed the back door and searched both sides of merchant’s drive but found no signs of Seth anywhere. With my heart in my throat, I edged up the cobbles, ducked into the narrow alley that led to River Street, and hurried to the line of storefronts facing the river. I found myself alone, and I continued up the river walk at a jog. “Seth?” I called out. “Seth!” No answer. I still found myself alone at the west end, past the Hyatt, then made my way up to Factor’s Walk and searched Bay Street. The early-hour fog hung like a cloud, and it slipped in and out of the oaks like inching fingers. The air was still; not even the slightest of breezes moved through the moss. I stood still, watched, and listened. Nothing. There was absolutely no sign of my brother.

It was at that point that I realized someone stood close by, and this time it wasn’t just a crazy feeling that someone watched me. I knew it. I was sure it wasn’t Seth. My adrenaline surged as my gaze roamed the area. Shadows fell and stretched from the lampposts, the parking meters hugging the curb, the storefront awnings, and trees; it was impossible to search every nook. I turned and walked up the cobbles, and just as I ducked into the alley next to Inksomnia I was shoved hard against the wall; my breath whooshed from my lungs. With my front pressed to the bricks and a hard body pressed against my back, I hadn’t a clue who held me — until he spoke. There was no mistaking that smooth voice and odd tinge of accent.

“Do you have a death wish?” he said, his voice low and annoyed, his mouth brushing my hair, close to my ear. “Or are you just fucking crazy?”

I tried to push against him, but he held me tight. “You’re grating the side of my face into the brick, ass-hole. Get off me,” I said.

“Your face is the last thing you need to worry about.” He eased up a fraction, enough for my skin to separate from the mortar. I felt his mouth against my ear, and, swear to God, he sniffed my hair. “It’s not safe out here.”

“Yeah, I’m starting to get that,” I said, trying to look behind me, pushing against his steely weight. “What’s your problem? Why are you on me?” Worse was the fact that there was something I found exciting about him. I had no idea what it was — he’d threatened me twice now.

“Get inside and stay there. Understand?”

I did not like being bullied or told what to do. “You don’t know me, and you definitely don’t scare me,” I said angrily. “And I’m not out here for my friggin’ health, so why don’t you back off!” I growled, and shoved hard against him. It was like trying to move a packed freezer. Not a single inch budged.

Suddenly, my body shifted from the wall and pushed up the steps. “What the f — ”

“Move,” he said, and this guy’s hands wrapped around my waist to keep me from hauling ass. He all but pushed me along.

“What the hell?!” I said, struggling against him but finding it was no use.

“Shut up and come on,” he said. “You need to see something.”

I continued to thrash despite the uselessness of it. Now it was on principle. I wasn’t going to just meander along at his command.

For the first time in a long, long time, I felt vulnerable, but I’d chew my own arm off before letting him know it.

At the top of the steps he guided me across the walk and up merchant’s drive, then down the narrow, dank alley between Inksomnia and the Boho Boutique, where he gave me a shove. I stumbled, caught myself against the tabby wall (made of oyster shell and sand mortar), then sucked in a gasp. The strong scent of urine and metal filled my nostrils, and my quick reflexes jerked me back so fast that I fell against him; his steely grip held me upright. The streetlamp behind the Boho poured a hazy amber glow into the alley and onto the sprawled figure on the ground, unnaturally positioned as though all the bones were broken. I stared, unable to look away, my voice trapped inside my throat, at the body of a young male, his chest and throat literally flayed open. A dark substance splashed against the tabby wall behind him, splattered around his body. Blood. Wide, glassy eyes stared lifeless in the lamplight, and my hand flew to my mouth as I pushed against him to get away. “He’s freaking dead,” I said out loud, and looked into the face still hidden by shadows, at the one who’d forced me to this place. “You,” I whispered. I gagged, turned, and fought with fists against him. “Let me go!” I said, choking, and in the next instant my body shifted, and once again I found myself pressed against Inksomnia’s back-door entrance.

He shook me. Hard. “It wasn’t me,” he said. My head snapped back, and again I caught only glimpses of his profile. He was young. My age maybe. “Do you understand now?” he said, his voice dropping to a low pitch, his mouth moving to my ear. “It’s not safe anymore. And it’s not what you think.” He gave me a shove. “Go. I’ll find your brother.”

For the first time in forever, fear gripped me by the throat. “Leave my brother alone,” I warned, my voice quivering. “Swear to God, you’d better leave him the fuck alone.”

Just then he moved, ever so slightly, to the side, and I caught a subtle glimpse of his features. Straight nose, cut jaw, and his eyes — they freaking glowed. The sight of them made me flinch.

“Get inside. Bolt the door,” he ground out as though in pain. He reached behind me, twisted the doorknob, threw open the door, and shoved me inside.

I fell against the stairs leading up to my and Seth’s apartment, grasped the handrail, and steadied myself. When my vision focused on the doorway, he was gone. I slammed the door and threw the bolt, my heart slamming against my ribs as I backed away. I quickly climbed the stairs, my mind racing, scrambling to grasp what had happened, what I’d just seen, and none of it made sense. Who was that guy? What did he want with me, and how did he know Seth?

An unfamiliar feeling claimed me — panic. I hurried inside the apartment, Chaz whining a greeting as I ran past him and straight to the cordless. The police. I needed to call the police. A guy had been murdered not five hundred feet from my shop. Shit! I grabbed the cordless off the wall, and just as my finger landed on the illuminated “9” button, the phone was knocked from my hand, Chaz barked, and a pair of viselike fingers grasped my neck. My mind didn’t have time to react. My vision blurred, and in the next second, darkness swept over me.

When next I woke, bright sunlight streamed in through the window and across my face. I was lying on the sofa, the brushed-wool throw pulled up to my chin. It took a few, but then everything rushed back to me, and I jumped up and ran to Seth’s bedroom, threw open the door. A rush of relief crashed over me.

Seth was sprawled across his bed, sound asleep, his window wide-open. I stared, shocked. How had he gotten inside? I hurried to him, pressed the back of my knuckles to his cheek; his skin felt cool against mine. My gaze raked over Seth’s body; his face seemed paler, his dark brows and hair stark against his skin. I pushed his bangs from his eyes and sighed. The only explanation was drugs. How could I have allowed my little brother to get messed up in that hell? It was the only reason that could explain his weird behavior. I’d been around users before; I’d been one before. I knew the signs. Closing his window, I pulled the sheet over him. I’d have to talk to Preacher.

Then, the rest of last night rushed back to me. The dead guy. The blood. I took off running, down the steps and out the back door. I didn’t stop until I reached the alley next to the Boho. When I did, I nearly fell, I halted so harshly. My eyes searched the empty area. There was nothing. Absolutely nothing. No body. No blood. My head swam with confusion as I squatted next to the rough-textured tabby wall and ran my palm over its broken-oyster-shell surface. Nothing.

“Lose something, Riley?” a voice said, startling me. I glanced over my shoulder as Bhing, owner of Boho, walked a stack of empty boxes to the Dumpster.

I rose and grinned. “I thought I did,” I said, shrugging, “but must have been mistaken. See ya.” I walked away, and Bhing waved good-bye. Bhing was Filipino, maybe four feet eleven inches, and her black, shoulder-length, bobbed hair swung with each step she took as she hauled the boxes. Certainly she would have mentioned a murdered guy in her alley, had there been one. I walked away more confused than ever.

After I took Chaz for a walk, I ran over to Estelle’s. “Did you hear from Preacher yet?” I asked. Preacher was the action taker, and I needed him. Badly.

“Awe, yeah,” said Estelle in her singsong voice, crushing herbs atop a long butcher-block table in the center of her kitchen. “He’ll be in sometime today.” She frowned. “Dey got somethin’ goin’ on over dere, and you know how dem conjurers are. What wrong wit you, girl? Dat brodder of yours any better?”

“I’m not sure, really,” I said, not wanting to worry her. “He’s just not himself lately. Maybe he’s going through some sort of adolescent guy change? I figured Preacher being his male role model, you know, would be able to talk to him?” I didn’t dare mention how Seth had reacted last night, or about the supposed dead body in the alley. Definitely not about the mysterious guy in shadows who seemed to be behind it all.

“Oh, now, dem menfolk are funny creatures, you know. Doesn’t matter how old dey are.” She laughed. “Always younguns. Always goin’ through da change.”

I smiled, rose, took my cup to the sink, and gave Estelle a hug. She always made me feel better. “You okay here alone? Do you need anything? I can run to the store if you like.”

“No, baby,” she said, and patted me on the arm. “I’m good jus like dis. You let me know how dat boy is doin’, okay?”

I agreed and said good-bye, and headed home to get ready for work. The magnitude of what was really going on with my brother struck later that evening. Struck like a bolt of lightning.

Nyx and I took turns checking on Seth, and this time it was Nyx’s turn — she insisted. I was finishing with a client, going over his tattoo-care instructions, so I told Nyx thanks and she disappeared into the back of the shop. It wasn’t a solid minute later when I heard her shaky, freaked-out voice holler down the stairs. “Ri-ley! Get up here now!” she screeched. “Hurry!”

“Here,” I said to the client, handing him the rest of his paperwork. “Band looks awesome, but I gotta go — sorry!” When he chuckled and said, “No problem,” I was already halfway up the steps to my apartment, my heart in my throat. I envisioned every horrible scenario I could imagine, from drug overdose to death — both completely out of character (way out) for Seth, but he hadn’t exactly been Seth Poe lately. I beat myself up a hundred times before I reached the top of the stairs, for not getting him to a doctor sooner. But the moment I saw Nyx, standing in the doorway of Seth’s room, with a look of disbelief and terror on her face, swear to God, I nearly stopped breathing. I felt like a hole had been knocked through my chest, and I ran hard to the doorway and pushed past Nyx. Once inside, I jolted to a stop. “Whoa!” I shouted, and froze, my eyes glued to what I saw.

The air jammed in my lungs the moment realization hit me. I couldn’t breathe, shout, or cry out. I merely stood, mouth slack, staring in complete disbelief as my baby brother’s body hovered ten feet above his bed, face-up, body to ceiling, and totally, completely asleep.

“Seth!” Nyx cried. “Wake up! Oh, Riley — what the — ”

“Go get Preacher,” I said, my eyes remaining fastened on my floating brother, and praying the Gullah had come home.

“But Seth! What’s he doing?” she said, her voice wailing, and she was literally jumping in place. She was starting to panic, and I was freaking close to it myself. “That’s just not real! It’s not — ”

“Dammit, Nyx, now!” I said sharply. She was already gone and running down the steps before I realized Preacher might not be home yet. Estelle had just called earlier to say he was on his way from Da Island. Deciding not to wait on anybody, I dragged a chair over, climbed on it, reached on booted tiptoes to Seth’s ankle, and tugged. His body, weightless, moved with very little pressure, so I eased down off the chair and pulled Seth with me. As effed up and weird as it sounded and looked, I positioned his body parallel with his bed, then tugged him down onto the mattress. The moment I turned him loose, he began to float back to the ceiling. “Shit! Seth!” I grasped his ankle again as panic shot through me. What the hell?! What was I supposed to do? This was not happening! I scanned the room, hoping my vision would light on something that would give me a clue as to what the freak to do with Seth. Was he possessed? On drugs? People didn’t float. Oh, Jesus, he had to be possessed. I should have paid more attention in my Catholic studies as a kid. I held on to him now, completely out of my mind, and finally, I did the only thing I could think of: I sat on him to keep him down. Seth showed no signs of waking up; he actually looked as peaceful as he ever did when asleep, and I wanted him to damn well stay like that until Preacher arrived.

Within minutes — maybe even seconds, I really lost track of time — a rush of heavy treads hurrying up the steps met my ears, and thankfully, it was more than one set of feet moving. “Hurry up!” I hollered.

Then everything happened at once. Preacher burst into the room; Chaz ran in barking his head off; Seth woke up; Nyx screamed. And in one fluid motion — so fast I didn’t even see him move — my brother shoved me off of him with brutal strength, I flew hard across the room and landed against the wall, and Seth disappeared out of the already open window. The moment my body landed, I pushed up and ran toward the window. “Seth!” I called out frantically, and searched the area of cobbles below his window. Vacant. Chaz jumped up, his paws on the sill and still barking like a mad dog, and I searched up and down River Street in the waning light. “Seth!” I called again. It was no use. He was gone. And I was in sickening shock. I didn’t think beyond that; I pushed off the sill and ran for the door, screaming my brother’s name. “Seth!” No way could he have made that fall and just . . . run off. Unless he was using. Dammit! I made it ten feet before Preacher grabbed me around my waist and pulled me to a halt. “Let me go!” I said, unthinking, and pulled hard against him. He held fast, and I went nowhere. Overcome with distress, I sagged against him. My brain couldn’t make sense of anything. “What’s going on, Preacher?”

“Girl,” Preacher said gently. “Shush now.” Somewhere behind me, Nyx wept softly. He touched my chin, and I turned and searched his dark eyes. He asked me nothing, just commanded me with gentle urgency. Obviously, he knew something, since none of this seemed to be freaking him out. “You come wit me now,” he said, and headed out of the door. Nothing I looked at was the same as before. Nothing and no one. I don’t know why I felt that so fast, but I did; all from just five words spoken from the mouth of a wise Gullah root doctor. Sensations of fear, panic, anxiety, rushed me. That, and the fact that my levitating, drug-using brother had flown out of a two-story building and disappeared.

Knowing what her answer would be, I glanced at Nyx. “Will you close up for me and wait here, in case he comes back?” I asked.

“He ain’t comin’ back tonight,” Preacher said from the hall, and my stomach dropped. “It’s time now. Come,” he commanded. I drew in a deep breath and numbly followed Preacher out, trailing behind him into the afterlight.