Elle Jasper - Eventide

Darling peers up at him through white, foggy eyes. “What you doin’ here, boy? You one of dem, ain’t ya?” She shakes her head, beads clacking together. “One of dem bloodsuckers. But you different, dat’s right.” She waves her hand at him. “Don’t matta. You here to watch over Preacher’s baby girl, don’t forget dat.” She reaches into her bag and tosses something at me. I catch it. It’s cool and flat, like a piece of metal.

The Gullah woman lowers her voice. “Girl, dere’s an evil place ’round here. People get took dere, but dey don’t want to go. You don’t want to go, either. It’s out in da water, and it’s a bad place.” She leans over, close. “Dere’s monsters dere. And bloodsuckers. Some dead. Some not dead. Some wish dey was dead.”

My insides chill at her words.

“Darling, how—”

“Shush! Watch your mouth, girl. I ain’t done.” She cocks her head at Eli. “You listenin’ too, boy?”

“Oui.”

Darling bursts into laughter. “ Oui ? What da hell does dat mean? You crazy, boy?”

She turns her head again, to the unknown soul whom she speaks to. “Oh,” she says to the air beside her. “Dat means yeah. Okay den.”

I share a puzzled look with Eli, then I shrug and turn my attention back to Darling.

The old Gullah continues. “Dey all hidin’ from you. Been hidin’ from you for a while now. Maybe ‘cause dey busy workin’ in da graveyard? Don’t know why. But soon dey gonna stop hidin’ and git you. You don’t wanna go wit dem. Dat one who was locked away in da ground for all dem years wit his brodder? He’s out. And he’s bad. The brodder ain’t so bad for a bloodsucker.” She points at Eli. “You watch dis hardheaded ting doh. Make sure dey don’t git her. Dat’s Preacher’s baby girl. She got dat special blood da vampires want. She sees dem. But dey see her, too.” She peers at Eli. “You don’t want her blood, do you boy? Preacher Man, he kill you good if you bother his baby.”

“No, ma’am,” Eli answers. “I’d never hurt her.”

Darling grunts her approval.

I rise. “Darling, if they—”

At that point, Darling has obviously experienced enough of me and Eli for the night. She tips her head back, beads jingling, opens her mouth, and yells as if being murdered. A high-pitched, bloodcurdling, banshee-type holler that makes my hair stand up.

I grab Eli by the hand. “Come on. She’s through with us now.”

Eli glances over his shoulder as we race from the square. As soon as we step onto the cobbles, Darling ceases her squalling.

I stare in her direction. Even from that distance, I see the whites of her teeth against her pitch-black skin as she smiles. “Bye-bye, Riley Poe!” she yells. “Watch your neck!”

“That’s scary,” Eli says.

“You ain’t kidding,” I answer, and stop under the next streetlamp. I open my palm and stare down at the object Darling gave me.

“What is it?” Eli asks.

I pull it closer. “It’s a flattened tourist penny,” I answer. “With Bonaventure Cemetery on the front.”

Eli looks at me. The shadows play across his face, and my heart leaps. “Looks like we’re headed back to the graveyard.”

“Let’s call the others,” I say. “And get the Jeep.”

No sooner have we reached Inksomnia to get the Jeep do I hear glass shatter from next door. A series of Dagala expletives fall onto the night, and in the next instant the door to SoHo Boutique—Bhing’s store—flies open. Bhing’s husband, Ronnie, carrying their toddler and followed by their older boy, comes running out into the alley. Inside SoHo, glass is breaking. It sounds like a tornado is going through the place. Ronnie runs straight toward me, speaking in high-gear Dagala.

“Whoa!” I say, holding up my hand. “English, Ronnie!”

As of yet I haven’t been bitten by a Dagala vampire, thus I cannot speak Dagala (except the few dirty words Bhing taught me). I stress the word “yet.” By now, anything’s possible, and I know it.

“Bhing! Something is wrong with her!” Ronnie says, breathless. He points to his eyes. “She’s no longer seeing me. She came after us, growling and trying to bite!” He looks over his shoulder. “She’s tearing up the shop!”

“Mommy’s bad,” the little toddler in Ronnie’s arms says, pointing.

“Help us!” Ronnie cries. “I’ve locked her in the bathroom. Downstairs.”

“Okay, okay, it’s going to be fine,” I say, and I pray it will be.

“Take them inside,” Eli says. “I’ll get Bhing.”

“She doesn’t really know you,” I say, trying to convince him that I need to get her.

“Trust me,” Eli says. “She doesn’t know anyone right now.”

I nod. “True.” Grasping Ronnie by the elbow, I give his older son a comforting smile and incline my head. “Come on. Eli here will take care of Bhing.”

Ronnie stops and looks up at Eli. “Don’t hurt her. Please.”

Eli nods. “I won’t. I promise.”

With that, Eli turns and heads toward SoHo. I hurry Ronnie and his sons into Inksomnia. Inside, I turn. “Go sit in there,” I say, pointing upstairs to my living quarters. “Shut the door and don’t open it until you hear it’s me. I’m going to help Eli.”

Ronnie nods and heads upstairs with the kids. The little one in his arms turns around and looks at me. His shiny black hair swings with the movement of his head. He points. “Mommy bad.”

“Mommy’s just…sick,” I correct. “She’ll be okay.” But by the look in his dark brown eyes, he doesn’t really believe me.

I hope to prove him wrong.

Just as I swing out of Inksomnia at a full run, Eli heads out of SoHo.

Bhing, kicking, screaming bloody murder, and swearing in Dagala is head-first over Eli’s shoulder.

“I’ve got to get her to Da Island,” he says. “She’s out of control.”

I move around his back to take a look for myself. Bhing lifts her head and stares at me. Her glasses are gone and her eyes are milky white. She snaps at me like a freaking zombie, yet her perfectly-cut black bob swings just as easily as her toddler’s. A frightening sight to be sure. “Eesh,” I say. “Definitely get her there. Fast.”

“What are you going to tell Ronnie?” Eli asks, heading to the Jeep.

“I have no idea. I’ll think of something,” I say. “Hurry.”

I help Eli bind Bhing’s arms and legs, then strap her into the Jeep. He takes off, and I walk inside to hopefully convince Ronnie and the kids that their adorable little Bhing isn’t a monster after all.

After some hasty explanations, and a promise to help his wife, Ronnie and the kids head back to SoHo to start cleaning up the mess. I tell him the same thing we told Nyx when Seth was experiencing a quickening: drugs. I hated doing it, but it was better than the truth: vampires.

An hour later, Eli returns, and we continue on to bigger problems.

Scaling the fence at Bonaventure seems much easier now. One leap and I’m over. No more showing my ass to wind, or clinging for dear life to the metal. Up and over. Gotta love the tendencies.

I shine my flashlight to a discarded pile of items half buried in the dirt. A finger of dread inches across my spine. “This is not good.”

“A hairbrush, plate, coffee mug, a toothbrush. A remote control. A plastic container with—a box of cigarettes and lighter?” Eli says, noting the items. “What the hell?”

I draw a breath and stand. “Wow.”

“A Gullah grave,” Eli says. “Strange. It’s an old tradition, one that’s not practiced much anymore. Especially here on the mainland.”

I reach for the remote.

“No,” Eli says. “Don’t touch it.”

I think a moment, then remember Preacher’s teachings. “The Gullah believe that in order to guarantee the safety of the living, they must placate the dead.” I point to the items. “They leave the deceased person’s favorite personal belongings behind, to keep them from returning and bothering the living.”