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.