Hunting Memories

Chapter 3

By two nights later, several things had happened in Eleisha's world.

First, through Rose's address being absorbed into her consciousness, Eleisha had named their new home, and she spoke the name so often that Wade was also referring to the church as "the underground." He joked it was rather like Tara from Gone With the Wind. But Eleisha compared it more to terms like "head-quarters," in old spy movies.

Second, the deacons had gladly accepted her offer on the property. She'd waived the right to the sale being complete pending an inspection, and a bank appraisal wasn't necessary because she planned on buying the place with cash.

Now, she just needed to sell some stock and have the money available.

Unfortunately, her broker was on vacation in Costa Rica and wouldn't be back in the States for six days. But the closing date to sign paperwork wasn't set for three weeks, so aside from feeling in limbo, she wasn't concerned.

She'd written a long letter to Rose, telling her everything about the underground, including the wrought-iron fence and night-blooming roses, how the place felt like home… how it had been abandoned and seemed to need someone. She could tell Rose things she could never tell Philip or Wade. Now, she would simply have to wait for a response before knowing the next step. Eleisha understood Rose's caution-as Rose didn't know if she could trust them either.

Last night, Eleisha had taken a taxi east to set up orders at several furniture stores, while Wade and Philip had taken the public Streetcar downtown to pick out a new television and DVD player. They'd brought a DVD player home, but the flat-screen TV that Philip wanted was temporarily out of stock, and they would have to wait a few days for delivery.

So now, with little else to do, Wade and Eleisha had set to work cleaning the inside of the church. Wade might be terrible at making decisions, but once a decision was made, he threw himself in with both feet. At the moment, he was busy scrubbing the upstairs windowsills.

Philip had discovered a hardwood floor beneath the outdated carpet in the sanctuary, and so he was ripping up the carpet.

Eleisha was trying to get the sitting room in the downstairs apartment ready for a delivery of furniture from Crate and Barrel. Scrubbing and sweeping, she felt almost like a housewife, dressed in a pair of Wade's old sweatpants and a flannel shirt, with her hair in a knot on top of her head. She found the idea humorous. Her. A housewife. How long since she'd set up a house?

Had it been 1912?

Yes, that was the last time… really, the only time.

When she'd landed in New York in 1839, so lost and confused, another vampire, Edward Claymore, had taken her and William under his wing. Edward had protected her and trained her to hunt. But he'd never felt a need for a «home» and always kept them living in lavish New York hotels. In the end, Eleisha had struck out on her own, come here to Portland, and bought a house for herself and William. Yes, that was the last time she had set up a home.

It felt good to be doing so again.

She finished wiping the last cobweb from a corner. The room was clean. What now?

She decided to go upstairs to see how Philip was progressing. Emerging from the door behind the altar into the sanctuary, she found him sitting on the floor in a pile of moldy carpet remnants, gazing at nothing.

Most uncharacteristic.

Dust floated in the air. Soft illumination from the streetlights outside filtered through the stained-glass windows, glowing in greens and yellows off the side of his face.

"Are you okay?" she asked.

He looked up at her. When he spoke, his accent sounded thick and he started mixing English with French. "I want to talk. Sйrieusement."

He wanted to talk seriously? She tensed, hoping they were not going to have another showdown over Rose. She was definitely not feeling up to a fight with Philip.

"What?" she asked cautiously.

He stood, went over to the altar, and picked up a manila folder. "Come and look."

His expression was so intense, it frightened her. What could be so important that Philip wasn't even complaining about the lack of fun or about all the hard work of prepping their new home?

She hurried over. "What is it?"

He crouched down and opened the folder, spreading out its contents. Eleisha found herself looking at the newest editions of GQ, Men's Vogue, and a small collection of photos of famous male actors. Brad Pitt was on the top of the stack.

Philip picked up the GQ. "Look at the men here and then tell me. What do they have in common, eh?"

If he had spoken in Russian, Eleisha would not have been more confused. "I don't understand what you're-"

"Look! What is the same about them all?"

She glanced down at the magazine as he paged through it for her.

"They're all shallow and self-absorbed?" she ventured.

"No!"

She flinched. He was really upset about something.

"Their hair," he said. "Now, look at this Vogue. Not a single man has long hair like mine." He lowered his voice to conspiratorial tones. "I am passй."

For nearly thirty seconds, she almost couldn't believe what he was saying. In the past month, she had lost her purpose in existence-her William. Then she and Philip had faced down Julian, abandoned Seattle, and found a new home so they could bring in a frightened vampire who had somehow escaped Julian's killing spree in the nineteenth century, and Philip was worried about his hair?

"It's your fault," he went on. "All your talk of new music and new movies, and I did not know until now that my hair makes me look like some shabby eighties rock star."

Eighties rock stars did not run around wearing shirts by Hugo Boss… Well, maybe some of them did.

"Oh, Philip." Eleisha sank down beside him, realizing there was more going on here than vanity. The world at large kept moving faster and faster, and living alone for so long, he hadn't been able to keep up, and he'd never seen himself through any eyes but his own. He was becoming more self-aware due to his newfound companionship. "What if you get it cut, and you don't like it?" she asked. "It might not grow back."

She'd discovered this fact within a year of being turned. Although any flesh wound she'd received healed quickly, other aspects of her body worked differently. At first, her hair and fingernails had continued to grow, but then they stopped.

"Here," he answered, digging through the stack of actors' photos, holding up a head shot of Viggo Mortensen from A Perfect Murder. "What about this? It's still down below his ears."

"Where did you get all these pictures?"

"From other magazines. Wade took me to a bookstore called Powell's last night. It is very big."

A part of her still could not believe he'd been laboring over anything so trivial, but if he was this concerned, she wanted to help. Philip had fought Julian for her, protected her, stayed with her when she needed him-when he could have left and gone anywhere in the world.

"Well… I've never been to a hair salon," she said, "but Wade has. He might be able to suggest one."

"Wade!" Philip was aghast. "He goes to Supercuts. No, I've read articles, and I know something of this. I should not pay less than two hundred dollars, and I should only see a gay stylist. I can risk no mistakes."

His expression was so troubled.

Torn between wanting to comfort him and wanting to hit him across the face with a loose floorboard, Eleisha said. "Okay, we'll get a phonebook, and we'll start calling, and we'll find you an overpriced gay stylist."

He rocked back on his heels, clearly relieved. "Bien."

She could hardly believe this was the same man who'd recently kicked Julian out a window.

Julian paced the filthy study at Cliffbracken, dragging a sword over the Indian carpet.

Mary had not returned to him, and every few hours, he was gripped by an almost overwhelming impulse to call her back. But he feared pulling her away too soon-in case she was close to locating Eleisha.

What could be taking so long?

He hated anything outside his own control.

The only way he could gain an advantage over Eleisha was by catching her unaware, before she could invade his mind. If she was coming after him and he had no idea where she was, catching her off guard was impossible. His only option was to stay locked inside the manor-where he knew every inch and every sound-until Mary brought him a report.

But he was hungry… starving.

Walking to the door, he cracked it. Even from here, he could feel warm life force drifting down the halls from the kitchen.

One of the servants was still working.

Back in the days when Lord William and Lady Katherine ran the estate, they employed a small army of servants. But at present, Julian retained only three people: a handyman, whose job was to repair anything visibly falling apart, and two cleaning women, who could hardly handle a manor this size but managed to keep the main floor in fairly good order. All three of them lived "in house," but he never saw any of them. They had been sent out here by an agency in Cardiff and knew how to remain invisible.

Still gripping the sword, he stumbled from the library, down through the dining hall, into the corridor, turning right before he reached the mudroom, and made his way to the kitchens-as the pull of warm blood drew him on.

He heard a woman humming just a little off-key.

He stopped in the shadows of the doorway.

She stood by the table putting loaves of fresh-baked bread into large Tupperware containers. None of the servants had ever dared ask why he required no meals, but of course they had to feed themselves.

This woman looked to be about thirty. Her brown hair was woven back in a loose braid. She wore jeans and a wool sweater. Few servants wore uniforms these days even in the great houses, but here, any semblance of such formality had passed away.

Julian didn't even know her name.

He wished she looked younger and that she had wheat-gold hair, so he could pretend she was Eleisha and make her suffer.

Without speaking, he allowed some of his gift to seep out, to drift into the kitchens, and she looked up in alarm, seeing him there in the doorway.

Even without his gift, he knew the sight of him would frighten her. He hadn't bathed or changed clothes in weeks, and he was holding on to a sword.

"Sir…?" she stammered, stepping away from the table. "I'm sorry. I did not know you were out of the…" She didn't finish the sentence and backed toward the other doorway on the far side of the room. Her breathing was ragged.

He emanated the full power of his gift and watched in satisfaction as the alarm on her face changed to terror and her mouth locked in an O shape.

She froze.

He dropped the sword and strode toward her, grabbing her shoulders, turning her around, and slamming her against the table. She could not even scream as wave after wave of fear passed through her.

With his feet planted on the floor, he lifted her a few inches and bent her backward over the table, pinning her with his chest, basking in the terror and warmth her body emitted. He was starving, but he didn't want this to end just yet, so he cut off the power of his gift, banishing her induced fear and letting her feel panic of her own accord… of him.

The glaze in her eyes cleared and she began struggling wildly.

"No!" she shouted, trying to push him away, and then she screamed, "Liam! Liam, help me!"

Julian didn't care if she shouted for help, and he doubted anyone would hear her. The others were probably upstairs at the other end of the manor. Her breasts were pressed against him, and he enjoyed the feel of her struggles for a few more seconds, and then he drove his teeth into her throat, draining blood so fast that she stopped screaming.

He knew that he was supposed to see her memories as he drained her, that others of his kind saw the entire lives of their victims in the fleeting moments before their death. But Julian saw nothing.

He just reveled in the blood, in the sweet strength of life force flowing down his throat.

Her struggles grew weaker. He drank until her heart stopped beating.

Then he dragged her body through the kitchen by one arm-stopping long enough to pick up the sword. He dragged her all the way into the study, through the passage leading to the old dungeon, and he dropped her in the guard room a few feet from the spot where he'd drained his father.

Neither of the other servants even knew this part of the manor existed.

He felt better, stronger.

Gripping the sword tighter, he headed back up the passage into the study. He had blood on his shirt, and he could feel smears on his mouth. Thinking more clearly now that he'd fed, he decided to go to his own chamber upstairs and clean himself up. But as he walked toward the doors, the air in front of him shimmered, and Mary suddenly appeared, transparent magenta hair glowing in the lamplight.

"I found them," she gasped, again making unsettling sounds as if she could still breathe. Sometimes, he wondered if she knew she was dead.

"They're in Portland," she rushed on, "staying in some old church."

She seemed about to say more when she saw the blood on his face and shirt, and she stopped.

Julian could feel some of his uncertainty draining away. Eleisha was still on another continent.

Philip led the way off the public Streetcar and stepped down onto Eleventh and Couch. He made sure Eleisha was following, and then he started walking toward Twelfth Street, as earlier this evening, Eleisha had mentioned going to the Whole Foods store parking lot.

He was sick of hunting in parking lots.

He was sick of feeding in cars.

He was sick of drinking from wrists and leaving victims alive. He used to revel in hunting. Now the whole ordeal felt foreign and unnatural and unsatisfying.

But he could not speak such thoughts to Eleisha.

If he did, she might not forgive him.

And he would rather feed from wrists and alter petty mortal memories for eternity than lose Eleisha.

That was the reason he'd come here, following her on this foolish quest to buy a "safe house," after which she would locate this coiled serpent who'd been writing to her, seducing her with lies. Julian was behind this. He had to be. Who else knew Maggie's home address? Who else knew Eleisha's name and could connect those elements? No, Julian was leading Eleisha into a trap, and since Philip couldn't stop her from rushing down this path, he was forced to follow and protect her.

Five nights had passed since she'd written to Rose from Portland, and now they were stuck in a waiting period, uncertain what the next step would be.

Eleisha fell into step beside him. Tonight, her hair hung loose, and she wore a white tank top over a chocolate brown broom-stick skirt. He sometimes teased her and called the latter a "hippie skirt," but he liked the way it flowed when she walked.

"This is my favorite part of the city," she said. "I watched it develop over the years."

Apparently-and he still found this hard to believe-she had lived in the same house here with doddering, decrepit William from 1912 to 2008. How was that possible? He would never have submitted to such an existence. To make matters worse, she seemed to miss her old life. He did not understand her.

But that didn't matter. She made him feel things he'd never experienced, things he couldn't name. She fed him something he never even knew he was hungry for.

And tonight, he had more reason to be pleased with her.

He liked his new hair.

True to her word, Eleisha had found a stylist named Ricardo, so flaming he might have set off the ceiling sprinklers. He tutted and tutted over Philip's «magnificent» hair and swore he wouldn't touch it with a pair of scissors. But in the end, he'd charged three hundred dollars for the haircut, and Philip now looked much more modern… like the photo of Viggo Mortensen. He was very pleased.

"Do you like my hair?" he asked.

Eleisha tilted her head back and rolled her eyes. "Yes, Philip. I've told you over and over: I like your hair. Women will swoon at your feet. Now focus on hunting. You need to control the situation better this time."

She was heading for the parking garage.

He stopped.

"Can we not try something different?" he asked. "Are you not bored with cars?"

For nearly two hundred years, his only entertainment had been hunting in every possible variety of ways, and as powerful as his feelings were for Eleisha, she had managed to make it a tedious chore.

She turned around and frowned in confusion. "Well, we can't leave an unconscious person in the street. They might get robbed… or worse."

How could she possibly be such a sheep?

An idea struck him, something to make this more fun. Why hadn't he thought of it before? "You want me to try harder… to do this without your help, no? Then we make it a game."

"A game?"

"Yes, I will think of someplace clever-difficult-to lure a mortal. I drink and alter memories to give a reasonable explanation, no matter where the mortal will wake up. Then you must think of someplace more clever."

"Philip, we just need to feed. I don't think it is such a good-"

"Then I won't learn!" he argued. "I will be too bored to try."

She stepped toward him. "You'll make sure the place is safe?"

He almost always got his way with her in the end. The situation with this mysterious letter writer was the only time she hadn't given in.

"Of course," he said. "Follow me. I have an idea, and you will never top it. My gift is better for this game."

He led the way to Fifth Avenue and walked into Macy's.

Reluctantly, Eleisha followed him through the menswear section, through the cosmetics department, and over into lingerie.

"What are you going to do?" she asked quietly, already alarmed.

"Go over there," he answered, pointing to the nightgowns and slippers, "and pretend you don't know me. I have to look like I'm alone."

For the first time in a month, he was interested in hunting again. Maybe this would work. Maybe if Eleisha played this game with him, he could take some pleasure.

Within moments, he spotted a pretty redhead wearing a pink dress and tan sandals. Pink was a bad color on her, but otherwise, she appealed to him. She was looking at bras.

He took a black lace bra off the rack and moved up behind her.

"Pardon me," he said, and he let his gift begin to flow.

She stiffened and then turned around, staring at him. Up close, she was quite lovely, with ivory skin and a few tiny freckles.

"I am buying a present for my sister," he said. "Can you help me decide?"

She glanced at the bra in his hand. "You're buying that for your sister?"

He smiled and let the power of his gift increase. "Maybe not. But I am buying a present."

Her eyes were getting bigger as she focused on his face, as if she couldn't believe he was real.

He picked up a cream lace bra by Vanity Fair. "This one is good too. Come with me to the dressing room," he whispered. "We can see them in a better light."

She followed him without a word, without a question, as if it was the most natural thing in the world to follow a complete stranger into the dressing room in the Macy's lingerie department. He checked inside first, to make sure the corridor between the stalls was empty. To his glee, he could hear several women trying on clothes behind the doors, but no one could see him. Their veiled presence gave this part of the game more spice. Looking down at the red-haired girl, he put a finger to his lips, urging her to silence, and led her inside a stall. He closed the door.

Let Eleisha try to top this!

The girl was breathing hard and watching his face expectantly, and then suddenly Philip's sense of fun drained away. Alone with her, he was overwhelmed by a desire to hunt in the same fashion he always had. To put one hand over her mouth, bite down savagely, and drain her until she stopped moving. He wanted to feel her fear, to feel her struggle, to see all her memories, and feel her despair in the moment she realized she could not stop him and that she was going to die.

But he could not do this.

Eleisha might come in and find the mess.

So, instead, he reached out with his thoughts and entered the girl's mind.

"You are so tired," he whispered. "Sleep."

He caught her as she dropped, and he positioned her carefully on a small bench attached to the wall. He fed from her wrist this time, focusing on keeping her asleep, taking no joy in feeding at all. The blood tasted like memories of bland water to him, almost like nothing. He saw a few flickering images of a dirty kitchen, a mother smoking a cigarette, a dented Honda Civic… a boyfriend named Ricky.

Philip took only what he needed, and then he used his teeth to connect the holes-as Eleisha had taught him. Looking around the dressing room stall, he saw some decorative square boards painted purple and nailed at equal intervals up and down the door. Quietly, he reached out and jerked one loose, exposing the nail.

Then he reached into the girl's mind again, erasing her memory of meeting him and replacing it with one where she entered the stall, cut herself on the nail, and fainted from the blood and pain.

Then he slipped out, left the dressing room, and went to find Eleisha-still standing among the nightgowns and slippers.

"Everything okay?" Her tone suggested worry.

"Yes, go and look. She's still alive and not lying alone in the street."

"I don't need to look. Did you alter her memory?"

"Of course!"

She reached out and touched his arm. "What's wrong then?"

"Nothing."

She tried to smile. "So it's my turn?"

He tried to smile back. "Yes, your turn."

Rather than make the hunt more fun, his game had only made him hungrier for what he'd lost.

As they walked back onto the dark street outside, he knew he would need to go hunting alone-and soon.

Wade sat on the floor of the empty sanctuary, looking at the open letter in his hand. Eleisha and Philip had gone hunting, and for the first time in five nights, she'd been too preoccupied to check the mailbox.

But after she left, Wade checked it.

The first thing he'd seen was a DVD he'd ordered for Philip, and then he saw the letter lying there beneath it. He recognized the handwriting.

He'd stuffed it inside his shirt and then gone back inside with no intention of opening it, and he found ways to keep himself busy. The new television had finally arrived, so he hooked everything up, noting how homey the sitting room in the downstairs apartment was becoming. He much preferred Eleisha's taste in furniture to Maggie's, as Eleisha tended to choose pieces that were functional and comfortable as opposed to impressive. She'd ordered a sage green couch with a lot of pillows. She also liked little tables and lamps to read by.

But no matter how hard he tried, he could not stop thinking about the letter.

He went back upstairs, through the sanctuary and then outside, through the gate to the street, looking up and down. Eleisha was nowhere in sight. If only she would come home, he'd hand the letter over, and then he was certain she'd let him read it. But to open her mail? Something addressed to her? That felt wrong.

He walked slowly back to the sanctuary, closed the doors behind himself, and sank down onto the floor.

He felt torn between Eleisha and Philip. He didn't have to read their minds to see where they stood. Eleisha trusted Rose completely. Philip clearly believed this whole arrangement was a trap.

The problem was, Wade had no idea which of them was right, and he wasn't used to leaning upon his own instincts. All his life, Wade could read minds. Other people could not feel him doing this, so they couldn't stop him. He was never invasive without a reason, but he'd been a police psychologist, with tough calls to make every day. Knowing what was going on inside somebody's head was a unique advantage in offering diagnoses.

However, Eleisha and Philip could feel him inside their thoughts, and if they chose, they could keep him out… and the three of them had set up some ground rules anyway.

No, if he was going to protect Eleisha, and himself, from a trap, he was going to have to rely on his own judgment. What if he didn't read the letter, didn't know what was in it before giving it to her, and his caution resulted in her being hurt?

Reaching inside his shirt, he took the letter out and opened it. Even while doing this, a part of him felt it was wrong, and another part felt that it was the only right thing to do.

He read.

Wade sat staring at the page, and a feeling he could not explain washed over him: that Rose was the wisest of people, that she could be absolutely trusted, that her words rang true.

He lowered the letter and looked away. The feeling passed.

What was that?

He shook his head to clear it.

Then he heard Eleisha's voice outside, and he shoved the letter inside his shirt again. The front doors opened.

Mary materialized just inside the churchyard, around the back, keeping well hidden among the rosebushes. In her current state of existence, one thing that surprised her was than anyone could see her if she changed locations without knowing exactly where she would appear… and she ended up materializing out in the open.

She'd scared the hell out of a couple of old ladies at the Seattle Center before realizing they could see her-and then she blinked out again. But she was learning tricks to avoid this.

She hadn't told Julian, but she was learning how to manipulate her abilities far beyond the scant instructions he'd given her.

For instance, she'd found that she could materialize right inside the walls of a building. This didn't hurt her, and no one could see her. The problem was that she couldn't see or hear either. But she was discovering new ways to spy and eavesdrop without being spotted, and she was gaining a much stronger grasp on wishing herself into «nothingness» or a state of limbo where she was invisible to people until she either wished to materialize again… or Julian called her.

She thought of this as being able to "blink in and out."

She'd also learned that she had a powerful advantage over the other spirits who'd remained here in what she called "the real world." From what she understood-by talking to other ghosts-spirits of the dead could exist on three different planes: 1) the real world of the living, 2) the gray in-between plane, and 3) the afterlife. She had no idea what the afterlife looked like, as she had never seen it, but during her time on the gray plane, she'd come to believe the vast majority of ghosts ended up there, as she once could have… had she been willing to leave the in-between plane of the spirits who refused to accept death, who still longed to find a way back here, back to the living.

While first hunting for Eleisha in Seattle, she realized she couldn't yet tell the difference between various forms of the dead. So she'd ended up finding several other ghosts. They weren't common here in the real world.

But the few she'd met had all been trapped here the moment they died by strong ties to either a person or a place, and many ghosts spent their time in the relaxed state of «nothingness» beyond the sight of living people. However… being tied down to a person or place, they could not move with the ease that she could, even if they wished to. As of yet, she hadn't met a single spirit who'd crossed over from the other side, like she had.

She was unique.

She liked it here. She could go anywhere. See anything. She wasn't tied to anyone.

Well, that wasn't true. She was tied to Julian. Bastard. He hated her. She could see it in his dirty face. But when he threatened to send her back, she believed him. She was terrified of going back to that ugly gray plane of nothing, with only other ghosts like herself who shouldn't be dead… who knew they couldn't be dead, who struggled and fought and wept to find a way to get back here.

She was here.

And she wasn't leaving.

Once she was done with Julian's tasks and he released her, she was going home to her parents. They were never abandoning her at home again. They were never getting rid of her.

She'd considered popping in on them several times but decided against it just yet. She wanted to wait until she had her freedom first. Then, boy, would they be surprised. This was all their fault! They left her to go see some stupid art opening, not even asking if she wanted to go. They never asked her if she wanted to go with them, and her dad was selfish enough to turn his phone off so she couldn't even call. They'd practically murdered her. They'd be sorry soon.

Looking around, she realized she was alone outside the church and floated up a few feet to look in one of the stained windows. Peering through a piece of yellow glass, she could see the blond guy sitting on the floor of the empty sanctuary, reading a sheet of paper.

He suddenly looked up and crammed the paper in his pocket. The front doors opened and Eleisha and the other one-Philip-walked inside.

Mary had to find a way to listen. Julian was getting sick of her just reporting on their whereabouts, and he had started demanding she give him reports on what they said to each other. Ugh.

She put her face against a piece of red glass and let the side of her head pass through just enough so she could hear what was being said.

No one would see her against these thick, colored windows.

"Of course you won," Eleisha said, opening the front doors. "It was no contest. The best I could do was lure a 7-Eleven clerk into a back room."

She'd cut her own hand and then gone into an empty convenience store and turned on her gift, and the clerk had fallen all over himself to help her. Philip's success had been much more clever and creative.

But she hoped he would not wish to play his game again, and she could not understand why he'd been so quiet afterward. She chatted to try to cheer him. She was half-tempted to try reading his mind, but he'd feel her and push her out if he was hiding something private. What could he be hiding? She had agreed to his "more fun" change of plan tonight. She'd done exactly what he wanted.

Then she stepped inside the church and was surprised to see Wade sitting on the floor of the empty sanctuary.

He stood up. "Philip, I've got the DVD player hooked up to the TV, and a movie came in that I think you'll like, an early nineties action film called Universal Soldier with Jean-Claude Van Damme. Lots of machine guns and some good hand-to-hand fight scenes."

Philip took a step toward him, the dark look on his face vanishing. "Oh, Wade…"

He stopped. Philip didn't know how to express gratitude. It wasn't that he didn't feel it; he'd just lost the ability to express it long ago.

"Will you watch it with me?" he asked.

"Sure, just go downstairs and get the film put in, and I'll be right down. I want to talk to Eleisha for a minute."

A tense pitch in his voice made Eleisha pause and look at him. Philip bounded off down the stairs, and she waited until he was out of earshot.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

Wade tightened his mouth in indecision, and then he blurted out, "A letter arrived from Rose today. I read it."

As he said this, he pulled a crumpled letter from his shirt and held it out.

Rose sent a letter! And so quickly.

"What did she say? Did she tell us what to do?" Eleisha took the letter and scanned it, exclaiming, "An address! She wants us to come, and she's trusted us with her address."

Her mind drifted into the future, of finding Rose in her apartment, bringing her here, making a room for her, building their community…

"Aren't you angry?" Wade asked in surprise.

"About what?"

"That I read her letter, and it was written to you."

"I don't mind. I already showed you all her letters. I only wish Philip would read them. Then he'd understand."

Suddenly, Wade tensed up again. He reached out and took the letter from her. "That's right. Philip hasn't actually read any of these, has he?"

"No, except that first short one. I wish he would."

"Eleisha, what is Rose's gift?"

The question threw her. Why would he ask that? She shook her head. "I don't know. We never talk about things like that."

"Is she telepathic?"

"I don't know that either, but if she's not, then she's still killing to feed and you'll have to teach her how to wake her abilities, like you woke mine and Philip's. You will, won't you?"

"Of course I will."

She smiled. "I knew it. You'll be saving so many lives."

He stared at her. Had that never occurred to him before? That by teaching her, by teaching Philip, he was saving mortals who would have died at their hands?

A plan, a vision, had been growing in her mind for weeks now. Sinking down to the floor, she motioned for him to sit as well.

Slowly, still staring at her, he followed, sitting crossed-legged with his knees close to hers.

"We shouldn't just stop with Rose," she whispered. "What if she's right and there are others like her, alone, like Philip was? We can find them. We can bring them here, and you can wake their telepathy, and I can teach them to hunt without killing. We can build a community here."

She was frightened, telling him this, wondering how he would react.

Currently, Wade's life lacked purpose, and he needed a purpose. But Eleisha also knew she'd been somewhat deceptive lately, first by hiding her communication with Rose for a month, and then hiding her plans to buy the church-and then springing it on him while he stood in the basement… and now trying to win his agreement for her own vision, for her hopes.

"That's what you want?" he asked. "To build a community here? For you and me to find hidden members of your kind and teach them to feed without killing?"

At a loss for words, she nodded.

He looked away, but he wasn't angry. She could see him thinking on her words, and she just sat there for a while, letting him think.

"Are you with me?" she asked finally.

He looked back at her, studying her face.

"So… what do we do now?" he asked.

"First, we go to San Francisco. We get Rose."

Julian was alone at the manor. When he woke up a few nights past, both the remaining servants were gone. He could not feel their warmth from anywhere on the estate.

The revelation annoyed him. He'd have to contact the agency again. If he was going to reside here, the main floor should be kept clean.

But for now, he rather enjoyed having the entire place to himself, and he wandered outside, among the abandoned stables. He'd spent more time on the estate this past month than the previous hundred years. He owned a town house in Yorkshire, but he'd come to prefer the south of France these past few decades.

Yet now, he felt safe only here.

It had been so long since he'd had anything to fear that he'd forgotten the cold safety of Cliffbracken. Foolish really; with the possible exception of his familiarity with the entire place, he was no safer here than anywhere else. But he could not bring himself to travel again. Not yet.

He kept mulling over the same questions.

Why would Eleisha buy a church in Portland and move into it… like a home?

And what would make Philip stay with her?

And if Philip had been living in Seattle for an entire month, and then Portland for a week, why weren't the papers filled with stories of ugly murders?

And who was this mortal staying with them, and why hadn't Philip drained his blood weeks ago? Philip despised mortals.

None of it made any sense.

Eleisha was planning something. He knew it.

He had ordered Mary to bring him more detailed reports, and he hoped the selfish girl understood him. In many ways, she had proven herself useful, but her presence grew more and more grating. She had no manners at all. He longed to banish her, to send her back and to listen to her scream all the way to the other side. But he couldn't.

He left the stables and tramped toward the manor. Reaching the back door to the mudroom, he pulled it open. Tonight, he was dressed in canvas pants and a black wool sweater and rubber boots. He was about to take off the boots when the air shimmered and Mary appeared.

She began babbling the second she materialized.

"They found another vampire! Eleisha has been writing to her, and they're all going to San Francisco!"

Julian froze, halfway bent over.

He stood straight and stepped into the mudroom. "Stop!" he ordered, but an unwanted tightness was growing in the pit of his stomach. "What are you saying?"

Mary floated close enough that he could see her nose stud in detail. "Eleisha's been exchanging letters with somebody named Rose in San Francisco. They were talking about gifts and hunting and if Rose knew how to feed without killing." She paused. "This is all important stuff to you, isn't it? You know what it means."

Julian stumbled back and almost fell against the wall. He caught himself, but the dim room was growing darker, as if his vision didn't work. This was worse… so much worse than anything he'd imagined.

Slowly, he walked back to the study, not bothering to see if Mary followed. He walked across the shabby carpet to a shelf of his own books, where he pulled down a large leather-bound volume:

The Makers and Their Children.

His own maker, Angelo Travare, had written it over a course of centuries… including fine details on every vampire existing in Europe by the year 1825. This was how Julian found them all, how he knew for certain he had destroyed them all-all the ones who had sought to kill him because he would not… he could not feed without killing by altering the memories of his victims.

He needlessly paged through the book.

He already knew there was no one listed named Rose.

Three thoughts emerged from the roar in his mind.

First, Eleisha had found someone who'd slipped through his net.

Second, if this vampire in hiding had been created before the purge, then she knew the laws that Julian's predecessors, the elders… the makers, had lived by and taught to their children. She would view him as a sinner and an aberration, and if Eleisha was seeking out other vampires, bringing them together, the laws could reemerge and he could become the hunted again.

And third, he could no longer wait here to see how this played out. He would have to investigate on his own.