Hunting Memories (18 page)

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Authors: Barb Hendee

BOOK: Hunting Memories
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Then he covered her mouth with his hand, tilted her head back, drove his teeth into her throat, and turned off his gift.
He needed to feel her fear.
She bucked in panic and tried to scream, but he had her mouth completely covered and he was gulping in mouthfuls of her blood. Waves of her terror passed through him like a sweet memory he’d almost forgotten.
Visions of her life flowed past in his mind as he consumed her—consumed everything about her, as he should. He saw a grandmother with gray curls, a cat named Boomer, a green ten-speed bicycle, the trees of a college campus, a handsome political science professor named Dr. McFarland . . .
Her heart stopped.
He pulled his teeth out and just held her body against the wall, letting the life force soak in. He felt like himself again, whole and strong and satisfied.
This sector of the pier was nearly deserted, with no shops or attractions. He held her up easily with one arm, and he looked out. He could hear voices down by the sea lions, but he saw no one near. He walked over to the edge, and he quietly slipped the woman’s body into the water.
She disappeared beneath dark waves.
Philip closed his eyes for a moment, and he saw Eleisha’s calm face looking back at him. He remembered the feel of her soft hair tangled around him when he’d woken up tonight.
He knew that he should feel remorse for his actions, for keeping this secret from her.
But he didn’t.
 
Julian retrieved his baggage and then walked out of the San Francisco International Airport through a set of glass doors and into the cool night air. He was carefully groomed with his hair combed back, and he was wearing slacks, an Italian belt, a white shirt from Savile Row, and a black wool coat that reached his calves. He carried a light overnight bag in one hand and a long wooden box in the other.
He took a taxi to Nob Hill, to the Fairmont, where he had already reserved the Buckingham Suite.
He needed no one to help carry his luggage, so he got a key at the front desk and went straight to his room.
Opening the door, he walked across a parquet floor into a wood-paneled parlor with a fireplace. The suite was decorated in tones of dark rust and hints of yellow. Glancing across the parlor, he noticed a glass-enclosed balcony.
Fairly impressive for America.
But he didn’t care.
“Mary Jordane,” he called.
The air shimmered and her spiky magenta hair materialized, followed by the rest of her. She looked around.
“Geez,” she said. “You’ve got even more money than I thought.” Then her eyes landed on the long wooden box in his hand. It stretched from his knee up past his shoulder. “What’s in there?”
“You have work to do,” he said coldly. “Find them.”
chapter 7
Eleisha did not know what to say or even what to feel as she followed Rose down a dark street in the Mission District bordered by rows of run-down, empty-looking buildings.
Rose had
drugged
Wade and then used her gift to draw Eleisha away from him.
And yet . . . Eleisha still followed.
She could have done any number of things to stop this, to subdue Rose and run back to Wade.
But she didn’t.
“It’s not far now,” Rose said, moving more quickly. “Just down this side street.”
Eleisha stopped.
Rose looked back at her. “You’ve come this far. We have to trust each other.”
How could Eleisha explain what she was feeling? She’d led Wade to San Francisco, and before twenty-four hours passed, Rose had already proven she could not be trusted.
“No, we don’t,” she answered.
“He is only sleeping,” Rose insisted. “Seamus will stay with him, and in a few hours he will wake.”
“You could have just asked me to come.”
“I couldn’t. You’ll understand soon.”
What could be so important that she would go to these lengths to get Eleisha off alone? In truth, Eleisha wanted to know. She took a few steps forward.
“This way,” Rose said, sounding relieved.
They walked down a nearly black side-street, and Eleisha realized the buildings around them were abandoned warehouses. If they’d been two mortal women walking here at night, anyone with half a brain would have considered them quite foolish.
“You’ve done well with your Wade,” Rose said suddenly. “He’s a rare one. So kind to my Seamus.”
Your Wade
.
Eleisha hardly thought of him as her own. Still, somehow, Rose’s open sentiments made her feel a little more grounded—a little less shaken about following her instincts.
“But Philip,” Rose went on, her voice taking on a harder tone. “I don’t know how you ended up with the likes of him. I don’t think I want to know.”
In spite of her resentment over Rose’s methods in getting her here, Eleisha realized they were completely alone and could speak freely—beyond their letters. She had no idea when this might happen again.
“I know he can be a handful,” she said, “but we need him.”
Rose stopped walking. “A handful? That’s how you see Philip?”
Eleisha blinked and did not know how to answer. After the memory share last night, she had not expected Philip and Rose to keep regarding each other in this hostile fashion. But if they were all going to start building a community together, something would have to change.
Finally she said, “With the exception of occasional, and short, periods with Maggie or Julian, Philip spent over a hundred and eighty years alone . . . and he hates being alone more than anything. Have some pity, Rose.”
“Pity?” She sounded incredulous. She seemed about to say more and then changed her mind, walking forward again. “In here,” she said.
Eleisha followed, putting aside the Philip argument for now and feeling herself growing almost lost in wonder over whatever it was that Rose needed to show her.
“What is this about?” she asked, following Rose up a questionable-looking flight of stairs. “Where are we?”
“This used to be a warehouse for grain and rice, but it’s been long abandoned. I’m surprised any of these buildings are still here. I’m certain that soon some developer will tear them all down and put up a Starbucks, a Gap, and a Pottery Barn. Soulless bastards.”
Eleisha glanced up at the back of Rose’s head, wondering how she’d feel about Eleisha’s plan to sell her shares of Starbucks in order to purchase the church.
The warehouse was so dark inside, it was difficult to see at all. At the top of the stairs, they emerged into a cavernous room. Eleisha squinted, but she couldn’t see all the way across to the back wall. The effect was unsettling. She felt exposed and in the open, and yet half-blind.
What was she supposed to see here?
Rose took a few steps into the vast, black room. “I don’t think I felt any true hope until after you wrote back to me, and then suddenly . . . so many possibilities seemed real. That there might be others like us. That someone was willing to fight back. I know that I should have waited for you, I shouldn’t have started on my own, but I couldn’t help it.”
Eleisha shook her head. “I don’t understand.”
Rose turned to face her. The white streaks in her hair glowed softly. “I started looking. I studied news reports, looking for anything that might give me a clue. And then . . . then I found recent stories about people in Moscow, Russia, being admitted to hospitals with unexplained blood losses. I sent Seamus to Russia.”
Eleisha wavered, almost losing her balance, reaching back for the stair rail. Rose had been looking for other vampires on her own?
“You found . . . Wait,” Eleisha stammered, “the stories were about
living
people admitted with unexplained blood loss?”
“Yes. The old ones, the ones who existed before us, they didn’t kill to feed as we do. They didn’t have to.”
How could Rose possibly know that? Edward hadn’t known, and Eleisha had been able to put some of the pieces together only in the past month.
“Who?” she demanded. “Who told you that?”
“I did.” A clear masculine voice rang across the cavernous warehouse floor.
 
Philip climbed out of a taxi back on Jones Street, carrying a long wooden box. He had made one stop—one purchase—before coming back, but now he was feeling anxious to get up to the apartment to watch over Eleisha and Wade.
He didn’t trust Rose, not even after reading her memories. Especially not after reading her memories.
She was nothing like Eleisha or Wade. They both
felt
things. They liked to please others. Rose did not care to please anyone besides herself. She was cold inside . . . not at all like Eleisha or Wade.
He walked quickly into the apartment building and took the stairs two at a time up to the second floor. Finding the door locked, he knocked.
No one answered.
He knocked again, louder. “Eleisha? It’s me. Open the door.”
Nothing.
Fear began swelling inside him, and he knocked a third time. Then he kicked the door open and looked around wildly, seeing Wade lying on a couch with his eyes closed—but still breathing. Philip saw no one else. He rushed over, dropping his wooden box and shaking Wade.
“Wake up! Where’s Eleisha?”
Wade’s eyelids fluttered briefly, and he murmured something unintelligible, but then his head lolled to the side. Using two fingers, Philip opened one of his eyelids.
Wade was unconscious.
The fear swelling inside Philip exploded into panic, and he looked around. Eleisha was gone, and he had no idea what Rose had done with her.
“Seamus! Where are you?” He strode through the apartment. “You tell me where they are or I swear I’ll . . .”
What? What could he swear? Seamus was already dead.
Panic and indecision flowed through him. He didn’t want to leave Wade lying there helpless with the front door broken, but he had to find Eleisha.
This was his fault. He never should have left them in the first place.
Striding back to the couch, he leaned down, jerked open the wooden box, lifted out a machete, and pulled it from its leather sheath. He wouldn’t leave Wade for long, but he had to start looking for Eleisha.
He dropped the sheath on the rug. Not even bothering to hide the machete, he walked out the front door.
 
Eleisha stood frozen in the warehouse as a figure moved from the shadows of the back wall and out into view, and he kept coming closer. Her eyes had adjusted somewhat, and she just stood there, watching him. He was not quite six feet tall, with a solid bone structure and muscular chest. His head was almost shaved, with just a shadow of light brown hair, like a soldier. His face was lean, and his nose had a slight bump in the bridge as if it had once been broken. He wore jeans, boots, and a loose flannel shirt. His eyes struck Eleisha the most. They were almost clear, with a hint of blue.
He was dragging a sword with his right hand.
“This?” he spat, looking Eleisha up and down. “This is your champion, Rose?”
His accent was British, not Russian.
Rose looked at his sword. “Robert, you don’t need that.”
Eleisha felt sick. She’d walked right into a trap. The contempt in the man’s eyes was so thick she almost backed up.
From the moment Wade had fallen unconscious, the night had taken on a surreal quality, and she realized she was still dressed in his old sweatpants and her Hello Kitty tank top . . . with her hair a mess.
It didn’t matter.
She’d had enough of this, and she let her gift seep out, slowly for a few seconds, and then in stronger and stronger waves, sinking it into both their minds.
She would have preferred a straight psychic invasion, as she had used on Julian, but she didn’t know this man, and if he was telepathic, he could block her, and she’d lose any advantage. That was the drawback in fighting unknown members of her own kind. Anyone with telepathy could just block her entry—working with Wade had taught her that much. Instead, she called on reserves inside herself that she’d never sought before, twisting her gift with her newfound psychic ability, weaving subtle illusions inside their perceptions.
They saw her as helpless, frightened, in need of protection, only to a greater degree. She was someone to kill for. Someone to die for.
Rose turned around, her lips parted, her eyes wide.
But Eleisha ignored her and moved toward the man. What had Rose called him? Robert?
Pitching her voice to a near whisper, Eleisha murmured, “Swords frighten me. Please, put it down.”
It fell from his hand instantly, clanging to the floor. She didn’t know how to use it herself and wanted to kick it across the floor, but she feared breaking her connection to him. His eyes were locked on her face.

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