Memories of Envy

by Barb Hendee

  Philip followed Simone across the floor, and he stood in the dark doorway of the Samba Room, watching her taxi disappear down Larimer Street. He could still feel her gift washing over and through him, how he envied her, how he wanted to be like her.

  In all his existence, he’d rarely been affected by the gifts of his peers. Julian’s gift of fear could cripple him, but otherwise, he’d never been seduced, not even by Eleisha’s.

  Simone’s life seemed so perfect. He wanted it.

  The feeling began to fade, and he forced himself to step back inside the club.

  Eleisha was still inside, waiting for him.

  Mary had managed to materialize behind an oversized palm tree near a wall in the Samba Room, ready to blink out if anyone spotted her, but no one even noticed she was there. She’d watched Simone dancing with some corporate-looking guy in a polo shirt. Mary ignored the guy. Julian would want a detailed report on Simone and nobody else.

  At the moment, Mary had no idea what she would tell him, but she struggled with an uncomfortable trepidation over the idea of Jasper getting anywhere near this woman.

  Jasper had explained several things to her that Julian had not—such as how a vampire’s gift worked—and Mary felt Simone’s right away. It was strong. Even as a spirit, Mary couldn’t help longing to be Simone, to look like her, move like her, live like her.

  With effort, Mary managed to clear her thoughts and focus, but then she spotted Philip and Eleisha out among the crowd. She saw the way Philip was staring at Simone, like a hungry man looking at a rib-eye steak, and the situation seemed to be getting more complicated.

  She knew exactly what Julian wanted to know: Was Simone a telepathic elder or one of the new breed like Rose?

  As yet, Mary couldn’t tell, but she wasn’t sure it mattered. Something told her that either way, Simone was dangerous, and Eleisha never should have come here. But how could she explain that to Julian?

  As Simone fled from the Samba Room, Mary blinked out and rematerialized in an alley, watching the taxi drive past. She knew she had to concentrate on learning only the details Julian wanted to know.

  Blinking out again, she materialized high in the sky, so her form blended in with the night air. She followed the cab.

  When Rose awoke that night in her room at the church, she got dressed and stepped out into the hall, expecting to sense Wade’s presence in his office.

  She did not.

  Cracking the door, she peeked in to make sure it was empty, and then she heard a clinking sound coming from downstairs.

  “Wade?” she called out cautiously.

  No one answered.

  She moved quietly down the stairs, but the apartment was empty as well, and she began growing anxious. As far as she knew, Seamus was off assisting Eleisha and Philip. She and Wade had promised to hole up inside the church together. She heard the clinking sound again.

  Walking down a back passage, she emerged into the industrial-sized kitchen that had once been used for potlucks and parties by the congregation.

  She’d never been in here—as none of them needed to visit this room.

  The first things she saw were a long stainless-steel counter and a sink. Stacks of folding tables were piled up against one wall. Then, on the other side of the counter, she spotted Wade, down on his knees in an open space, holding a screwdriver and attempting to construct some kind of contraption with pulleys and weights and a leather bench.

  A large flattened cardboard box lay on the floor behind him.

  He wore a pair of faded jeans with a rip in one knee and a tight navy blue T-shirt. His near-white hair had grown down to his chin, but the look suited him. Rose often thought he underestimated his own physical appearance—maybe from spending too much time standing next to Philip.

  “What are you doing?” she asked.

  He jumped slightly and looked up. “Oh, Rose.” He waved the screwdriver in front of himself. “What does it look like I’m doing? I’m building a home gym.”

  She moved closer, examining the pulley system. “Why?”

  “Why?” He sounded incredulous. “Because Philip seems to think I’m about as useful as a twelve-year-old girl, that’s why.”

  She’d never heard nor seen him so frustrated before.

  “You know that’s not true,” she said. “Philip needs you very much, and he’s well aware of it. I shudder to think what he’d be like without you and Eleisha.”

  Wade turned back to tightening the closest screw with a vengeance. “Is that why he left me here to ‘hold down the fort’? I don’t want his gratitude or affection right now, Rose. I want his respect.”

  She hesitated, watching the sinews in his forearms as he worked, not knowing how to answer him. Was this really about Philip? Or was it about Eleisha? Wade seemed to be conveniently forgetting that Eleisha had been the one who insisted he stay behind. Philip had simply agreed—so had Seamus.

  After a few moments of silence, Wade sighed and sat upright. “I’m sorry, Rose. Did you need me for something?”

  Still concerned, but relieved at the change of subject, she said, “There’s no hurry. I just thought that since we’re alone and we have nothing but time for the next few nights, you might work with me on this new telepathic . . . development.”

  He put down the screwdriver. “The psychometry? Has it happened again?”

  She nodded. “Just in bits and pieces. I sometimes see flashes of memories when I touch things like teacups, Eleisha’s bath towel, that kind of thing. I won’t touch anything Philip’s even been near, including the living room couch. If I can’t learn to control this better, I might need to start wearing gloves.”

  His expression shifted to a mix of sympathy and guilt—not at all what she wanted from him. “Of course,” he said. “I should have come to you. I should have realized you were going through this all by yourself.”

  “As I said,” she told him, “there’s no hurry. Finish your project, and we’ll talk later.”

  He was clearly going through some kind of issue all by himself, too.

  Eleisha and Philip had taken a parlor suite at the Oxford on Wazee Street.

  Neither one had spoken on their walk back to the hotel. Simone had fled at the sight of them, and running after her would have drawn too much attention. So . . . they’d failed in their first attempt to connect with her.

  Once upstairs, Philip unlocked the door to their rooms and led the way inside.

  “Seamus was right,” Eleisha said finally, clicking on a small lamp and dropping her canvas handbag on the floor. “Her gift is envy. Could you feel it?”

  “Yes.”

  This was the first word he’d spoken since they’d entered the nightclub. She reached out and touched his arm.

  “Are you okay?”

  He nodded briefly but didn’t answer.

  “We startled her, didn’t we?” Eleisha asked.

  He nodded again.

  “Do you think she’ll run away? Leave the city?”

  “No. She doesn’t know what we are yet.”

  “We’ll have to find some way to try again.”

  The suite was comfortable and old-fashioned, with round cherrywood tables and midnight blue couches. He walked over to the window and looked down at the dark street. Poor Philip. He hated this, hated having to deal with a vampire Maggie had created. It must bring back too many unpleasant memories from the distant past.

  But Eleisha couldn’t stop thinking about Simone, who was so graceful, so lovely. Maggie had always liked beautiful things. She must have loved Simone.

  And Simone had left her.

  Eleisha knew that sometimes even the closest of vampires felt compelled to go their own ways. She had loved Edward Claymore as a teacher and a companion, but in the end, she’d left him. His role as teacher had become smothering after seventy years. She had come to believe that unless the relationship felt equal, it could not last.

  Had Maggie treated Simone like a student for too long? Was that w
hy Simone had turned so cruel, feeding on what appeared to be one of Maggie’s mortal lovers and then leaving his body in the closet? Perhaps Simone felt forced into such actions in order to permanently sever the connection.

  Eleisha had viewed only the one scene, the one night from Maggie’s memory, and she was not about to judge Simone yet. They had all done terrible things.

  But after the initial shock of meeting others like herself, she hoped Simone would be glad to learn that she possessed telepathy, that she could feed without killing, that she could live in an equal community with her own kind and not have to hide who she was among her companions.

  Eleisha couldn’t help Maggie anymore. Maggie was gone. But she could help Simone, and perhaps salve some of her own remorse.

  First, though, she had to find a way to make Simone listen for a few moments . . . to understand they were not a threat.

  Reluctantly, she walked to the window and joined Philip, not wanting to upset him further but feeling she had no choice.

  “Would Maggie ... ,” she began, faltering once, “would she have told Simone about any of us, about you?”

  She expected him to flinch and pull away, but he didn’t.

  “I don’t know,” he said softly, his French accent so thick, she almost couldn’t understand him. “But she never told me about Simone.”

  “Did you speak to Maggie very often?”

  “Sometimes, but not much after she left for America. Julian said we should exist alone, and I . . . all I cared for after that was hunting. After a while, I stopped thinking about Maggie.”

  She watched his profile glowing in the low light, and her sympathy—or perhaps empathy—for him grew deeper.

  “Everything’s different now,” she whispered. “You’re different.”

  He looked down at her. His voice turned hard, almost angry. “I am different. I forced myself to be different.”

  What did that mean?

  He turned away. “We cannot try to make contact with Simone at her house,” he said abruptly, changing the subject. “She would feel invaded, and if she flees at the sight of us again, and we do not catch her, I think then she would run to a different state or country.”

  He was changing subjects erratically. Now he wanted to talk about the best way to make contact with Simone?

  The air shimmered, and Seamus suddenly appeared near the television.

  He looked so tired. His transparent colors were faded.

  “You need to get back to Rose,” Eleisha said immediately.

  “Look at that,” he answered, pointing toward an end table near the door.

  “At what?” She walked over.

  “The small newspaper,” he said. “That one. I saw that lying open at her house just a few moments ago.”

  Someone from the hotel staff must have arranged the neat stack of brochures and local papers on the table. Eleisha picked up the thin newspaper Seamus referred to and opened it.

  Philip was watching them. “What is it?”

  At first, Eleisha had no idea what Seamus wanted her to see, and then her eyes hit a list of local entertainment.

  “Simone is singing tomorrow night at someplace called the Mercury Cafe.”

  Even while reading the entry aloud, Eleisha felt stunned. Simone was singing? In front of a crowd? Drawing all that attention to herself? It was unthinkable.

  Philip walked over in five rapid strides. He took the paper from her hand and scanned it. “Good. We’ll try again there. Make contact with her among the crowd so she’ll feel safer.”

  Eleisha still couldn’t believe a member of their kind would do anything so public, but this was a good lead, a good opportunity. They needed her to listen for just a few moments.

  “Did you see anything else we might be able to use?” Eleisha asked Seamus.

  “No, but I only looked around the downstairs. Then her taxi pulled up outside, so I came here.”

  His words brought some relief. It wasn’t that she doubted Philip, but she was glad to know that Simone had indeed simply left the Samba Room and gone home. Tomorrow, Simone had a singing engagement—hopefully she’d keep it.

  “Well done,” Eleisha told Seamus. “You should go home now, stay with Rose. Tell Wade what’s happened, but I think we can take it from here.”

  As if too tired to speak further, Seamus vanished, leaving her alone with Philip again. They had a few hours until dawn.

  “That’s all we can do for tonight,” she said. “I’ll make us some tea. What do you want to do now? Would you rather play cards or watch a movie?”

  As soon as those words left her mouth, his eyes flew to her face. Without warning, he dropped the newspaper and grasped the sides of her face with both hands. His grip was so solid, she couldn’t move, but she wasn’t afraid of him. She trusted Philip. His hands were shaking.

  “Before you,” he whispered, “I never played cards. I never watched movies. I never drank tea.”

  Poor Philip, she thought again. This entire journey, this task, must be so hard on him.

  “Do you like watching movies and drinking tea?” she asked, not even trying to break away from his grip.

  He was quiet for almost a full minute and then said, “Yes.”

  He took his hands away, but she grabbed the right one, pulling him toward the couch. “Come on.”

  Using the remote, she was surprised to find that Turner Classic Movies was playing Bela Lugosi’s 1931 Dracula. Philip didn’t usually like black-and-white films, but he soon became caught up in this one, behaving more like himself. He even laughed when Lugosi walked straight through the enormous spiderweb.

  Eleisha began feeling a little better. They would try again with Simone tomorrow night, and hopefully win her trust. Soon, they could all go back to the underground together. It would be good for Eleisha and Rose to have another woman in the household.

  Maybe they couldn’t have Maggie with them, but Simone was the next best thing.

  chapter 6

  The following night, Rose woke up and dressed quickly, taking less time than usual to brush out her hair. The unwanted psychometric flashes were getting worse when she touched random objects, and so she put on a pair of black she touched random objects, and so she put on a pair of black gloves.

  Tonight, she and Wade would need to begin addressing this new manifestation, and she was determined to learn to control it.

  As she was heading for the door, a blur of blue and yellow caught her eye, and the barest transparent outline of Seamus appeared.

  “Seamus!” she said in alarm. “I can hardly see you.”

  Even his voice sounded faint. “I’m going to wish myself to nothingness for a while, stay near you, and rest . . . here, but I won’t materialize.”

  “Yes, go! Hurry.”

  At her urging, he vanished, and she stood there watching the empty spot. Would he be all right? She’d never seen him so weak before. She was going to speak to Wade about this. Seamus played an important role, but he could not be pushed this far ever again.

  With two things on her mind—the psychometry issue and Seamus’ well-being—she headed downstairs to find Wade, but she heard him before even entering the apartment. He was clanking around loudly in the apartment’s small kitchen.

  “Wade?” she said, moving through the living room.

  All the kitchen cupboards were open. He’d pulled out their few plates and mugs, along with several boxes of cereal and crackers. The refrigerator door was open, but it contained only a half-full jar of mayonnaise and a bottle of Aunt Jemima syrup.

  As he half turned and she saw the tense, almost angry expression on his face, all other thoughts left her mind. Something was wrong here. She hadn’t known him long, but Wade wasn’t the type of man to exist in a state of anger, and he’d been quietly angry since the night Philip and Eleisha left. In Rose’s experience, this brand of anger was usually born from fear. What was he afraid of?

  Wade needed to have a purpose. Did he fear that Eleisha and Ph
ilip did not find him adequate? That his purpose and usefulness here were slipping away?

  “What?” he asked, somewhat shortly, and then took a long breath. “I’m sorry, Rose. What did you need?”

  “I don’t need anything. What on earth are you doing?”

  His hair was a mess, and he was wearing the same clothes he’d had on the previous night.

  “I’m looking for something to eat.”

  “Are we out of groceries?” She stepped in to pick up a nearly empty box of cereal. “Philip asked if you had food.”

  That was the wrong thing to say, and Wade turned his back to her, looking into the barren fridge. “Yes, but he didn’t give me time to shop, did he?”

  No, he hadn’t. He and Eleisha had packed quickly and taken a taxi to the airport, leaving Rose and Wade behind with barely a good-bye.

  Rose stepped up behind Wade. “They need you very much. You must be aware of that.” When he didn’t answer, she tried a different tack. “Think how it is for me. At least you can go with them.”

  With his back to her, he shook his head. “It’s not the same, Rose. . . . I’m sorry to say that, but it isn’t. Eleisha and I planned all this. We planned to help vampires like you. Philip was just along for the ride, and now ...” He trailed off and half turned again so she could see his profile. “I know how I sound,” he said, “but this situation is all wrong. I should be in Denver. I should be analyzing Simone. I never should have let them leave without me.”

  Perhaps he was right. Eleisha, Philip, and Wade functioned as an almost perfect triad, with Eleisha as the heart, Philip as the strength, and Wade as the mind. But if Wade understood this, why was he working so hard on building his body? Even with all his professional training and intellect, did he fear being viewed as less valuable than Philip?

  She couldn’t bring herself to ask him. It was too personal. But she did want to help, so she turned to the task at hand. Stepping around him, she peered into the open refrigerator. “Well, you can’t live on mayonnaise and maple syrup. Why didn’t you go today when the sun was up?”