by Barb Hendee
“I didn’t want to leave you here alone.”
That was noble of him but foolish. “Can’t you just call and order something for delivery?”
He leaned against the counter and closed his eyes.
For some reason, she couldn’t seem to stop making what she considered sensible suggestions—which clearly were not helping.
“I don’t want to order delivery and stick money out the door when it arrives,” he said quietly. “I don’t want to be trapped inside this church. Why are we working so hard to bring lost vampires out of hiding when we’re afraid to step outside ourselves?”
And then she understood another piece of his frustration. Upon returning from San Francisco, they had reasoned that it would take at least two of them to fight Julian should he attack. His gift of fear was overwhelming, so one of them would need to stun him, via a mental attack or multiple gunshots, so that Philip could take his head. Unfortunately, none of them knew how to use a sword except Philip, and taking off Julian’s head wouldn’t be a matter of just a blind swing. Too many things could go wrong.
This created a problem for Rose and Wade in their current circumstances. Philip had mentioned teaching Wade to use a sword, but nothing had come of this discussion yet.
“As soon as he gets back, we’re going to start training,” Wade said, as if aware she followed his train of thought.
But there it was again . . . a need to be more like Philip.
In this instance, she couldn’t disagree, but his determination didn’t help him right now, and if there was one thing Rose understood, it was the despair of hiding away for worry of going outside into the darkness. She’d existed like that for decades. What was the use of all their grand plans if Wade couldn’t even go out to buy groceries? Besides, they’d been back for months without the hint of a threat.
“You get your gun, and I’ll get my bag,” she said.
He took his hands off the counter. “What?”
“We’ll take the public streetcar to Whole Foods and get you stocked up.”
He didn’t answer for a few minutes and then asked, “You sure?”
“Of course.” She straightened, knowing he’d never leave her here alone. “You’ll need me to carry a few bags.”
The lines of his face softened, and he glanced down at himself.
“Okay, let me change clothes, and I’ll meet you up in the sanctuary.”
Rose turned to go get her bag. She kept the gloves on, deciding that work on her psychometry could wait.
Wade needed to get out of the house. He needed to feel in control again.
In spite of her anxiety over finding a way to make Simone trust her, Eleisha couldn’t help feeling the sensation of pleasure upon walking into the Mercury Cafe. It was somewhat dim inside and jam-packed with small polished wooden tables and chairs. Antique chandeliers hung from the ceiling, along with string after string of tiny blue and white lights, which gave the entire place the illusion of being covered by a night sky.
Short dividing walls and slender poles helped break a large main room into more individual spaces. The place served dinner and drinks, but even at eleven o’clock, most of the patrons she could see were drinking coffee and eating desserts, like blackberry cobbler with ice cream.
She liked this place much better than the Samba Room.
They’d timed their arrival to coincide with the last part of Simone’s performance.
“I don’t hear any singing,” Philip said. He’d taken even more time than usual with his hair tonight, and the layered ends had an almost pointy look.
Eleisha glanced around. “I think the stage is over there.”
They walked through a maze of tables, and as they approached the stage, she realized that this wasn’t exactly a professional venue. She’d noticed that the ad in the local paper also mentioned poetry readings, and the situation began to make more sense.
The stage itself was low, only a single step above the floor, with tables nearly pushed up against it. A purple curtain served as a backdrop, with a few plunging drapes of forest green to create a little more drama.
A piano stood off to one side, and the man sitting at it was dressed like the other bartenders. A slender, black-haired woman was speaking to him while handing him a sheet of music.
When she turned, Eleisha could see her delicate profile.
Simone.
She must be in between songs.
Eleisha looked around at the tables and did not see the man Simone had been with the night before. Good. The last thing she and Philip needed was to have some mortal lover getting in the middle of this.
She motioned Philip to a table on the far left side of the stage, and they both sat down to listen.
Simone didn’t see them. She moved gracefully back to the microphone. Her silky hair swung gently every time she moved her head. Tonight she wore a low-waisted red dress with a string of black beads tied in a loose knot, still reminding Eleisha of a lovely, almost boyish, flapper from the twenties.
Simone smiled at the audience, coy and warm at the same time.
“Last number,” she said gently.
The piano player started, and a few beats later, Simone began to sway ever so slightly, singing “A Good Man Is Hard to Find.”
Each word of the 1920s blues lyrics described a forlorn woman with a sad heart, whose man is “treating her mean.”
Sitting there, listening, Eleisha went rigid. She’d heard several recordings—on vinyl—of Bessie Smith performing this number. Bessie always chose a throaty, gravelly way of delivering the song, almost as if teasing the audience about how they should interpret the meaning of the lyrics.
But the quality of Simone’s rendition was entirely different . . . haunting and filled with need. Why would Simone choose such a self-pitying song? Even with the little Eleisha had seen of her, it hardly seemed her style.
But then Simone put both pale hands on the microphone, and she began singing into it as if it was her priest, her confessor. Rather than throaty, her voice was clear and soft. She was somehow using the lyrics to make the audience feel for her, feel with her.
Although Eleisha was still having trouble believing one of her own kind would get up on a stage, exposing herself to a crowd, she was not prepared for what happened next.
As Simone started the next stanza, she began to exude the power of her gift.
The audience was enraptured. The mood in the room changed, and Eleisha could feel the envy washing through her. She forgot all about the sorrowful words drifting from the speakers and gave herself over to a longing to be just like Simone.
Philip was staring at the stage, his eyes glassy.
Simone sang on, and the lyrics altered—reminding women to treat a man kindly if they found a good one.
When she finished, her last note lingered long in the air. The audience didn’t even clap for thirty seconds and then burst into applause. Simone smiled coyly again, stepping off the stage. Several people surged forward, trying to engage her, to touch her.
Eleisha just sat there, reeling. Simone had used her gift when she wasn’t even hunting! Perhaps she was hunting and was simply trying to lure someone away. Eleisha had known a few vampires who’d sometimes done this.
She shook her head to clear it, knowing this was their chance to make contact in a public forum where Simone would not feel so threatened. They wouldn’t be able to speak too openly, but they didn’t need to yet.
Eleisha could see Simone coming toward them, still smiling and chatting with some of the audience members who tried to follow her. Then Simone saw Eleisha, and she stopped cold.
Her expression shifted, and Eleisha feared she would bolt. On instinct, Eleisha flashed out telepathically.
Wait. Please.
Then she glanced down at Philip’s chair. It was empty. She moved her eyes back to Simone and saw that he was already at Simone’s side. How had he gotten there so quickly? He didn’t touch her, but he said something in her ear.
Watching Simone
’s face, Eleisha felt hope begin to grow. Simone didn’t look so frightened anymore, merely wary and uncertain.
And then, Philip was leading her to their table.
He’d done it.
Everything would be okay.
As Simone let the tall man lead her to the table, she began to realize that something enormous was happening . . . she simply didn’t know what yet.
She had heard something, words, inside her head just before he’d asked her to come and sit.
But at close range, she finally realized what was different about him—and what was different about the girl at the table. They gave off no heat, no scent of blood.
She reached the table.
“Sit down,” the man said. His French accent was thick. He wore the same black Armani coat buttoned at his waist.
She decided to keep on standing for now. “Who are you? Why are you following me?”
“I’m Eleisha,” the girl answered, “and this is Philip.”
The girl still reminded Simone of some otherworldly stalk of wheat: pretty, but the type who would blend into the wall at a party.
“That doesn’t answer my question.”
Eleisha studied her briefly and then said, “We knew Maggie long ago. Philip knew her when she was just a girl.”
Simone almost gripped the table from shock. Maggie! She looked from Eleisha to Philip, cursing herself for the loss of composure, but she’d been taken too off guard. She almost couldn’t process the words.
We knew Maggie long ago.
Vampires.
Maggie had told her there were a few others but to stay away from them. The only one she’d ever mentioned by name was Julian.
“Sit down,” Philip repeated.
She slid into a chair, looking at him.
Up close, he was even more perfect than from a distance. He sat down as well and then leaned back.
“I’m sorry we startled you last night,” Eleisha said, and to Simone’s further surprise, she really did sound sorry. Vampires with pity?
No, not both of them, just Eleisha. Philip looked as pitiless as a leopard. Simone kept her expression still as she fought wildly to get a grip on the situation. Neither one of them seemed to want to hurt her. But they had gone to great effort to seek her out.
“We didn’t know any other way,” Eleisha went on.
Eleisha’s expression seemed almost . . . warm.
Simone had no idea how to respond. But she glanced at Philip. He was still watching her.
“What do you want?” she asked finally, and she allowed a small bit of her gift to flow out.
Eleisha glanced around. “We shouldn’t speak too much here,” she said quietly. “We just came to let you know that there are others like you, that we’ve purchased a large home, and that some of us are choosing to live together . . . that you don’t have to be alone.”
She might have been speaking a foreign language for all the sense she made. Vampires? Living together in a group? Hardly. What was their game?
But as Eleisha spoke that last phrase, Philip shifted his eyes toward her, and Simone felt the world turn under her chair.
The expression in his amber eyes changed as soon as they focused on Eleisha, to something Simone almost couldn’t identify. She’d never seen anything quite like it before: a mix of possession, gratitude . . . and need.
Not the kind of need a mortal would express, but something else entirely, something savage and eternal.
Simone forgot all about Alex and Hailey.
They were nothing, shadows next to this.
Then Simone realized Philip was watching her again.
“Turn off your gift,” he said.
She jumped slightly, cursing herself again. Of course he would know! Maggie always had. Then again, Maggie had always succumbed. She was weak.
This thought brought up another suspicion. Opening her small bag, she pulled out a cigarette case and lit one, taking pleasure at Eleisha’s shock. Good. It was time to get control of this and stop looking the fool.
“Did Maggie send you?” she asked.
Philip flinched.
“No,” Eleisha answered quickly. “She’s . . . this isn’t the best place to talk.”
Simone smiled at her. It certainly wasn’t. She could feel the excitement building inside her. She should take them home, let them see how she lived.
Eleisha smiled back.
This was going to be so sweet. The best game Simone had ever played, even better than Maggie and Cecil. She put her cigarette out before one of the waitstaff could come over. Smoking wasn’t allowed indoors anywhere in Denver now.
“We could talk at my house,” she suggested casually. “I have a few good bottles of merlot I’ve been saving.”
“No,” Philip said.
Eleisha blinked at him. “But don’t you think—”
“No,” he repeated more firmly. “We’ve talked enough tonight. Maybe too much. She should have time to think before we talk more.”
Simone wanted to glare at him but fought to keep her face serene. So now he was talking about her like she wasn’t there? She’d make him suffer for that later.
“Oh,” Eleisha said, like a child. “Yes, of course.”
Then she seemed at a loss about something—Simone had no idea what. Suddenly, Eleisha looked directly into Philip’s eyes, and her own squinted ever so slightly, like she was concentrating.
Neither one of them spoke, but he nodded. Then Eleisha grabbed a napkin, took a pen from her canvas bag, and wrote something down. “Here’s my cell phone number. Once you’ve had time to process some of this, call us. We’ll meet again.”
Philip stood up.
Eleisha leaned toward Simone, her small face earnest. “I know this must be a shock. But please believe us. We would never hurt you.”
Simone smiled again. “I believe you.”
“Oh, and don’t forget a carton of eggs.”
Rose walked up Twenty-third Street beside Wade, chatting about the groceries he should buy, allowing herself to enjoy the oversized trees and streetlamps glowing in the darkness. She’d told him about Seamus’ weakened condition, and he’d agreed that something would have to change.
It made her feel more at ease just being able to express her concerns and have him listen. She’d existed for so long with no one but Seamus.
“You’ve taken to wearing gloves?” Wade asked, pointing at her left hand.
“Yes, it’s best. Perhaps later tonight we can work together? You can help teach me to control it?”
“Of course. I’ve already gathered up a few items for you to test out—don’t worry, nothing of Philip’s.”
So he’d already been planning to help her? This put her further at ease, making her grateful for his company. Since leaving the church, he’d seemed much like his normal self again.
He’d changed into a loose button-down shirt and a light canvas jacket. She suddenly wondered why he’d never married. Perhaps he could not find a woman who wanted a telepath for a husband.
“Here we are,” Wade said, moving toward the shelter where they could wait for the streetcar. A redbrick hospital stood just across the street, casting shadows, but Wade peered at a small digital reader board just inside the shelter.
“We’ve got ten minutes until the next arrival,” he said, sitting down on the bench. No one else was waiting.
Rose remained standing with her bag over her shoulder. Wade had mentioned the possibility of them buying their own car several times, but the public transportation system in Portland was so extensive that so far, no one had felt the need to act on his suggestion.
A long row of shops stretched down the street behind the shelter, and she noticed a display of imported furniture in a front window. One of the low tables would be perfect for an empty spot in the sanctuary, and she walked a few steps to the corner to get a closer look—maybe see the price.
Leaning down, she spotted a white tag that read, “$1,200.” Ouch. That was probably
more than they should spend on a table.
“Don’t say anything, and gimme your bag,” a harsh voice said from beside her.
She straightened in alarm and found herself looking into a tragic, wretched face. He was in his early twenties and had black circles under his eyes. Sweating with a wet sheen, he held a knife toward her throat, and his body blocked hers in front of the shop. She wasn’t afraid. A mortal with a knife was no real threat, and she could sway him with her gift if need be.
“Give it to me!” he ordered.
His knife hand was shaking, and although she didn’t know much about addiction—at least mortal addictions—she could see he was suffering some form of withdrawal.
“Don’t move,” Wade said, and his voice was so cold, she almost didn’t recognize it.
He was standing a few feet away with his Beretta pointed straight. He’d been sitting in the shelter, and the drug addict must not have seen him, thinking that Rose was a woman alone.
The would-be thief’s head swiveled toward Wade, and he sucked in a loud breath.
“I mean it,” Wade said. “You twitch and you’re gone. Rose, step away from that window.”
The man with the knife was desperate, beyond desperate, but it was Wade’s calm face that frightened Rose. Her friend had no expression at all. He didn’t look angry. He didn’t look alarmed. He just held the gun in his right hand, pointed straight at the drug addict, with his finger on the trigger, and she had no doubt whatsoever that he would shoot at the slightest provocation.
His eyes were hard glass she could not penetrate—a stranger she did not know. He must be aware that she was in no real danger. He almost acted as if he had something to prove.
“Run,” she whispered to the drug addict.
The man blinked his glazed eyes once as Rose rapidly moved in between him and Wade. Then he bolted around the building. Within seconds, it was if he’d never been there.
Wade was at her side instantly. “Jesus, Rose, are you all right? We have to stay close together. What were you doing back here?”
Looking at him, she couldn’t answer. He seemed like Wade again. But she’d seen him clearly when he’d pointed that gun. Something about him had changed.