by Barb Hendee
The entire place was filled with boxes and stacks of books. A half-full cup of cold coffee sat on an aging end table. Simone could almost hear Pug’s mother exclaiming that she’d completely forgotten to plan dinner—but promising she’d find something and then inviting Simone to stay.
Simone could feel the relief at not having to go home, not having to face Daddy over the dining room table.
“Are you all right?” Pug asked, clicking on several lights.
Simone turned and saw her clearly. She was so old. Her sweet face so ravaged.
“Yes, I’m fine.”
“The box is over here. Make yourself comfortable, and I’ll bring it over. Truly, you won’t believe the resemblance.”
Simone took off her hat and shook her head slightly. Then she unbuttoned her coat and laid it over a chair. Pug lifted the cardboard box and looked up.
She dropped the box.
She gasped.
For a second, Simone didn’t understand, and then she caught her own reflection in an antique mirror across the room. Her black hair swung loose in its razor-straight bob. She wore a sleeveless, low-waisted dress with a dark string of knotted beads. She looked like a slightly updated flapper from the 1920s, bright and colorful and fluid . . . just like she always did.
“Simone,” said Pug.
The word was not a question.
Pug shuffled forward, squinting through her thick lenses and shaking her head. “How . . . how can you . . . ?”
She stood with her mouth half open, waiting for an answer.
But Simone had none.
And it was no use trying to go on pretending she was Kristina’s daughter.
Pug couldn’t be allowed to leave this house again. Simone rushed across the room and shoved her back onto the couch, holding her there. Pug gasped again and struggled.
“Simone!”
She didn’t want Pug to suffer, and the kindest thing would be to break her neck instantly, but the memories and the ghosts of the house and the distant past called to her. She needed more. Gripping Pug’s wrinkled face in her hands, she held it tight.
“You loved me once?” she whispered.
“I love you still,” Pug answered, and her eyes were calm. She’d stopped struggling.
Simone drove her teeth into Pug’s throat, tearing and drinking. She’d never fed on someone so old. The skin of Pug’s neck was loose, and the life force flowing into Simone was weak. But then the memories started, and she forgot everything else.
So many memories.
Memories of her.
She drank more slowly so they would continue. This was better than any man who’d claimed to love her. She saw herself as Pug saw her, back when Daddy called her skinny and awkward, back when her cotton dresses bunched at the sleeves. But Pug saw her as beautiful and unique. Pug loved her as no man ever had.
The memories went on, of Pug as a young woman, teaching and helping students, of walks on a green campus with buildings that resembled churches. And every day, she thought of Simone, always seeing her as a young girl with long hair and cotton gowns.
Pug’s heart stopped beating.
Simone pulled back and looked into her friend’s dead face.
Something painful began building in her chest.
“No,” she said, touching Pug’s face.
Waves and waves of pain passed through her. She did not recognize the emotions at first, and then she knew she felt remorse . . . guilt . . . horror and regret at what she’d just done. She’d had no choice, but that didn’t matter.
She dropped her head to Pug’s chest.
“Pug,” she whispered.
The remorse did not fade, nor did the pain. She held Pug’s body tighter and stayed there for a long time. She did not know how long.
Finally, she forced herself up. She was a survivor. She had to survive, and Pug could never have been fooled, not for long.
The boxes and books were piled all around the couch. Simone picked up a lighter and started a fire in the middle of the floor.
She slipped out the back door as the blaze began to increase, catching on the curtains. She didn’t care if the fire spread to other houses or shops.
She just kept walking.
Pug was gone, and Simone’s chest still ached.
chapter 17
“Stop!” Eleisha cried.
She jerked out of Simone’s mind and fell sideways onto the floor, catching herself with one hand. She’d read memories before: Wade’s, Philip’s, Rose’s, and Robert’s. But she’d never experienced anything quite like this. Lost inside a memory, the reader felt and thought everything as the scene progressed forward.
Philip’s emotions were sometimes savage and difficult to share, but Simone’s were cold and alien.
Eleisha wanted to wash her face and rinse her mouth out with water.
Then Simone began choking, her face locked in sorrow and pain. Eleisha pushed herself up, trying to clear her head, realizing how hard that memory must have been for Simone to relive. For all her cold exterior, Simone deeply regretted her actions. She was capable of remorse.
Even though Simone could not have intended for Eleisha to come to such a realization, it was more important than anything else that happened tonight.
She crawled over beside Simone.
“Try to come out of it,” she said. “You’re here in the room with me.”
Slowly, Simone stopped trembling. “She was my only friend when I was young and alone . . . and I fed on her.”
In truth, this act was the worst thing Eleisha had ever seen from one of her own kind. But she understood why Simone had shown it to her—to expose the darkest moment and see whether they could overcome it.
They could.
Simone had felt remorse.
“You were scared,” Eleisha whispered, leaning back against the couch. “She might have exposed you.”
“You don’t hate me?”
“No.”
“Will you stay here for a while?”
“Yes.”
Simone’s body racked once, and she crawled sideways, putting her head up against Eleisha’s stomach. Eleisha reached out like a mortal, like a woman, and pulled her closer, rocking her slowly back and forth.
“It’s all right,” she said. “Everything’s all right.”
And it was. She would rescue Maggie’s child.
Philip paced the floor of their hotel suite. He couldn’t sit down. He couldn’t stop moving, but he had to stay in this room. This was the only possible place where Eleisha might return.
Seamus had appeared briefly—several hours ago—and then gone looking for Eleisha. He hadn’t come back, and dawn was not far off.
With nothing else to do, Philip had too much time to think.
In spite of this, he still measured the time in seconds.
For some reason, he couldn’t stop thinking about Rose. He’d needed help tonight, and she had helped him. He would not forget that.
Fear made his head pound as he thought about “the laws” Robert had passed down to Eleisha. Robert had been useful in many ways. He could be trusted. So could Eleisha . . . and as much as he didn’t want to admit it, so could Rose. They followed the laws. They cared about forming a community.
Simone could not be trusted, and Philip was too aware in this moment that neither could he.
But Rose had helped him.
Maybe Robert had been right all along, and vampires needed to exist with connections to one another, and for that to work, the laws were necessary.
So many years ago, Philip’s maker, Angelo, had broken the second law—he’d created three new vampires in the span of a few years. As a result, Julian developed no telepathic abilities, and Philip had come out “wrong,” with no memories of his mortal life. This act of Angelo’s . . . this transgression had set a chain of events into motion that still haunted the scant few vampires still in existence.
Several things that had never made sense to Philip before were beginnin
g to make sense now. If only he could take Eleisha home to the underground, he would listen to her. He would try harder to understand the ideas she found so important.
He stopped pacing and rubbed his temple.
He knew she was not dead. If Simone had destroyed her, he would have felt the blast of her psychic release.
But he was still measuring time in seconds, waiting uselessly to feel her death.
Simone had no limits.
Once she was locked into a game, she would do anything to win.
Philip wanted to go home to the underground, but Eleisha was the underground. It didn’t exist unless she was there.
Faint gray streaks began appearing in the sky.
He started pacing again.
Hours had passed, and Julian was becoming concerned. Twice now, he’d almost called Mary back, but he feared pulling her away from Jasper at an inopportune moment.
The faintest hint of gray was beginning to show in the sky.
Where were they? And why hadn’t Mary at least reported back?
To his relief, the air by the windows shimmered, and she materialized, looking nervous.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
She didn’t answer, but she crossed her arms, not as if being petulant, but more as if she was cold.
“Mary!” he barked. “Is Simone dead?”
“No.”
She looked as though she was trying to chew the inside of her lip, and his anger began to rise.
“Where is Jasper?”
“I sent him to the airport. He’s going home.”
Julian froze. “You what?”
“I told him those were your orders.”
“Then get him back.”
When she didn’t move, he pulled his cell from his pocket and angrily snapped it open.
“It’s too late,” she said. “Look outside.”
Julian took a step, the useless cell still in his hand. “You waited this late on purpose?”
“He can’t handle her!” Mary suddenly shouted, uncrossing her transparent arms. “She hit him full force, and he just crumpled to his knees. It’s not his fault! Philip couldn’t handle her. Nobody can take her out but you!”
He strode across the suite, putting his face close to hers. “And what makes you say that?”
“Because you don’t feel anything. She won’t affect you.”
He stood there, shaking. She was wrong. He could feel rage. He’d banish her for this, send her back where he found her.
“Is Eleisha still with her at the Hyatt?” he asked.
Mary glared at him, as if she thought this change of topic was a trick question.
“Yeah, but you better hurry, and I wouldn’t worry about being seen. I’d break the door down if I were you.”
While this appeared to be his only option, Julian still feared Eleisha misinterpreting his intentions and invading his mind before he could act. But what choice did he have? If Mary was right about Simone, Eleisha was in danger.
Seething, he grabbed his sword and jogged down the hall. The Hyatt wasn’t far.
The sky was growing lighter, and Simone stood inside the balcony window, looking out with her back to Eleisha—pretending she needed to gain control of herself.
“I don’t think you’ll make it back to your hotel in time,” she said. “We should just sleep here today.”
Eleisha came up behind her. “I know. But I need to call Philip and let him know.”
Simone nodded. “Of course.”
If that was the case, she’d have to act quickly.
She reached down to open the sliding glass door. Everything depended on the next few moments.
“I want you to see something first . . . something we don’t often get to see.” She stepped out on the balcony.
“What are you doing?” Eleisha asked, sounding alarmed.
Did she fear heights or the gray streaks in the sky? Simone moved to the rail. She felt confident, powerful. She had won Eleisha’s trust, and she knew it.
“I love to do this,” Simone answered. “If you look out just before dawn, you can see the entire city from up here, and you almost feel like a mortal as the sky gets lighter.” She half turned. “Come and look with me.”
Eleisha wavered. “Be careful. You’re facing east.”
“We still have time.”
Simone knew exactly what would happen. She wasn’t even anxious anymore. Eleisha wanted converts. She wanted to please others. She wouldn’t refuse.
A few seconds later, Eleisha stepped out cautiously, peering over the edge from just outside the door.
“Over here,” Simone said. “It’s beautiful from here.”
Eleisha joined her at the rail, and indeed the sight before them was a rare experience. The city spread out below them in the predawn shadows. Simone stepped closer to the door, pointing outward.
“Look. It’s like we can see forever.”
Eleisha’s gaze followed where she pointed, off into the distance.
In a flash, Simone dashed inside, slammed the glass door closed, and locked it. Eleisha turned from the rail, not even alarmed yet.
“Simone?”
She stepped back to open the door, finding it locked, and a hint of confusion crossed her features.
Simone waited in quiet joy for her to understand what had just happened.
Simone had just won.
“Open the door,” Eleisha said, looking in.
Had Simone panicked and run inside?
But then Simone stepped up close to the glass . . . and she smiled. It was an eerie smile, exposing her white teeth, but the hatred shining out of her eyes was unmistakable.
Eleisha suddenly felt cold.
“Open the door,” she ordered, loudly this time.
Simone didn’t move. She didn’t stop smiling.
Eleisha drew her arm back and slammed her elbow against the glass. It bounced off.
“Double paned,” Simone mouthed at her. “Safety glass.”
The eastern sky was growing lighter.
Seamus was having trouble sensing anything.
He could feel himself being pulled to the other side.
He’d never pushed himself like this before. Worse, he felt plagued by a hunger—like starvation—to teleport back to Rose.
But he cared about Eleisha, and he would not abandon her . . . even if it meant risking his existence here . . . even if it meant working with Philip.
Hours had passed since his arrival in Denver, and as yet he hadn’t been able to pinpoint a single undead signature. Not because they weren’t there, but because in his weakened state he needed to be close to even sense one.
So he’d been searching the city block by block, growing more and more concerned that he would fail—while fighting every second to remain in this world.
He’d started out near the botanical gardens, where Simone lived, but now he was moving closer to downtown.
Materializing in an alley on Stout Street, he stopped, feeling something on the edge of his senses. He blinked out and rematerialized in the shadows of a skyscraper on Fifteenth.
He had something: two undead signatures—and they didn’t feel like other ghosts.
Throwing caution away, he blinked out and rematerialized as close to the signatures as possible, appearing in a hallway outside a door to room 3012. He wished himself through the door, passing into a hotel room—but he could hear a pounding sound.
Simone had her back to him, facing a sliding glass door. Seamus looked beyond her, and to his horror, Eleisha stood outside on the balcony, slamming her elbow against the glass, as if trying to break it.
She didn’t see him.
What was happening?
Then he realized that Simone had locked her outside and Simone was just standing there . . . watching.
He started to rush forward and then stopped. After giving Simone an initial shock, he couldn’t do anything. He couldn’t take Eleisha off the balcony. He couldn’t even open the door. Mo
rning was coming, and he was running out of time.
He blinked out.
Eleisha slammed her elbow against the glass again and again, trying to crack it.
Nothing happened.
She whirled around, looking over the rail, not wanting to let the truth—or any version of the truth—sink in.
Had Simone just lured her out there moments before dawn and locked the door? How could that be? They had spent the entire night together, hunting, sharing memories, talking about the laws and the future.
How was this possible?
She looked back inside. Simone still stood watching her with the same eerie smile.
Let me inside, Eleisha flashed.
No.
Why are you doing this?
To win.
The hatred in Simone’s eyes was taking on a kind of madness, and Eleisha felt the first wave of real fear.
She was going to be left out here to burn in the sun.
Summoning all her focus, she drove a command straight into Simone’s mind.
Open the door!
Simone’s body twitched in shock, and her hand came up. Eleisha kept pushing, repeating the command with force. Simone’s hand was moving in harsh jerks toward the lock, and then she stopped. Eleisha felt her creating a block, pushing the command from her mind, forming a barrier.
Simone wasn’t smiling anymore.
Philip was still pacing when Seamus materialized across the room.
“You’ve got to run!” Seamus nearly shouted. His colors were so faint, Philip could barely see him, but his voice echoed off the walls.
Philip tried to let the words register, but Seamus rushed on.
“The Hyatt Regency on Fifteenth! Room 3012. Eleisha’s locked outside on a balcony. On the thirtieth floor!”
Philip froze. “What?”
“Run! We’re about ten blocks away. But Simone’s locked her out, and the sun is going to rise.”
Without another word, Philip bolted for the door, stopping only long enough to grab his machete off the couch.
chapter 18
Eleisha didn’t know which was worse—the crushing sorrow or the fear.