Memories of Envy

by Barb Hendee

  Simone had never intended to come home to the underground, and she’d been deceiving Eleisha all night. What could possibly warrant this level of veiled hatred?

  Simone took a few steps back from the door to avoid the impending sunlight, but she was still watching, as if longing to see Eleisha burn with the arrival of dawn.

  Why?

  The sun was close to peeking over the horizon.

  There had to be some way out of this.

  Eleisha had already tried breaking the glass. She’d tried a telepathic attack. Neither one worked. Her phone was still inside her bag—inside the hotel room.

  She turned back toward the rail again, moving over to look down. Could she jump? A fall from this height wouldn’t kill her, but it would break her body.

  Julian had once survived a long fall, but it had been less than half of the one she faced, and his bone structure was much heavier, and he’d taken the fall in the middle of the night.

  She gazed down and then up at the horizon. Once she hit the ground and her bones shattered, she would simply burn there in the sun anyway.

  Eleisha turned back to the window, realizing she was about to die.

  What would become of Philip?

  The exhaustion she always felt this close to sunrise began setting in. She closed her eyes, seeing Philip’s pale face. A slight burning sensation tingled down her back.

  How much would this hurt? Would it last long?

  A loud popping sound echoed out from inside the room. Eleisha opened her eyes and then wondered whether she was hallucinating.

  The door between the room and the outer hallway flew open.

  Julian walked inside, carrying a sword.

  Simone stayed back, away from the window, but still close enough to watch. Her eyelids drooped as dormancy called to her, but she wasn’t about to fall asleep.

  Not yet.

  She would stand here until Eleisha was burned down to nothing. The joy, the triumph of this moment made every other game she’d ever played seem like nothing in comparison.

  Tonight, when she woke up, she’d call Philip.

  He would run to her, and then her existence would be so different. All the years ahead would make up for the monotonous ones she left behind.

  She fought her exhaustion by sheer will.

  Only a moment or two now, and Eleisha would ignite.

  A popping sounded from the hotel room door, and she whirled toward it.

  The door opened, and a large man with dark hair walked in. He wore black slacks and a white button-down shirt. His bone structure was so thick, he appeared almost heavy. No pulse beat at the base of this throat.

  He carried a sword in his right hand.

  Simone knew who he was without asking. He couldn’t be anyone else.

  “Julian,” she mouthed.

  First he glanced over at Eleisha, and then he looked back at her.

  She realized she was afraid of him, but vampire or not, killer of his own kind or not, he was still a man.

  Summoning all her strength, she straightened and tilted her head, letting her hair swing, and she let her gift begin to flow.

  Julian studied Simone for a matter of seconds, and everything Mary had told him began to make sense.

  “Julian,” Simone mouthed.

  His ghost servant had been right.

  How could Philip or Jasper overcome this visage in front of him? Her power was too different from theirs. He took in the sight of her lovely face and slender body and china blue eyes, and he absorbed her gift when she let it flow.

  It was strong.

  He could sense the envy passing through him, how men would envy anyone near her, how women would want to be her. He could sense the intoxication of her power.

  But it didn’t affect him.

  “Maggie told me all about you,” she said softly. “I always wanted to see you, to meet you. And now you’re here.”

  Was she really trying this on him?

  In answer, he let his own gift flow and watched her coy expression change to open fear. There was no time for satisfaction in the moment.

  He took four steps forward, gripped the hilt with both hands, and swung at her neck.

  Pressed up against the glass, Eleisha almost screamed at him to stop.

  But she didn’t.

  She could have invaded his mind and stopped him telepathically, but she didn’t.

  She just watched him draw back his thick arms and swing. The sword sliced through Simone’s neck without even slowing, causing black blood to spray from the stump. Simone’s head fell to one side, and her body dropped onto the floor with a light thud Eleisha felt through her feet.

  She braced herself for the blast, but being prepared never helped.

  When vampires died, all the memories of their existence, their victims, their emotions, burst out in a telepathic explosion, hitting other telepaths in close proximity the hardest. But any vampire for miles would feel it.

  Except Julian.

  Eleisha’s legs gave way, and she fell to the balcony floor when the onslaught hit. She writhed and rolled as one memory after another racked her body and mind.

  She saw the round, cold face of a father who’d humiliated Simone, of a mother and sisters who’d turned their backs. She saw the face of a girl with unruly hair and thick glasses who gave love and comfort. She saw a string of girls dancing in thin, low-waisted dresses. She saw a young man with chiseled features and a shock of bangs hanging over one eye. He smoked cigarettes. His mouth tasted like smoke and mints.

  Then she saw Maggie laughing, sipping wine, brushing Simone’s hair, feeding on the homeless and dropping their bodies onto alley floors.

  She saw a string of men and women Simone played with like chess pieces.

  She saw Philip as Simone saw him, savage and unpredictable and impossible to control. She caught a flash of him with blood smeared all over his mouth, crusting onto his T-shirt.

  She saw a misty image of Maggie in a red dress as Philip used his whole body to trap her against the floor.

  She saw images of herself as Simone saw her: an obstacle to be removed.

  She saw Philip walking away while Simone called his name. . . .

  Simone’s last clear memory was of Philip.

  The pain began to fade as she tried to make sense of anything she’d just seen. The burning tingle spread to her shoulder.

  A soft click sounded, and the sliding glass door opened. Strong arms lifted her into the air, and then she was inside the hotel room, pressed up against Julian’s chest as he carried her across the room. He smelled of sandalwood soap and leather. With a dry sob, she clutched the collar of his shirt with her fingers.

  Julian.

  He had made her a hundred and seventy years ago by pinning her in his lap, driving his teeth into her throat, and then forcing her to drink from him. He was her maker. He was her enemy. He’d murdered Robert.

  She gripped his collar tightly.

  “I wanted to help her,” she whispered. “I tried to help her.”

  He carried her into the bathroom and crouched down, laying her on the floor.

  Pulling her fingers from his shirt, he said, “Stay there.”

  She’d almost forgotten the hollow quality of his voice. His footsteps moved away just as dormancy swept her into darkness.

  Philip was running down Fifteenth Street when the blast hit him.

  He tripped and collapsed, dropping his machete.

  His first terror-stricken thought was that Eleisha had been killed and his mind would be invaded by her memories. Then he saw Simone’s father.

  He saw her entire youth, just as he had before, only much faster and harder, in a matter of moments. His body jerked on the pavement as another memory struck him before the last one fully passed.

  He saw himself smeared with blood.

  He saw himself turning Maggie.

  He saw Eleisha through Simone’s eyes and felt a hatred he couldn’t comprehend.

  He saw S
imone calling his name.

  When the memories stopped, his left shoulder was tingling with a burning sensation, and he realized the sun was cresting. Was Eleisha still trapped on the balcony? How had Simone died?

  Still disoriented, he looked around wildly. The street around him was empty. The tingle on his shoulder grew hot.

  In despair, Seamus materialized in the shadows across the street and watched Philip fall, rolling and writhing in some unknown pain. He had decided to follow Philip—to help and guide him if necessary.

  But the sun was cresting, and Philip had not reached Eleisha.

  Seeking Philip’s help in the first place had gone against all Seamus’ instincts, but there had been no other choice. And now . . . this failure seemed too much to bear. What would Rose do without Eleisha?

  Philip stopped writhing and pushed up to all fours, looking around like a lost child. He did not see Seamus, but he was about to burn in the sun.

  Seamus turned halfway, spotting a boarded-up ticket office that seemed long abandoned. It might be a safe place for Philip to take refuge. Seamus began to call out to him . . . and then stopped.

  Should he call out?

  What if he did nothing? No one would know and no one could blame him if Philip had simply been trapped outside too long. Philip had just failed Eleisha, and he was certainly no friend to Rose. Maybe the world would be a better place without Philip in it.

  But then, Seamus remembered the sight of Philip strapping on his machete to protect Rose while she hunted . . . and of Philip sitting on the couch with Wade watching movies with guns and explosions.

  If Seamus simply let Philip die today, it would be murder. He would be no better than Philip himself.

  With reluctance, still doubting his judgment, Seamus called out, “Here!”

  “Here!” a voice called.

  Even through exhaustion and the haze of what he’d just been through, Philip recognized the Scottish accent and looked up. Seamus’ transparent form floated across the street in front of what looked to be a boarded-up ticket office. Graffiti covered the boards. But Seamus’ eyes were stricken and defeated.

  They hadn’t reached Eleisha before sunrise.

  They’d failed.

  “Hurry,” Seamus said.

  Philip crawled to his feet and staggered across the street, breaking off one of the boards and slipping inside right as the sun crested.

  Julian left Eleisha lying in the bathroom, and he went to check the door to the hallway. He hadn’t kicked it in. Instead, he’d used physical strength to break the lock. The handle was slightly loose to the touch, but the door was intact. Stepping into the hall, he hung the DO NOT DISTURB sign and pulled the door shut.

  He couldn’t lock it, but he got it to stay closed.

  Hopefully, the maids wouldn’t touch it—or perhaps Simone had even placed an order for the room not to be serviced during the day.

  This was the best he could do for Eleisha, as he could not wake up in the place she did—when she was in full control of herself and her power—and he was about to fall into dormancy himself. But he was trapped inside the hotel, so he hurried to the elevator and went all the way to the basement. When the doors opened, he stumbled out, looking around at small dark offices and janitorial supplies, seeking someplace he could hide and sleep out the day.

  chapter 19

  Just past dusk, Eleisha woke up on a bathroom floor, uncertain how she got there.

  Then everything came rushing back.

  Simone was dead.

  She pushed herself up and opened the door, looking out into the hotel room. Julian was gone. City lights shone in through the sliding glass door, illuminating the outline of a tan dress and a string of light blue beads on the carpet.

  Eleisha walked over and sank down beside the dress. Ashes lay in the pattern of arms and legs beneath the cotton cloth. Eleisha closed her eyes.

  “Maggie,” she whispered. “I’m sorry.”

  All the images from Simone’s memories were still fresh in her mind, but she couldn’t stop thinking of Philip covered in blood and the hazy picture of him holding Maggie against the floor.

  Had he shared his memories with Simone? He must have.

  Her hand shook as she reached out and touched the ashes. It didn’t matter anymore. Simone was gone.

  With her eyes still closed, she saw Robert’s headless body on the sidewalk as it turned into ash.

  Twice now, she’d tried to help one of her own, to bring them to a safe place where they wouldn’t have to exist alone anymore.

  Twice, she had failed.

  Philip woke up with his face pressed against a wooden board. He’d slept facedown? He never did that.

  Then he remembered where he was and jumped up.

  “Seamus!”

  The dark, abandoned ticket office was silent. Seamus had probably not been able to remain. Philip’s chest constricted with fear of the unknown—he didn’t know what had happened after he’d collapsed. Had Eleisha burned in the sun, and he’d not felt her memories because he’d gone dormant?

  He rushed to the boarded-up opening and broke his way out, running down Fifteenth, trying not to let himself think. Reaching the hotel, he bolted through the front and then burst through the doors to the stairwell, knowing he could make it up thirty flights faster than it would take to wait for the elevator.

  But when he ran out onto the thirtieth floor, he stopped outside of room 3012 and just stood there for a few seconds.

  He was too afraid of what he’d find inside.

  Finally, he reached out, wondering whether he’d need to break the door, and turned the handle. It felt loose, and it opened.

  He forced himself to look in.

  Eleisha knelt there on the carpet beside a tan dress and some small piles of ashes.

  She was still here, still with him.

  He couldn’t even feel relief. He couldn’t let himself feel anything.

  She didn’t look up. He walked in, closed the door, and sank down across from her. Her long hair was a tangled mess, and her cheek was smudged with gray. In spite of fighting to keep control of himself, he noticed the smaller pile of ash a few feet away. Was that Simone’s head?

  “Eleisha,” he said. “Look at me.”

  Her gaze moved up to his face.

  “Did you kill her?” he asked.

  She shook her head slowly. “Julian.”

  “Julian?”

  She nodded this time, just as slowly, her eyes drifting away. Her voice was so low, he could barely hear it. “Simone locked me out on the balcony, just before the sun rose. He broke in and cut off her head. Then he carried me inside, put me on the bathroom floor, and he left.”

  Philip couldn’t hold himself at bay anymore, and emotions began to trickle in: sick relief mixed with guilt that he hadn’t made it here in time. He wanted to touch her but held himself back.

  “Why would he do that?” she whispered.

  “I don’t know.”

  A new anxiety began to gnaw at him. When Robert died, he’d seen Eleisha on the edge of a sorrow from which she couldn’t rise. He’d managed to pull her out of it, but she looked close to the edge again.

  “I don’t care why he did it,” he said flatly. “He was right.”

  She looked him in the face, as if suddenly realizing he was there, studying his mouth, his chest.

  “Philip,” she said, her voice more audible. “What happened that night with Simone? Please tell me.”

  He locked eyes with her, deciding he wouldn’t lie.

  “I’ll never tell you, and I’ll never show you the memories,” he said. “But I am beginning to see things as you see them. I am beginning to understand.”

  Her chin dropped, and she reached out to touch the dress.

  “What do we do now?” she whispered.

  That was the easiest question she’d ever asked him.

  “I want to go home,” he said.

  chapter 20

  Two weeks later, Wad
e decided to go back to searching news stories on his computer and taking notes as he worked. He hadn’t spent much time in the office since Eleisha’s return from Denver, but somehow tonight felt . . . correct.

  He scanned news reports for a few hours, but he kept glancing over at the file he’d started on the madman from the London alley. He considered calling for Seamus but decided against it. Seamus had looked so much better in the past week, all his bright colors returning when he materialized.

  Wade didn’t want to send him out just yet.

  Finally, he got up to stretch his legs, walking across the hall, through the door behind the altar, and out into the sanctuary.

  Rose and Philip were sitting on the floor in front of a couch. They were facing each other with their eyes closed. Neither one of them seemed aware he’d entered the room.

  Philip had changed since coming back.

  The changes weren’t stark, but they were noticeable. While he wasn’t exactly kind to Rose, he treated her with respect, and he’d even offered to help her focus her telepathy. Wade hadn’t thought this a good idea at first—but he’d been wrong.

  “No,” Philip insisted, “push harder!”

  “I am pushing!”

  Rose’s face contorted with effort, and Philip nodded.

  “Good,” he said. “Keep the block up. Keep me out.”

  Philip was far less patient than Wade and much more aggressive in these training sessions, but for some reason, Rose responded to him better. She fought him. She wasn’t afraid to hurt him or push back. The result was astonishing, and she was learning how to block.

  Wade had also picked up two wooden practice swords, and Philip was teaching him some of the basics—but even the basics turned out to be more difficult than he’d expected.

  The other change in Philip was his attempt to communicate better verbally. The night after returning from Denver, he’d found Wade alone, and he’d actually tried to explain what had happened between Simone and Eleisha, at least from his own perspective. He wouldn’t let Wade read his mind—which would have been easier—but he’d talked for nearly half an hour.