by Hendee, Barb
Much of the city was damaged by an earthquake in 1906, but rebuilding followed almost immediately.
In 1908, she bought an apartment on the second floor of a lavish building. Finally, a home of their own.
By now, hunting was easy due to more accessible transportation and the strength of her gift, but she never ceased to feel shame after a kill or to continue her efforts to go as long as possible without feeding.
Seamus also liked the city, but even so, as the years passed, he was given at times to melancholy about the state of his existence: endless, unchanging, no one for company but Rose. She could hardly blame him but had no idea how to help.
She and Edward maintained a polite silence.
Remembering their home in Scotland, she took up some of her old interests, such as herb gardening, and she tried to create some semblance of a home for Seamus.
Then in 1913, a letter arrived.
Rose,
She has left me. She has gone to Oregon.
To my disgust, I am lost. I am alone. I don’t know what to do.
Help me.
To Rose’s shock, she was hit in the face by blatant pity.
How strange, how unexpected to feel pity for Edward. But she did. If there was one thing Rose understood, it was loss, especially the loss of someone she loved. She wrote back, and she offered him comfort.
She told him that he would heal in time.
But he did not. He only grew worse. Later, she counseled him to move to Portland—where Eleisha had settled.
He took her advice.
Then his letters stopped.
Over the years that followed, sometimes Rose wondered about Eleisha and William and this “contact” that Edward mentioned in France, and she wondered how many of their kind still existed. But she knew all their survival depended on living quietly away from Julian, on not gaining his attention, and in her case, on living in secret . . . or at least this was what Edward had convinced her.
She and Seamus continued to make it through the nights, with little changing besides the city exploding around them in population and development. The building they lived in grew old, but she could not bring herself to move, not again. It was both a kind of prison and a home at the same time.
In the early spring of 2008, as morning arrived, she was just falling dormant in her bed when something happened.
Her mind exploded in pain, and images of Edward burst inside her brain, along with the memories of everyone he had ever fed upon. In between his victims, she saw the same image over and over of a lovely dark-blond girl in her teens, with a serious face and hazel eyes. The pain was searing, and it went on and on. . . .
“Rose!” Seamus was beside her bed. “What’s wrong? Stop screaming. Someone will break the door down.”
The pain faded and then vanished.
“What’s wrong?”
“I think Edward may be dead,” she answered flatly. “I think I felt him die.”
His transparent mouth fell partway open. “Did Julian find him? Kill him?”
“I don’t know.”
Rose waited. She waited in fear, and a part of her mourned for Edward. Nothing happened for six weeks, and then although the sensation was much weaker, she was hit with the memories of another vampire, an exotic woman with dark hair who also passed images of the blond girl with hazel eyes, and of many victims, and of a bright city with its own carnival . . . and the Space Needle. Seattle.
To Rose, it felt as if the vampire was dying.
Back in Scotland, when Julian was still killing vampires in Europe after she’d been turned, she had never felt this, seen anything like this. Perhaps she had been too young in her undead state?
A few nights later, she felt another death, an old man, and she saw almost nothing in his memories but the girl with hazel eyes—and of feeding on rabbits.
Someone was killing vampires.
“Seamus, can you go to Seattle? Try to find out what’s happening?”
“Without you?” he asked. He never strayed too far from her side. He said he felt tied to her.
“It isn’t safe for me to go anywhere now. I should not leave the apartment.”
He nodded. This was true.
And so he tried. He found out that once he’d reached a general vicinity, he could sense the undead. He found Eleisha and Philip in Seattle. He was outside the Red Lion Hotel when Philip kicked Julian out the window. He learned where Eleisha was staying and read the address on the house. But the longer he was away from Rose, the weaker he grew.
He focused upon her and rematerialized in the apartment and told her what he had seen, what he learned.
Once again, she knew something in their world had shifted.
Instead of hiding, instead of living alone, somebody was fighting back against Julian. If Eleisha and Philip could defend themselves, they could defend others. But could she trust them? She did not know. She did not even want to give them her name. She remembered an account she’d read of a Hungarian countess dubbed a “vampire” for her practices. This story was well known and should offer enough of a hint. But she wanted to offer more . . . a hint of her goals, the whispers in the back of her mind of others like herself who might be trapped in hiding.
Rose opened up a post office box.
Then she went home and sat down at the antique desk while Seamus stood anxiously behind her, and she wrote:You are not alone. There are others like you. Respond to the Elizabeth Bathory Underground. P.O. Box 27750, San Francisco, CA 94973.
chapter 6
“No...nomore!” Eleisha cried, pulling out of Rose’s mind.
Eleisha had fallen forward onto the floor, supporting herself on her forearms.
All she could see was Edward’s face, and she was having trouble separating Rose’s memories from her own. She was Rose. She felt everything Rose had gone through.
And to see Edward again, larger than life, his smile, his green eyes, to hear his laugh . . . She managed to partially disentangle her thoughts.
He had used her to try to heal himself.
She tried to push herself up.
“Eleisha!” Philip’s voice cut through the haze.
She felt his hands latch onto her, one on her arm and the other around her waist, as he pulled her up against his chest—which was hard and cold. He held her tightly. She tensed for a moment and then pressed her face into his shoulder, gripping his shirt with her fingers.
Rose was making choking sounds from the shock of having relived her own life. Eleisha wondered why Rose had ever given her even an ounce of kindness.
She should hate me.
“What’s wrong?” Seamus was asking in alarm. “What happened?”
Only Wade kept his head.
Eleisha could hear his feet on the carpet, and she shifted her face slightly to see him hurrying toward Rose.
“It’s all right,” he said. His voice was shaky, as he had relived all the same events, and coming out of these deep journeys was never easy. But Wade had been reading minds his whole life. He knelt beside Rose. “It’s over.”
“What was that?” she said in a choked voice. “How did you do that?”
He didn’t answer. This was not the time to try to explain his ability to help others channel linear memories. Eleisha could manage as a guide up to a point, but not as well as he could.
“Put both palms against the floor,” he said. “You’re back in the apartment, in the present.”
The sight of his calm efforts made Eleisha ashamed for hiding in Philip’s chest, and she tried to pull back, but he tightened his arm.
“Let go,” she said.
“That was too much,” he said. “Too much for you.”
For her? What about Rose?
“I’m all right.”
He relaxed his hold and she sat up, looking at Rose, who stared back. Rose had known about her all this time.
“He never told me,” Eleisha said.
Rose was becoming more composed, but Seamus kept lookin
g back and forth between all of them in confusion.
“I know,” Rose answered.
All of Edward’s sins came crashing down on Eleisha: what he had done to Rose, to Seamus, and then his abandonment, and his heartless letter of how he was trying to make up for this tragedy by caring for her. How could he? And how could he not tell her? She had been his companion for nearly one hundred and seventy years. If only she had known.
She would make it up to Rose, all of it.
“How did Edward die?” Rose asked suddenly. “Did Julian kill him?”
Eleisha flinched. “No, he killed himself. I think he got tired of living.”
Rose glanced away. “What about the others?”
“Maggie and William?” Eleisha glanced at Wade, uncertain how to answer.
“No, Julian didn’t kill them, but that’s a long story,” he said. “And we’re all pretty wrung out. I think . . . we all have questions that can wait.”
This was certainly true. From what Eleisha had seen, Rose didn’t even know why Julian had murdered some vampires and left others, like Edward, alone—because Edward hadn’t known Julian was hunting only telepathic members of their kind. Rose didn’t even know that she possessed the ability to feed without killing. They still had a good deal to talk about.
Eleisha tilted her head back to look up at Philip. “Do you believe she is not working for Julian now?”
He nodded stiffly, but she couldn’t tell what he was thinking. What had Rose’s memories made him feel? She was tempted to look inside his thoughts but held herself back.
She climbed to her feet and went to Rose, still lost in disbelief that Rose did not hate her.
“You and Seamus don’t have to be alone ever again,” she said. “We’ll leave tomorrow night. Go home to the underground.”
Rose’s eyes widened. “Tomorrow night? That’s too soon. And what of Julian? How will you protect us?”
“He doesn’t even know we’re here. But it doesn’t matter. He’s not a threat,” Eleisha insisted. “He won’t come near me. I swear.”
Why did no one believe her? She had felt his terror, his conviction to flee from her and never come back. She had been inside his mind.
“Why is tomorrow too soon?” Wade asked, frowning.
“I had no idea you would come tonight,” Rose answered. “I’ve lived here for a hundred years. I have arrangements to make before we can leave.”
But Eleisha could hear a hint of fear behind her calm voice. Traveling . . . journeys . . . unfamiliar places frightened Rose.
“Of course,” she said quickly, looking back at Philip.
But he nodded again.
Only Wade seemed uncertain. He’d been expecting a short trip.
She’s frightened, Eleisha flashed to him. She needs time.
He looked at her. “Should we find a hotel?” he asked.
“I have room here,” Rose said, climbing to her feet, her legs still trembling. “Couches and a spare bedroom I never use. Apartments were more spacious back when I bought this place.”
Talk of couches and spare bedrooms seemed safe in the midst of all they had shared. But Eleisha could not release the memory of Edward’s mouth on Rose’s the night he turned her. Eleisha had never thought of Edward as a man, someone with passions or drives. She knew for certain he’d never felt that way toward her. To him, she had been a child, a doll to dress up. Rose was hardly either of those things. Did Edward fear feelings that might be too real? Perhaps guilt wasn’t the only thing that kept him from ever seeing Rose again.
“Are you sure you want us here?” Wade asked. “You might feel invaded.”
Eleisha felt a rush of affection for him. Such a statement would never occur to Philip, but Wade almost always considered the feelings of others.
Rose glanced with hesitation at Philip, and then her eyes fell upon Eleisha. “You are welcome to stay. Change is a welcome thing here.”
Seamus had remained quiet through most of this. Perhaps he felt helpless to stop the flow of events. Eleisha thought on his life, too, cut off so soon, leaving him in state of endless limbo.
He was watching her. Then she realized he had not been seen by anyone but Rose since the night he died. Maybe new company would not be so unwelcome?
“How long will you need, Rose?” she asked.
Rose hesitated. “I am not sure. A few nights at least.”
And now we are five, Eleisha thought.
Wade woke up to a silent apartment in the late afternoon. He was lying on a Victorian couch. Disoriented for a moment, he blinked and sat up, trying to remember where he was.
The previous night came rushing back.
For the first time, with a few moments to himself since arriving, he suddenly realized that he wanted to help Eleisha in this venture. Rose was exactly what Eleisha described her to be—frightened, lonely, and blind to her own potential. He could help her, train her, and teach her to feed without killing. He could help Eleisha create the underground and then help her find others like Rose. He could do more good in this venture, save more lives, than he could in a hundred years working as a psychologist for the Portland police.
He could do something that no one else could.
As he looked around the faded sitting room, it struck him as sad, like a flower that had once been lovely but was close to losing its petals. He got up and walked into the kitchen. This room was more cheerful with its colorful pots of herbs. There was a kettle on the stove, and he found a few dusty tea mugs, but the other cupboards and the refrigerator were empty . . . as if the very presence of a kitchen was a lie.
He went back out into the sitting room. The place was so quiet.
Vampires slept all day.
The door to Rose’s bedroom was closed.
Philip and Eleisha had taken the guest room. He understood this, as they both liked to feel hidden away somewhere during their dormancy. He walked over and cracked their door, just to check on them.
The room was dark, and it took a moment for his eyes to adjust. For some reason, the sight awaiting him sent a jolt through his body.
Philip was lying on the bed, on his back, wearing only a pair of jeans. Eleisha wore sweatpants and a tank top, but she was curled up against him with her head on his shoulder, her long hair tangled across his throat. Their chests did not move. They did not breathe.
They both looked dead.
Even dead they shared a connection he could not penetrate— with either of them. They were his only companions now, and yet he often felt like the outsider.
Still, he knew them, understood them better than they realized, although he kept such revelations to himself. He knew how it felt to feed on human blood, to kill to survive.
He had experienced this from Eleisha, Philip, and now Rose. He had felt the sensation of sinking one’s teeth into a human throat, watching memories, and drinking blood. But the act was starkly different for all three of the vampires he had lived through.
Philip reveled in killing.
Eleisha had found it regretful.
Rose felt open shame.
At this thought, a small portion of his resolution to become closely involved with Rose wavered.
He turned his eyes to Philip.
Yes, Rose appeared to be the lost victim that Eleisha had described, but was Philip’s caution wrong? None of them really knew Rose yet, she had certainly shown the ability to shut her remorse off when she grew hungry enough, and she had avoided getting too close to mortals she cared about for fear of feeding on them.
Wade could never forget he was a lone mortal among a growing number of the undead.
He straightened, pushing doubt away.
He would not abandon this path. In spite of his agreement with Philip’s caution, Eleisha’s passion to find others like herself and have him teach them to feed without killing provided a stronger pull.
It gave him purpose.
Suddenly, he realized he was hungry.
He walked back to the couc
h and put on his shoes. Then he headed for the front door.
“Where are you going?” a hollow voice challenged.
He half turned to see Seamus’ transparent form standing outside the guest room door. As accustomed as Wade had become to the reality of vampires, the sight of this Scottish ghost still left him unsettled.
“Out to find some food,” he answered. “I haven’t eaten since yesterday.”
The suspicious expression on Seamus’ face vanished. “Oh, I’d forgotten you would need to . . .” He trailed off.
Wade turned fully from the door, not quite sure what to say as he realized Seamus wasn’t used to anyone being awake in the apartment during daylight hours. How alien this all must feel to him.
“Your aunt did the right thing,” he said finally, “writing to Eleisha.”
Seamus looked away from Wade and back through the guest room door. “I think so, too . . . now. I think it’s good she came, and you as well.” Then his eyes narrowed. “Except that she trusts him!”
At first, Wade wasn’t sure what this meant. More on impulse than a conscious decision, Wade reached out telepathically, not certain he could read a ghost but trying to pick up any thoughts. He sensed nothing, as if Seamus wasn’t there.
He took a few steps back toward the guest room and saw that Seamus was looking at Eleisha sleeping on Philip’s shoulder.
“Oh, you mean Eleisha trusts . . .” Wade struggled for words. “Of course she trusts him. He’d throw himself in front of a bus for her.”
“He’s a killer.”
“Eleisha has killed, too, many times. So has Rose.”
“They’re not like him.”
Well, that was true, and Wade could offer no argument. But Seamus was going to have to accept Philip if he wanted help from Eleisha and Wade. Philip came as part of the package—and he wasn’t a killer anymore.
Wade debated explaining how Eleisha and Philip fed now, but he knew Seamus was still reeling from an onslaught of radical changes in less than twenty-four hours.
“Why do you stay with them?” Seamus asked, his Scottish accent growing thicker and his voice growing sad. “You need not.”
Wade wasn’t certain how to answer—or even if he should answer. “Normal people don’t enjoy my company,” he began, “once they find out I see everything they’re thinking. Even if I promised not to . . . no one could know for sure. I had a friend once who could feel my thoughts and keep me out . . . but he’s gone now. I fit in with Eleisha and Philip. They’re like me.”