Blood Memories vm-1

by Barb Hendee

  "Dominick?" he called.

  "Where's your girlfriend?"

  I found it difficult to shut out Wade's surge of pity when his muscular partner stumbled through the kitchen door, a bloody shovel in his hands. My thoughts got tangled up in Wade's memories. What a good cop Dom had once been. Now dried food and old sweat stained his T-shirt. His black hair stuck to his skull in filthy patches, and quick, china-blue eyes twitched back and forth, puffy from exhaustion, sunken by obsession.

  "You killed this old man." Wade took in the sight of William's burgundy smoking jacket, wrinkled hands, head lying two feet from his body. "You murdered him. Does that get through to you at all?"

  "He's been dead for years. Jesus Christ, Wade, you still don't get it, do you? How many people do you think this ‘old man' murdered?"

  "None. He fed on rabbits."

  "Did she tell you that? She's lying. Remember her painting? The one you kept. I got sick touching it. That pretty face is a joke. It protects her, like a gun or armor. She'd rip your throat out in a second."

  "That doesn't make you judge and executioner. Remember? You wouldn't even shoot at a fleeing criminal. You were good at what you did. Everybody wanted to be you."

  Recognition, pain, flickered across Dominick's unshaven face. "This is different. Rules don't work." He walked over and looked down at William's body, as the flesh was just beginning to crack. "These things look at us as cattle. They butcher us to live."

  This was war. And what if Dom was right? What if the last semblance of sanity still dwelled in him? Wade thought of Eleisha's tiny face, her frightened eyes, and his own growing fascination with her. What if he was wrong, the police were blind, and only Dominick fought on the right side anymore?

  "She's not what you think," Wade said. "Her whole existence surrounded that old man. Now that he's dead, I don't know what she'll do. You have to report this, though. You've killed someone."

  "No, I don't. In a few minutes there won't be a body."

  "Where did you learn so much about these people?"

  "Touching things. Her things and Claymore's. His house was a memory smorgasbord."

  "Why didn't you tell me?" Wade asked.

  "I didn't think you'd believe me."

  "You could've let me in."

  "My head? No." Dom's expression grew sad. "You're my friend. Trust me on this. My head isn't someplace you want to be."

  "If you could just see her, talk to her-"

  "Is she here?"

  "No."

  "Where is she, Wade?"

  "I'm not going to let you hurt her."

  "You can't stop me." Dom turned away from William's body and locked eyes with Wade. "What is going on here? You're on my side, remember?"

  "You're out of control, killing people."

  "They aren't people! Whether you understand this or not, I'm going to wait here until dawn and then search the house. She has to come home before it gets light. When she does, I'm going to cut her head off and this will be over."

  "Get out."

  "What?"

  "You heard me. Get out. This isn't your job." Before his partner could speak again, Wade pulled the 9mm Beretta from the back of his jeans and pointed it.

  Dom's eyes widened. "You won't kill me."

  "No, but I'll blow a hole in your leg and then call an ambulance. By the time the paramedics get here, I'll be long gone."

  "Why are you…?"

  Wade pointed the gun straight at Dominick's thigh. The burly man stepped back toward the door, his blue eyes narrowing.

  "You don't want to take me on. You'll lose."

  "Just get out," Wade repeated.

  Dominick slipped out the front door, and Wade bolted it behind him.

  I pushed myself up from Maggie's bedroom floor, removing my thoughts from Wade's, seeing through my own eyes again, and stumbled downstairs to the foyer. William's body was already turning to ash, the tiny cracks in his flesh spreading.

  Wade dashed about, checking window bolts. "Did you see? Did you hear all that?"

  "Yes," I whispered tiredly. "Through you."

  "We've got to run. He's right. I can't take him on. I wouldn't even know how."

  Sinking to my knees, I fingered William's smoking jacket. I couldn't bring myself to look at his severed head… across the floor. "It doesn't matter now," I whispered.

  "Get up! Change your clothes."

  "Dominick is nothing now."

  "Twenty minutes ago you were begging me to get him off your back."

  "Julian's coming."

  Wade froze. "What?"

  "You and I felt psychic waves only because we were so close. Julian made William. I think even halfway across the world… he felt it. He'll be coming."

  "That doesn't change what's happening right now!" he spat. "We've got to get out of here."

  "He'll find us."

  "I just aimed a gun at my best friend for you!"

  He had, hadn't he? I'd dragged him down into moral hell and now had probably killed him. No one could stop Julian.

  "Where should we go?" I asked.

  "Anywhere away from here," he said. "It'll be light soon, so catching a plane is out. You go upstairs and change clothes. We'll have to hole up in a motel for a day or two and figure something out." He knelt down next to me. "I don't mean to sound like this. I know what William was to you."

  People say those words all the time-almost a cliche. But Wade really did know.

  My torn, bloody tank hung at an odd angle over one shoulder. Knowing he was right about changing clothes, I stumbled back up to Maggie's room. Would it be the last time? Would her lovely room pass out of my life as she had?

  Numbly, I got undressed and then pulled on a clean pair of jeans, and a long, oversized T-shirt. Then I found a knee-length wool coat, black but thin and lightweight.

  A drawer slammed downstairs. I heard Wade's feet shuffling about rapidly, as if he was in a hurry. After saying good-bye to Maggie's room, her creation, for the last time, I went back down to find my companion stuffing a small box inside his sweatshirt.

  "What's that?"

  "Nothing. I'll show you later," he said.

  Ashes floated up from William's body, like dandelions gone to seed.

  Chapter 15

  I woke up the following night with lingering memories of Wade carrying me into a hotel room as the sun came up. What happened? Bits and pieces of memory floated back like a chill wind. William's death, Dominick's threats, Julian's inevitable arrival. Black world.

  Wade had become more than a simple asset. My behavior the previous night embarrassed me beyond words. He'd taken over and protected me, dragged me out of Maggie's house, and checked us into a hotel.

  Now I was lying in a large bed. I sat up and looked around. The room had decent decor-not that I normally cared about such things-in soft blues and grays, with a cedar wardrobe closet. Someone had covered the windows with thick blankets. Wade was sleeping in a chair a few feet away from me, his head lolling back, blond hair in a mess, the Beretta in his lap. He still wore his jeans and the faded Colorado State sweatshirt.

  "Wade?"

  His eyes clicked open. "Yeah?"

  "Where are we?"

  "Kirkland, northeast of Seattle."

  "Did you hide the car?"

  "Yeah."

  We'd taken a taxi to a twenty-four-hour Hertz office, and then Wade rented a Toyota Prius. I didn't like the idea of using a credit card-in case Dom found a way to track us-but Wade assured me that his partner no longer had any form of police access. And we didn't have a choice. I can remember not too many years ago being able to pay for almost anything in cash… but not anymore.

  By the time he got us to the hotel, I was falling dormant and no longer cared how he paid for the room.

  Now he just sat staring into empty space.

  "This is a nice room," I said.

  "You like it? It's my first hideout."

  "I should get out of here. When Julian finds us, he'll kill yo
u."

  "What?" His expression turned incredulous. "You're just going to leave? After last night, after everything that's happened, you're going to say ‘thanks' and take off?"

  "What do you want? If you stay with me, you'll die. If Dominick doesn't kill you, Julian will. No matter what you've seen of me so far, I'm faster than you, I'm probably stronger, and I know how to disappear. I also know how to make people help me."

  "Like me?"

  "You're different, and you know it."

  "How?" He got up, grasping the gun, his voice bordering on hysteria. "How am I different? You aren't using me?"

  What was I supposed to say?

  His feelings actually mattered to me. "Last night when I saw you sitting on the steps at Maggie's, bringing you over to my side seemed like a good idea. I did use my gift a bit, but not much, and not anymore. If you help me now, it's because you want to."

  He calmed slightly. "What are these gifts you keep talking about?"

  "When we're turned, a strong personality trait grows into a hypnotic aura, impossible for mortals to resist. Maggie's was sexual attraction. Julian's is fear."

  "What's yours?"

  "Helplessness. People perceive me as small and frightened. Some feel a need to hurt or take advantage. Some feel an overwhelming urge to protect."

  "And you kill them?"

  "Usually the ones who fall into category A."

  His gaze fell to the carpet. "Do you need to take a shower?"

  The sudden change of topic relieved me. I was glad to talk about anything else. My T-shirt was still clean but wrinkled. "Yes, but I don't have any other clothes."

  "Me either. All my stuff is with Dominick."

  "Oh, that's right. Sorry."

  "Doesn't matter."

  I walked into a surprisingly large bathroom and stood under steaming water for ten full minutes. It felt good, comforting. Small bottles of hotel shampoo and conditioner sat on the tub. I washed my hair and face slowly, not thinking about reality or Maggie or William… or Wade. I got dressed in the same set of clothes I'd slept in.

  Wade was lying quietly on the bed, watching television, when I came back out. His gun lay on the nightstand.

  "You should probably order some food," I said.

  He nodded. "What about you?"

  "No, I'm okay. I fed last… Don't worry."

  Something new passed behind his eyes. Something unreadable. "If we get stuck hiding, and you can't get out, could you feed on my blood without killing me?"

  "What?"

  "Could you?"

  The thought frightened me. "Don't talk like that. You're my-"

  "I'm your what?" he pressed, his brown eyes intense.

  "Just don't say that. How can you think it?"

  Slipping inside his head for half a second before he pushed me out, a startling desire flashed through-and I'm not easily startled. He wanted me to. The thought of my mouth on his neck excited him.

  "It isn't like that," I said. "It's ugly and painful. Your throat wouldn't heal completely for weeks, maybe months."

  Humiliation colored his face. He'd been casually reading everyone else's thoughts, needs, and drives since childhood. Fair turnabout shamed him. I felt bad for causing him embarrassment.

  Everybody has weird thoughts sometimes. I didn't know what to say to make him feel better, so I crawled up onto the bed and laid my wet head on his stomach. A moment later, he reached out to stroke my hair.

  "I love you," he said quietly.

  No matter how abrupt or out of place this declaration might be, it didn't surprise me.

  "No, you don't," I answered. "You feel close to me because we've shared private memories… because we're caught in the same trap. You don't even know me."

  I'm sure my blunt dismissal must have hurt him, but it was for the best. He was quiet for a long time, and then he asked, "Have you ever loved anyone besides William?"

  "Edward, but not like you think. I didn't live a mortal life long enough to learn much about human relationships."

  "What was his gift?"

  "Charm. And besides Julian's terror, it's the strongest pull I've ever felt. Everyone adored Edward, like Laurence Olivier and Peter Pan rolled into one."

  "How many others are there… like you?"

  "Only Philip and Julian as far as I know. They might have made others by now. But I don't think so. Julian hates most other vampires."

  The word «vampires» caused him to wince. "It seems odd there are so few you know about. Did Julian turn Edward?"

  "No, that's a long story." I paused. "Do you want to see it?"

  Wade truly was unusual; the prospect of another trip down undead memory lane perked him up. "Yeah, can you start where you left off?"

  Without answering, I sat up, grasped his hand, and let my focus flow back.

  Back to Edward.

  Chapter 16

  Edward

  Eleisha felt only confusion when the heavy merchant ship stopped moving. The tiny hold space she and William shared reeked of rotting rat corpses. Sailors had long since ceased to check on the hold's two passengers.

  "We've stopped, William," she whispered through cracked lips. "Perhaps we're in port."

  "Time for lunch, then. Yes, yes, must be time for lunch."

  Too weak to argue or answer, Eleisha left him and crawled up the cargo hold stairs. Their good fortune that the ship had reached dock at night suddenly occurred to her. What would have happened had they docked during the day, while she and William slept? Would the sailors have begun to unload wooden boxes around them?

  "William," she called quietly, "we have to get off right now."

  No answer.

  She hurried back to find him crouched over. "What's wrong?"

  "Can't leave. Haven't had tea. Haven't had lunch. Wait for Julian."

  "Come on." She pulled his arm over her shoulder. "We have to get off now."

  They also had to hide from the crew. Even without a mirror, she knew what a skeletal sight she must be. She only had to look at William to imagine her own condition. They both smelled of filth and dried blood. But she understood his fear. What sort of land was America? What sort of people lived in this place?

  Peering up on deck, Eleisha saw a busy crew. No one paid attention to the hatch door. A wide plank extended to the dock. It was surprisingly easy for Eleisha and William to slip past the sailors, off the ship, and run toward some faded wooden shacks on the shore.

  They hid in the mud by a decaying wall, William panting in wordless panic. Eleisha looked around. Now what? Not since Julian pulled her from the bedroom closet had she felt so out of control.

  "Well, I must say." A smooth voice flowed through the night. "This is hardly what I expected. Two fugitives in rags?"

  She leapt up, casting about for a stick or a rock. "Who's there?"

  "Oh, calm yourself."

  A man of medium height stepped into view. He wore the most outlandish costume she'd ever seen. His short, dark hair was topped by an absurdly wide-brimmed hat, and a black cape with purple silk lining billowed out over a too-large white shirt. "What do you think?" he said, smiling. "I thought to look the part. Julian has no imagination, you know." He stepped close enough to see Eleisha clearly. "Oh, dear."

  Positioning her body in front of William's, she asked, "Who are you?"

  "This is Lord William Ashton, is it not?" The man's foppish manner faded by the second.

  Hope, or the barest hint of it, made her cautious. "How do you know that?" She stumbled from weakness and then caught herself.

  "Julian sent me a letter by clipper ship. It arrived a week ago. He asked me to meet you here. I owe him a favor."

  "Can you help us?" she whispered.

  For an answer, he reached out and caught her as she collapsed.

  "What have you been feeding on?" His tone sounded hard now, completely serious.

  "Rats."

  "My God." He grasped William's wrist. "Come, I have a carriage."

  Eleisha d
idn't remember how he managed to get them both to the carriage. But her coherence returned as he led them into a building with red velvet wallpaper and a sign that read "Croissant House Hotel."

  "I have guests," he snapped at the desk clerk. "Have fresh towels sent up at once."

  "Yes, Mr. Claymore."

  He led them into a room of braided rugs, velvet couches, curved wooden tables, and fringed, floor-length drapes.

  "Are you a lord?" Eleisha asked.

  "Moi? Hardly." Some of his earlier joviality returned. "No one cares a whit for such things here. The only thing that counts here is money. If the Prince of Wales showed up tomorrow without a dime to his name, they'd ignore him completely. I am simply Edward Claymore."

  "What's a dime?"

  "Oh, dear."

  He helped William over to a couch. "Would you like to rest, Lord William?"

  "Time for tea. Yes, it's time."

  Edward looked at Eleisha. "Is he delirious?"

  "No, he's always like that. It's an illness."

  "That's impossible. We can't become ill."

  She sank to the floor. Nothing this man said made any sense. He seemed nearly as much at a loss himself. Her physical appearance stirred him into action again, and he hurried into a second room. She heard the sound of splashing water.

  "I'm running you a bath," he said. "Go ahead and climb in. You'll feel better when you're clean. Then we must talk. I promised to meet you, not play nursemaid."

  Eleisha walked in and beheld a porcelain tub with a metal spigot on one end. Steaming water poured from the spigot directly into the tub. She stared in amazement, then took off her clothes and stepped in. When the depth reached a dangerously high level, she called, "Mr. Claymore, how do you make the water stop?"

  Her amazement grew when he walked in without even knocking. Startled for an instant, she leaned over to cover herself.

  "Oh, please," he said. "I should think you'd be past that by now."

  He turned some tiny levers, and the water ceased flowing. Then he looked up at her thin, pale body and dull hair. "How long has it been since you've really fed?"

  She knew she should be burning with shame, sitting there naked… but somehow, she wasn't.