by Barb Hendee
"What do you mean?"
"Since you've hunted?"
The warm bathwater felt soothing, but she stared at Edward in confusion, wanting to understand him, wanting to communicate.
"When did Julian turn you?" he asked.
"Turn me? The night we left, I think. He opened his wrist and put it in my mouth. Then he put us on the ship."
"Without telling you anything?"
"He told me to take care of William and stay in the darkness."
Edward fell silent. Small drops of water dripped from the spigot into the overfull tub. What was he thinking? Eleisha could tell that she and William were somehow a great deal more trouble than Julian had led this man to believe. Finally he picked up the soap.
"Lean back. Your hair is filthy."
"Shouldn't someone stay with William? He won't remember where he is."
"I put a blanket over him. He's lying by the fire."
"Thank you."
In a world turned upside down, Eleisha sat quietly in the water, letting Edward wash her hair and face and neck. Back in Wales, during her infrequent baths, she was so modest that she kept her shift on in front of Marion. But she somehow felt connected to this man standing beside the tub, as if his ministrations were commonplace. He was gentle and thorough, making her rinse twice. She tried to reach for a towel afterward, but he stopped her.
"No, don't get out yet." Indecision weighed heavily on his face. "I can't believe I'm doing this." Putting his own wrist to his teeth, he ripped pale skin down to open veins. "Open your mouth."
She didn't argue or question or even wonder at her own lack of character for obeying him like a child. The blood in his arm didn't taste like anything. Her consciousness barely registered the physical action of sucking or drawing at all. But heat and energy pushed through her with a tingling satisfaction unlike anything in her memory. Strength and speed and desire to live seemed tangible, attainable again. William must be cared for, protected…
"That's enough."
Edward's voice broke through as he disengaged her tightly clutching fingers from his wrist. Realization of what had just taken place sent her spinning into the void again.
"What am I?" she asked.
With an expression close to-but not quite-pity, her newfound caretaker dampened a cloth and wiped her mouth. "Julian should be disemboweled for this. An old man and a child. But I feel your gift… I think. We'll stay here a few nights, and you'll understand."
She watched him wrap a cloth around his wrist and then let him dry her with a thick purple towel. Neither one spoke.
Sitting by the fire the next night, she felt safe and clean for the first time in weeks. Their hotel room delighted her senses with its reds and purples and velvet textures-nothing like Cliffbracken. Edward had somehow arranged for a black silk evening gown to be delivered, fit for Lady Katherine. Eleisha found it pretentious and a needless waste of fabric, but it brought coos of approval from Edward and words such as "marvelous." She wanted to please him. No matter what hidden emotions motivated him, his actions were kind.
While he might have been unwilling to answer many of her personal questions, he proved to be a wealth of information about their location.
"You landed in Southampton, one of the oldest cities this country boasts-still young by decent standards. Actually, I live on the lower west side of Manhattan. Wonderful place, teeming with life. The whole city keeps burning down, and they just build it right back again. Marvelous. We'll begin traveling back later this week."
He chatted on while boiling her a cup of mint tea. "Here, now," he said, "try a sip of this. It's one of the few mortal pleasures we can still enjoy-in weak doses. Something about the mint gives me a sense of comfort."
She sipped from a bone china teacup. "It's good."
"Wonderful stuff. But that's about the extent of what you can consume, except perhaps dark, very fruity red wine. Julian did tell you not to eat any food, didn't he? Our bodies can't pass waste anymore, so alien substances just sit and rot. I've heard terrible stories. But a few liquids in small doses seem to agree and dissipate."
"It's nice to drink tea again."
"Quite. Try to get Lord William to take a little. He's weak. I tried feeding him from my wrist last night. He wouldn't swallow, just spat and choked."
"That happened the night we left Wales, too. But on the ship, he seemed to draw more energy from the rats than I could."
Edward's dark eyebrows knitted. Tonight he wore well-tailored black trousers, a pressed white shirt, and a dinner jacket. She liked the way he combed his hair straight back so his pale forehead was bare.
"Can you tell me what happened before all that?" he asked.
Talking over tiny sips of tea, Eleisha started with Lord William's first signs of illness and worked her way to the nightmare journey to New York, watching Edward's face shift from wonder to disgust and back again. She left nothing out.
"Well, that explains my part in this," he said finally.
"What do you mean?"
"I'm a selfish bastard and Julian knows it. He's probably trying to absolve his own conscience without really helping you. He sent me a message to meet you, knowing I can't stand filth or imperfection. I should have cut and run, leaving-pardon my bluntness-an ignorant child to care for the old coot. You would have failed and probably been beheaded by some Irish immigrant from the old country. That great fear-emanating pig could comfortably blame everyone but himself."
Eleisha glared at him. "You're being unfair. Julian loves his father. He never wanted this. You didn't hear the things Lady Katherine said to him."
"It's quite rude to be loyal to someone I'm criticizing. Please don't do it again." He took her empty cup. "But we'll just disappoint him. I think you and Lord William might remain safe a bit longer."
She smiled up at him, thinking how vain and shallow the man behind this charming facade must be.
Not understanding him at all.
When she woke up on the third evening, Edward's bed lay empty. She searched the hotel room without finding him. A physical emptiness like hunger agitated her, and his absence brought her close to panic. William slept heavily on the couch, as though too weak to move.
Where had Edward gone?
This absolute dependence upon him bothered her, but nothing could be done about it now. To strike out with William on her own would be stupid, probably suicidal.
She was on the brink of walking down to the lobby and asking for messages when Edward swept in, carrying a struggling, yowling burlap sack, his handsome face etched in anger.
"For God's sake, help me."
"What is it?" Eleisha asked.
"An alley cat. Lord William has to feed on something. This is madness. If he can't hunt, he should be put out of his misery."
"No."
"Then you feed him! I've got claw marks up both arms."
"A cat? We have to kill a cat?"
"Have you a better idea?"
"Why do we feed on blood anyway? That's the madness, not William's age."
"It isn't blood; it's life force." Edward grew calmer. "And we ought to feed him so we can go hunting ourselves. I just hope this works. No one sells a handbook for the care and nursing of wrinkled-up undeads, you know."
He appeared so frustrated, Eleisha took the bag.
"William," she whispered. "Wake up."
His lids fluttered. Without thinking, she reached in, caught the cat with both hands, and snapped its back, not caring that it raked her hand. Weeks ago, the thought of breaking an animal in such a fashion would have sickened her. Now the act seemed merely an unfortunate reality. Biting into the cat's throat, she tore fur open to expose veins and white, daisy-chained vertebrae.
William's eyes snapped open.
"Here," she said, putting it to his mouth.
He bit down greedily, as though starved, red liquid spilling down both sides of his chin. Eleisha kept expecting to feel guilt or nausea but didn't. Edward left the room.
&nb
sp; He came back a moment later with her black gown. "Get dressed. It's our turn."
"For what?"
"To hunt."
"Couldn't you have brought something back for us?"
"Oh, capital idea. Just waltz them past the desk clerk and dump their bodies out the window, I suppose?"
"Whose bodies?"
As those two words escaped her lips, Edward started in surprise. Some form of realization flickered in his eyes. "Get dressed, Eleisha," he ordered. "And do something with your hair."
Twenty minutes later, they were walking down a Southampton street, her hand inside his arm, striking the sharp image of a wealthy couple. But something felt wrong. She sensed it in his silence, in an intimate tension so thick she had to hold on to him to keep from running.
"Where are we going?" she whispered.
He didn't answer.
An enormous number of strangers passed them. How could so many people live in one place? How could there possibly be enough food and water? And they were all dressed in such various forms. Edward sported a tailored brown suit tonight. Similarly dressed gentlemen tipped their hats to him, and factory workers in rags moved out of his way.
"It's so crowded," she said.
"Wait till you see Manhattan." Her companion finally spoke. "There are sixty-four thousand Irish immigrants alone."
"Sixty-four thousand?"
"That's why I live there. No one is ever missed."
She pulled her hand away. "Why are you acting like this?"
"Because I don't know what else to do." He ran a hand across his face and suddenly motioned to an alley. "In here."
Pushing her up against a brick wall with his chest, his face moved closer until she could see tiny swollen blood vessels behind green irises.
"Can you read, Eleisha?"
"Let go of me."
"Can you read?"
"A little."
His grip reminded her vaguely of Julian's strength-only Edward moved more like a tree, flexible and solid at the same time. Unable to disengage him physically, she fingered the fabric of his jacket and dropped her gaze.
"You're hurting me," she murmured.
His hands jerked back as though she were on fire; a mask of fear flickered across his face. "Don't you ever try using that on me again!" he spat. "I'll drop you in the East River."
Her actions had been instinctive, without thought. "What did I do?"
Stomping his feet on the ground while walking in a small circle to regain control of himself, he muttered, "Should've thrown myself in the river when that clipper ship hit dock."
"Why did you bring me out here?" she asked.
"To hunt! You really don't understand, do you? I've never seen any vampire who could seep power like you before she'd even made a kill. God knows what you'll be like in a few months."
"What are you talking about?"
"How can you be so dense? Don't you have the slightest clue? We are dead, Eleisha. And we aren't dead. We'll never get any older, but have to draw life from those we kill. I fed you from my own arm. Where do you think that blood came from? A cat?"
She stared at him. "You killed someone?"
"I've been killing for the past twenty-six years," he hissed softly. "That's what we are. It's what we do. And I can't believe that I'm actually standing here, explaining this to you."
"I won't murder other people."
"Then you'll starve. Life force from animals won't give you enough energy. After a while, you'll grow too weak to move at all and live forever in a state of frozen, emaciated agony. No one will take care of Lord William, and the same thing will happen to him. Isn't that a pretty scene?"
For the first time in her life, Eleisha experienced hatred, not for Julian who had done this to her, but for Edward who told the truth. Rational or not, she hated him for forcing the reality of existence on her and for leaving her no control and no way out.
"Follow me," he whispered. "Don't ask questions, and just follow me."
With no other choice, she walked behind him out of the alley and into a small pub. The smoke and human smells and crush of bodies caught her senses. Wooden tables, pints of beer, men playing cards, brightly dressed women in tight corsets…
What a different place. So busy and unaware of itself. Everyone so intent on individual activities.
Then she noticed Edward's face. All traces of stress and pain had vanished, leaving only foppish, cynical humor. "Gregory, old man," he called to the bartender, "marvelous apron tonight. Did you wash it?"
Several heads turned in pleasure at the sound of Edward's voice. Eleisha observed the cheerful effect he had.
"Black heart," one of the barmaids said, smiling. "Matilda's nearly wasted away just waitin' for you to come back in."
"How many times have you been here?" Eleisha asked softly.
"Once. Last week."
The extent of Edward's popularity kept everyone's attention on him as he flirted with barmaids, teased the bartender, and joked with customers. But his eyes never strayed far from the door. No one besides Eleisha noticed a lone sailor who paid his tab and left.
"I've kept you all from serious drinking long enough," Edward said a moment later. "Off to a late supper now."
Laughing over loud protests, he handed Eleisha her cape, and they stepped outside. What happened in the next few moments took place so fast she almost couldn't follow the order of events. They caught up with the sailor outside another alley, and Edward suddenly jingled a change purse.
"Excuse me," he said. "I think you dropped your pouch."
When the sailor turned to see who had hailed him, a relaxed smile curved his lips. "Oh, hello. Don't think that's mine. Someone else might have dropped it."
"Are you sure? It struck the ground right behind you."
Holding it out like an offering, Edward waited until the sailor leaned over to inspect the purse. Before the actual movement registered, both men disappeared inside the alley, and Eleisha heard bones cracking.
Just like the cat.
Her companion had chosen a good time and place. No one else passed by to hear the struggle. Not that it was much of a struggle. She moved into the dark alley mouth only seconds later to see Edward leaning over a slumped form.
"It's time," he said.
"I can't."
But as she looked at the open throat, exposed veins, red fluid running down onto the ground, a hunger-and not a hunger-sent her memory into a wavering haze. Had this source ever talked and moved and danced? Or was it just a source? A wellspring?
"This pulls at you," Edward whispered. "Don't let yourself think."
He reached out and gently took her wrist. No pulling back. No fighting. She let him draw her forward, and then knelt down on her own.
The experience was similar to feeding on Edward's arm but more intense. The warm liquid was sweet. Heat raced through her while pictures of ocean waves and fistfights and a brown-haired woman etched themselves into her brain. After the initial physical connection, she was no longer conscious of her mouth on the sailor's throat, only the strength and pleasure and energy his life force brought.
Just as she could take no more, she felt his heartbeat stop. When she lifted her head, she saw torn-edged flesh and two dead eyes staring up into empty space.
Euphoria faded.
Edward's hand touched her hair. Turning, she hid her face in his chest, forgetting she might get blood on his jacket, not hating him anymore.
On the fourth night, they began traveling to Manhattan in Edward's carriage.
"The trip should take three days or so if we don't dally," he said, falling into his charming fop routine. Perhaps he played it so often the personality had become part of him. "I know a delicious little dress shop on Market Field Street. It's divine. We'll buy you something low-cut in red taffeta."
A handsome pair of bay horses trotted ahead of the carriage, pulling it away from the Croissant House Hotel. Eleisha felt sorry to be leaving. The hotel room had grown comfortably saf
e.
"Once more into the breach, dear friends," Edward called, snapping his whip in the air.
Despite the fact that he seemed genuinely glad to be heading for home, he was also avoiding any serious conversation. Not that she blamed him. What could they say? Last night had been brutal and emotionally exhausting. She didn't want to think about it, much less discuss it. And getting William into the carriage had been a nightmare. Although stronger from feeding on the cat, he was also more aware of his surroundings and terrified that Edward might be taking him back to the ship. Eleisha's coaxing and comforting did little to help. In the end, Edward lost his patience, slapped William hard enough to daze him, and then carried him outside like a sack of potatoes past the openmouthed desk clerk.
All in all, it hadn't been an easy night. Edward's empty chatter soothed Eleisha while she rocked William back and forth, assuring him there was no ship in sight.
She felt surprisingly safe beginning a new journey so soon after finishing the last one. But her trust in Edward was profound. He may not have been an overwhelming force like Julian, but he was strong and careful, no matter how frivolous he might pretend to be.
"Do you live in a house?" she asked.
"No, a hotel suite. You'll like it." He glanced over at William. "Can you put him to sleep?"
"Maybe. Why?"
"Because we'll have to cross W-A-T-E-R in a short while, and he's going to throw a fit."
"Can't you go another way?"
"No. Haven't I shown you a map of New York yet? We're on Long Island. Southampton's cut off by a small bit of the Peconic Bay. Just a sliver, but we need to take a ferry."
"How much farther?"
"About ten miles."
She hated to talk in front of William as if he weren't there, but Edward made sense. She continued rocking the old lord until he drifted off. Ten miles later, the carriage moved right up onto the ferry without stopping. William slept through the entire process.
"Capital," Edward sighed when they had safely crossed. "I was afraid I'd have to hit him again."
"You need to be more patient."
"If I'd resorted to patience, we'd still be sitting in the hotel."
His tone waxed humorous, though, good-natured. She smiled up at him, pretending they were a brother and sister escorting their grandfather on holiday, playing Edward's foppish game and forgetting reality if only for a little while.