Blood Memories

Chapter 18

I woke up in the bed alone.

We'd watched television until nearly dawn when my eyelids grew heavy. But we'd been out on the couch. I didn't remember coming in here.

Long, heavy blankets covered the draped windows to block out any light from the sun. Of course darkness had settled by now. Where was Wade?

Hopping up, I walked out into the suite's living room and found it empty. Didn't this guy ever sleep? He was definitely an original. I suddenly considered slipping out the door and disappearing before he came back. Somehow, his life seemed to be worth more than my undead existence. Leaving him here would cut him deeply, but staying could mean his death. And even more than that, what if he actually lived through this? Could he go back to being Dr. Wade Sheffield? Mortals often identify their self-worth with their occupation, as if what they do is an integral part of what they are.

But sooner or later, for better or worse-probably worse-a final-act curtain would drop down on this macabre play. Whoever was left in one piece would have to go on to the future. Did Wade remember that?

I heard movement outside the door, and then he walked in with an armload of shopping bags.

"Where were you?" I asked.

He dropped the bags. "Take a wild guess."

"Oooh, you're too funny." I walked over to see what he'd been up to. "Shopping?"

"Yeah, come look. We both needed some new clothes." He pulled out a pair of Levi's and a brown T-shirt with long sleeves. "Size four, right?"

"You bought me clothes?" He never ceased to astound me. "How did you know my size?"

"Lucky guess. Sorry this stuff's so basic. But we're going to be running a lot."

This was getting out of hand, and he'd seen way too many movies. I was about to give him our survival chances when he yawned. "Did you sleep at all today?" I asked.

"A little this morning," he said.

"You won't be good to anyone like that. Come on. Lie down for a while, and I'll stand guard over your prone, helpless body, okay?"

Hiding my concern behind humor had always worked well for me. He didn't even argue. While he got ready for bed, I went into the bathroom and changed clothes. He even bought me new underwear and socks.

"Do they fit?" he called.

I walked out to find him under the blankets, eyes about half closed. "Yeah, you did a good job. Thanks, Wade."

My approval pleased him. "Wake me in a few hours."

"Sure, I'll be in the living room."

He was already breathing softly. I closed the door and went to make a cup of tea. We were going to have a long talk when he woke up. What did he think tomorrow would bring? Endless running and living in fancy hotels with me? He had absorbed my memories in detail. Didn't he realize what we were up against?

The room suddenly felt cold. Where was the thermostat? Glancing around, I saw movement by the curtains. A shadow.

"Didn't think you'd ever notice me," a soft voice whispered. "Lost in thought?"

Three facts registered instantly. Masculine. French. No available weapons.

I drew back against the wall. "Philip?"

Only once. I'd seen him only once before. How shortsighted. Julian felt William die. The possible threat of Philip had hit me the night Maggie died, but a great deal had happened since then. Concentrating so completely on Julian, I had forgotten about Philip. How did he get in here? Had Wade left the door unlocked?

"You have some stories to tell, little one," he whispered in a heavy accent. "What happened to my Maggie?"

He stepped out of the shadows, and I looked at him, wordless. He didn't look like Maggie… but he was so much like her. His beauty must have blinded hundreds, thousands. He was tall-slender and muscular at the same time. Thick, red-brown hair hung halfway down his back, and amber eyes stared out of a narrow, ivory face. He and Maggie shared the same gift. But this time, the pull affected me.

It felt as if I were staring into the sun at noon.

Gifts.

He was a killer without thought. Snuffing out my existence and Wade's meant less than nothing. I was not immune to his gift, indeed probably more susceptible since it was new to me. But then again, he wasn't immune to mine either. I crossed my arms in fear and looked at the floor.

"Philip, don't hurt me."

Concentrate. Emanate. Get him on his knees.

"You're finally here," I said. "I kept hoping. I didn't know what to do."

His expression flickered. Could he feel it? Did he know what I was doing, or was he lost in some overinflated sense of forgotten manhood? He was so perfect. I'd never seen anything like him in my life-except Maggie.

A humorless smile curved the corners of his mouth. "We seem to be at a standoff, little one. Unexpected. Maggie tried to warn me, but her words were often exaggerated. Yet right now I feel an overwhelming urge to throw my body in front of a moving train to rescue your handkerchief."

A lie, and a stupid play. Showing that he already knew the score gave me an advantage. He liked to show off.

"How did you find me?"

"Followed you from Maggie's." He motioned with his head toward the bedroom. "Who's your pet?"

"No one. He's been helping me. If you sit down, I'll tell you everything."

I didn't tell him to sit down; that's the key to handling men like Philip. You can't tell them to do anything. You either ask them or make it seem like their own idea.

He crossed to a chair, expression guarded. I felt torn for a moment. Sitting by his feet would give me the best psychological advantage, but getting that close to him was dangerous.

"If I had come to kill you, you would be dead," he said in a voice that sounded more sad than angry. Sorrow was no mystery to me, at least not anymore.

Moving to the floor by his knee, I focused on his black Hugo Boss pant legs and not his face.

Don't look at his face.

"Odd little thing," he said. "More than I expected."

"Do you remember the first night I saw you?"

"No, have you seen me?"

My words pleased him. He might have had some depth hidden away, but he thrived on attention.

"Yes, at Cliffbracken. You came in with Julian and Maggie late one night, but that was a long time ago."

"A long time ago," he echoed. "What happened to my Maggie?"

"How much do you know? She said she called you once."

"Only that Edward Claymore destroyed himself and mortal men chased you to Seattle."

Part of me wanted to say anything that would make him leave. I wanted him to go away. Wade slept helpless in the next room, and I knew no way to protect him. But another part of me understood Philip's confusion, his pain. Maggie had been a deadly work of art, and she'd barely outlasted two lifetimes. She should have gone far into the future. And now it was as though she'd never been.

"A policeman killed her," I said quietly, "named Dominick Vasundara."

Starting with the first night at Edward's, I gave him my version of the past six weeks, letting him know the kind of hunter Maggie truly had been, so competent and skilled-and still graceful. No matter how sick it sounds, that was my comfort for his loss. Perhaps that's another gift I'd developed, instinctive recognition of what others needed to hear. I left out Wade's psychic ability, though, and played up Dominick's psychometry.

"You cared for her?" he asked.

"She was good to me… and to William."

"I was close to the house when he died."

His words startled me, leaving no response. For the first time since watching him step away from the curtain, I looked into his eyes. Reckless or not, it felt like the right thing to do. He was searching for words, like a computer accessing memory banks for a correct response and finding none. No residual trace of humanity remained in Philip.

"It's all right," I told him. "You don't need to say anything."

"Julian would think us mad, no? Like two old ladies sad for things past."

I didn't know how to answer that, so I just sat there, looking at him.

"Maggie's voice changed the last time she telephoned," he said abruptly. "You gave her something I could not."

"What?"

"You tell me."

"Maybe she was just tired of being alone."

"Our kind lives alone, hunts alone. It's the way."

If he really believed that, he was as cracked as Julian. But Philip's expression reminded me of faces I hadn't seen since going to church as a child. Religion? Did we have a religion? If so, Edward certainly hadn't mentioned it.

"Why are we supposed to be alone?" I asked.

"Your maker once said we are the despised of God's children. We live in darkness and deserve no comfort."

"That's ridiculous. We used to be mortal ourselves. If that's true, where did the first vampires come from?"

"Spirits. Before the world was made, a mass of black clouds existed in its place. When God made the world, spirits rebelled and entered the bodies of dead mortals."

What? Did Julian believe any of this? Maybe Edward had been some sort of heathen or atheist, because he had never talked like this-not that I was buying into it either. But does it make any less sense than other religions? Does it sound any less plausible than four billion years of evolution being condensed into six days?

"So why did you make Maggie? Didn't you want her to stay with you?" I pitched my tone to suggest deference, childlike innocence. Challenging him would have been a mistake.

The question threw him anyway. "A crime… but letting her beauty fade seemed a sin. Not before, not since, has anyone matched my Maggie." He smiled weakly. "Julian would think us mad."

That was it. Possibly not even in life had Philip experienced true loss, mourning. Emotion confused him, and this kind of pain was new.

"Why did you come here, Philip?"

"For you. I came for you."

The ambiguity of his answer brought fear rushing back. I rolled over and up, gauging the distance to Wade's door.

"Worried about your pet?"

"He's not a pet."

"You should silence him, little one. He knows what you are, doesn't he?"

I wanted to smash his face with a brass lamp, but I'd lose, and Wade would die. "No, please. He doesn't know much-just some guy I seduced for help. Don't hurt him."

That was a bad play, and Philip knew it. Vampires don't worry about each other, much less about one insignificant mortal.

"You are a curious thing," he said. "But when Julian comes, your pet will die anyway. Come with me, and he might live."

"Why would you want that?"

"Maggie helped you. Edward helped you. At the beginning, they were on the brink of despair. Oh, don't look so shocked. I know more of Edward than you think. He'd have jumped off a porch a hundred years sooner were it not for you." His handsome face grew intense. "What did you give them?" he demanded.

"Nothing."

"Come, tell me. I am more than Edward was."

Bastard. He was taking me whether I wanted to go or not. Defeat ebbed my power, faded my gift, brought anger to the surface. "You're nothing compared to Edward. Would you take in an orphan and a half-mad undead? Bathe them? Feed them from your arm? Don't compare yourself to him."

I might as well have slapped him. Perhaps no one ever spoke to him like that. He took a step toward me and stopped. "Odd thing. Cold without your gift."

"As you."

Gazing down, his eyes reminded me of Maggie's again. Did he have any of her fire for living? For hunting? Compassion for old cripples like William? Or was he empty?

And then it occurred to me that everyone else was really gone-except Julian, who didn't count. If I wanted companionship from my own kind, Philip was the last boy in town. Sorry thought.

"Come with me," he said. "Your little friend will live."

Wade deserved to live, more than the rest of us. But what would he think upon waking? That I'd deserted him? It didn't matter. Maybe he'd go back home and be safe.

Stopping only to pick up Maggie's wool coat, I got up and followed Philip.