Hunting Memories

Chapter 2

Julian Ashton had fled to his family estate in Wales like a victim, like a coward-or at least that's how he viewed it.

His gift was fear, and he was accustomed to inducing the emotion, not to experiencing it himself. The only thing he feared was a telepathic member of his own kind, and he had destroyed the last one a long time ago.

He felt no remorse for this. He had taken simply necessary action and ensured his own survival… until now.

For centuries, his kind had existed by four laws, and the most sacred of these was "No vampire shall kill to feed." They'd retained their secrecy through telepathy, feeding on mortals, altering a memory, and then leaving the victim alive. New vampires required training from their makers to both awaken and hone psychic abilities, but Julian's telepathy had never surfaced. He had lived by his own laws, and so the elders began quietly turning against him. His maker, Angelo Travare, had tried to hide this news from him, but he knew. He heard the rumblings, and he had acted first, beheading every vampire who'd lived by the laws, including Angelo-who would have turned against him sooner or later. Angelo had hoped that Julian would eventually develop his powers, but this was a false hope, and Julian knew it.

He began to see a new path, a world without laws.

Vampires without telepathy-without any training by a maker-were no threat to him. On some level, he almost viewed them as kindred spirits.

Then… a month ago, without reason or warning, Eleisha, once his servant, had suddenly manifested psychic abilities so powerful she had forced her thoughts into his and taken over his mind, his body, his free will.

To make matters worse, she seemed to have won the protection of Philip Brantй!

Eleisha had warned Julian off and then let him go, but he knew this was far from over.

Even after a month of hiding out in Cliffbracken, where he had always felt secure, his hands still shook at the memory of her thoughts pushing inside his. He had been completely helpless to stop her.

Of course she knew nothing of the past, of the elders, of the laws, but Julian's world had shifted, and he was uncertain what to do.

What would happen as her power grew stronger?

Since returning, he'd spent much of his time in the main floor study, but earlier tonight, he had made his way down into the depths of his decaying family manor, and he paced the hard mud floor of what had once been a dungeon, back in the days of his grandfather.

He was in the guard room, surrounded by small cells.

Why had he come down here?

Something had called him, something from the past. Julian was not one to dwell on mistakes or sins, but a small part of him had never quite left this room, never stopped eating away at him for what he'd done here one night in 1839.

He walked over to the nearest cell and looked inside. It was empty. He turned and looked at the floor of the guard room.

Empty.

He was alone, and yet he could still see the shadows, still hear the ghosts.

Closing his eyes, he let his mind drift back until he heard his mother, Lady Katherine, screaming and beseeching him to help his father, Lord William. Julian had cared nothing for his mother. She was a coldhearted, self-centered woman. But watching his father sink deeper and deeper into dementia had proven too much.

He remembered the feeling in the pit of his stomach as he sank his teeth into his own father's neck and then cut himself, forcing his father to drink, to take all the blood back.

He remembered the horror of realizing what he'd done as Lord William dropped to the floor drooling and gibbering, locked forever in undead madness.

Then he'd locked his father in a cell, in the same dungeon his ancestors had used to make their enemies suffer.

But even down here, Lord William had not been far enough away, not nearly far enough.

The following night, Julian dragged Eleisha down into the same dungeon. He turned her and put them both on a ship bound for New York.

He had stolen her life and condemned her.

And now, after all this time, she had become telepathic, like the vampires of a past era.

What would she do as she dwelled on the memories of what he'd done to her? And how was he to know when she finally came after him?

He grew sick with fear, his own gift turning in upon itself.

He had to take some kind of action.

Pulling his gaze from the cell, he walked back through the guard room and down a short corridor to a secret passage that led to the stairwell going up.

Unable to rest his mind, he had been poring over one idea after the next regarding how to keep track of Eleisha's location. As he could not yet bring himself to leave Cliffbracken, he had few options, and none of them appealed to him.

But the same one continued to resurface in his mind. He'd flatly refused to even entertain the idea the first time it occurred to him, and he pushed it away. But every time it came back, he considered it a few moments longer… until one night, two weeks after returning here, he had used his cell phone and Visa card to order several newspapers from America.

Moving up the enclosed stairwell, he stopped on the first landing and then emerged onto the main floor of the manor, stepping out into the study.

The furniture, books, and shelves were covered in dust.

He still engaged a few servants to care for the place, but he'd ordered them to stay out of this room.

He'd gone too far into preparations for any prying eyes.

Reluctantly, he walked over to the round oak table, where his father had once consumed afternoon tea while dealing with the house accounts.

But at night, his mother had used this same table for different purposes.

Julian tightened his lips in distaste.

She and a few of her bored female acquaintances had become fascinated with magical arts and contact with the dead. In the span of a few years, they spent a small fortune on books and charlatans who claimed to be mediums.

However, as with most things, his mother lost interest in this pursuit, and her number of sйances grew fewer and fewer. When Lord William began to lose his memory, Lady Katherine stopped inviting guests altogether.

But the occult books still remained here in the study.

A few that had provided him with general guidance were stacked upon the table.

Lives of the Necromancers: Or, an Account of the Most Eminent Persons in Successive Ages, Who Have Claimed for Themselves, or to Whom Has Been Imputed by Others, the Exercise of Magical Power by William Godwin.

Along with Dialogues of the Dead by George, First Baron Lyt telton.

But two books lay open. The smaller book-written in German-had given him more specific instructions regarding what he needed to do:

Geister Auffordern by Gottbert Drechsler.

The larger had proven most useful. It was so old that he could not find a publication date, and the cover was worn so thin, some of the letters weren't clear. He couldn't make out the complete title, but the words resembled Medius Excessum Universum. The Latin text inside was easier to read, and the book proved to be a startling treatise on the fates of souls trapped between worlds.

Three fat candles stood beside the books, and a new thermometer lay above them.

He hated all this… foolishness, as it reminded him too much of unnatural powers such as telepathy.

He remembered despising his mother for attempting to fill her life with such empty trifles. Of course she had never succeeded in summoning a ghost. She had no true connection to the dead, and she wasn't capable of understanding much of the material she'd read-especially the German.

But he did.

From what he had gleaned, only potential «summoners» with a connection to the dead could successfully call a spirit from the other side. In some accounts, this had included a person who had died briefly and been brought back to life. Another account in Drechsler's book involved a summoner who had been born with a kind of supernatural sense that allowed her to connect with those who had passed over. People like her were rare.

But Julian believed that he also possessed a connection. He was one of the living dead.

The last object on the table was a copy of the Seattle Times lying open to expose the obituaries.

He'd been scanning various papers, ignoring the numerous mundane deaths by car accident or cancer or heart disease, occasionally stopping upon a murder victim, but then passing the entry by.

Finally, three nights ago, he'd come upon a brief article-rather than a standard obituary-that made him pause longer.

Sixteen-year-old Mary Jordane of Bellevue, Washington, met a tragic death Tuesday night when she overdosed on her mother's prescription medications, combining Ambien with OxyContin. Her parents, Mat thew and Laura Jordane, were attending an art exhibition in Seattle. After taking the medication, Mary attempted to call her father's cell phone several times, unaware he had turned it off. She called 911, but the paramedics did not arrive in time, and she died en route to Overlake Hospital Medical Center. She is survived by her parents and her grandmother, Estelle Goodrich.

The article went on recounting mundane details. Julian studied the accompanying photo, which appeared to have been taken at school by a class photographer. Even posed, her face was angry, defiant, and unhappy. She had short, spiky hair dyed magenta and a nose stud.

Although Julian practiced the purity of isolation, he knew something of human nature, and he could read between the lines. This girl was addicted to attention and had probably worn her parents thin, forcing her to create larger and larger dramas. Julian did not believe she'd ever intended to commit suicide. She had overdosed and then called her father, knowing her parents would run home immediately.

Her plan failed.

This was the ghost he wanted.

She did not wish to be dead, suggesting a good chance that she remained on the bleak middle plane, trying to get back to this one. If so, he could manipulate her. He could use her.

Gathering the candles and the thermometer, he left the table and moved over to the threadbare Indian rug in the center of the study. He sat on the floor and arranged the candles in a triangle. Pulling a lighter from his pocket, he lit the candles and then laid the thermometer beside himself on the rug.

From what he had read, what he was about to attempt required no telepathic ability whatsoever, simply a connection to the dead. There were risks, but he was prepared.

Staring at the candles, he tried to clear his mind. At first he failed, dwelling on Eleisha's suddenly manifesting psychic ability, wondering how this came to be, wondering if the same thing could happen to Philip, whom he'd terrified and driven into solitude. What would Philip do if he ever gained power over Julian?

Even worse than Eleisha.

But Julian forced himself into a state of numb emptiness as he focused on the candles, on Mary Jordane's name, on the image of her face, on achieving a connection.

"Mary Jordane," he said aloud, and then he closed his eyes, picturing the middle plane of existence, the in-between place where lost souls wandered.

"Mary Jordane," he repeated more loudly. "I ask you to come to me. Hear my voice."

Julian never made requests. He gave orders. This practice of asking her to hear him felt alien.

At first, nothing happened, but he continued focusing on the image of her face, and he called her name over and over. The temperature in the room began to drop. He had built no fire, so it was cold already, but Julian could feel the difference. He didn't need to look at the thermometer.

Then he sensed a presence-nothing concrete, just a feeling. He opened his eyes, staring at the three candles, keeping everything from his mind except for the image of Mary Jordane, but he did not ask her to manifest yet.

"Are you there?" he asked without looking up. He needed to maintain his focus.

No one answered.

"Are you Mary Jordane?"

"Ask me to show myself and you'll see," said a female voice, sounding as if she was standing in the room.

He raised both hands. "Not yet."

Several of the texts had warned him that malevolent ghosts could masquerade as the person being called-seeking entry into the world of the living. He did not fear ghosts, but he wished to be certain he'd found Mary.

"How did you die?" he asked. "Let me feel how you died."

Nothing happened and the moments kept ticking.

Then he began to feel ill, nauseous and dizzy. The sensation was made worse by the fact that he had not felt such things for two hundred years. The floor rushed up, and he narrowly avoided hitting the nearest candle. He was sick, floating on wave after wave of nausea, and then he grew tired.

"Stop," he said hoarsely. "Stop now!"

His head cleared. He had found Mary.

"Show yourself!" he ordered. "I call on you."

The air in front him, just across the edge of the carpet, wavered and began to fill with color. A few seconds later, a transparent girl was staring back at him in surprise.

She looked younger than sixteen, skinny with a hint of budding breasts, wearing a purple T-shirt and a black mesh overshirt, torn jeans, and Doc Martens boots.

"I can see you," she gasped, as if she could still breathe. "How did you do that?" Her accent was common, like typical American trash. He was repulsed by the sight of her. He would not employ one such as her to scrub the floor of his kitchens.

She turned around in awe, taking in the study. "I'm here. I can see everything."

Now that he had succeeded in summoning this spirit, he was somewhat at a loss. The last thing he wanted to do was speak with her. He did not even care to speak with underlings here at the manor and preferred to pass down his orders in writing.

Mary stopped, looking at the shelves and candles and the antique table. "Wait… Where am I?"

"You are in Wales," he managed to answer.

"Wales? Where is that?"

Good God.

"They told me," she babbled on. "They told me if you called me to appear, I could cross over to this side. I never thought…" She faltered, taking in the sight of him.

"Who told you?"

"The others. They were jealous when you called my name."

But her words were spoken somewhat absently as she moved closer to him, studying him. He cared little for his own appearance anymore. He was a large man with a bone structure that almost made him look heavy. His dark hair hung at uneven angles around a solid chin. His feet were bare tonight. He wore black slacks and a loose shirt that hadn't been laundered in weeks.

"I don't know you," she said, sounding like a pensive, confused child. "The others… they thought maybe my mother hired someone to find me. Someone to help me cross over. And that's why I didn't know your voice. I didn't think I'd ever get back."

As she said this, he knew what to do.

"I require your services," he said.

"My what?"

"You're from the Seattle area. I need you to find out if someone is still there, and tell me where she is, what she does, where she goes."

Mary's demeanor changed, and she looked him up and down dismissively. "I don't think so. I'm going home."

Finding this conversation more and more difficult, he said, "Yes, I will let you go home eventually. But you must do as I say first."

Her transparent features twisted, making her nose stud rise slightly. "Screw that. I don't even know you."

He wasn't certain his gift would work on a ghost, but he let the aura of fear flow outward, filling the room. "I summoned you here," he said coldly. "And I can send you back with a word. Would you like to go back?"

Deep satisfaction washed through him at the sudden anxiety on her face.

But she surprised him by asking, "Is Wales a long way from Seattle?"

"Yes."

"Then how do I get there?"

He blew out the candles and stood up. "You're inside a stone manor, a large dwelling. Wish yourself outside, somewhere on the grounds."

She looked at him disbelief. Then she glanced away and her expression grew intense. She vanished.

He waited a few moments before attempting the most crucial part. If he could not succeed in his next attempt, the entire summoning was a failure.

"Mary Jordane!" he called loudly.

She instantly appeared before him. Her mouth fell open. "What the…?"

The sense of relief was sweet. She was his slave.

"Were you standing outside the manor?" he asked.

"Yeah." Her eyes were wide.

"I called you. I can call you to my side from anywhere at any time. And I can send you back to the lost souls, to the in-between plane, and leave you there forever. Do you understand?"

She didn't answer, but her eyes were locked into his. The reality of her situation was beginning to sink in.

"But if you serve me," he went on, "if you do as I ask, when my task for you is finished, I will release you and let you remain in this world. You can haunt your family, your old school, anyplace you please, and remain here among the living. Is that what you want?"

Slowly, she nodded. "Just how am I supposed to find someone I've never met in Seattle?"

Was she attempting to stand up to him? He knew that others might admire her spirit. He did not.

"Because ghosts like yourself are drawn to dead," he answered. "Eleisha is undead, a vampire."

"Like you?"

"Yes."

At least the girl wasn't completely stupid, and she appeared to be catching on more quickly than he initially expected. She must have sensed he wasn't alive almost as soon as she materialized.

"You simply have to focus upon a landmark in Seattle that you already know," he said. "From there, I think you'll be able to sense her."

"Someplace like the Seattle Center?"

"Yes."

"Okay… I know where that is. And if I do what you say, you won't send me back? When I'm done, I can just go home?"

If it were possible, he would have smiled. She might be trash, but she would serve him.

Three nights later, Eleisha stood between Wade and Philip in northwest Portland as they all gazed upward.

"You've got to be joking," Wade said in disbelief. "A church? Can you step inside?"

Philip didn't say anything.

Surprised that Wade would even entertain such old superstitions or trepidation about holy ground, Eleisha glanced over at him. "Of course we can. Don't be ridiculous."

Although both men had tried to pry hints from her, she'd refused to say a word about their destination, and after leaving the airport, she'd simply handed the taxi driver an address. She had seen this building only in photos, but standing in the churchyard, with the night-blooming roses winding up the tall, wrought-iron fence, she knew they had come to the right place.

The church was two stories high, constructed of red brick.

It looked like a haven.

She pulled the gate shut behind them and latched it. Then she fished a set of keys from her bag. "Let's look inside. It's been empty for a long time."

Wade's astonishment grew. "You've got the keys? Why isn't the real estate agent meeting us here?"

"I talked her into… Just come inside. I'll tell you everything."

"Eleisha," he insisted. "Agents don't give potential buyers the keys."

She ignored him and hurried up the steps to unlock the front doors, which were newer additions made from thick metal.

Philip stopped briefly to examine the doors. She looked back at him, and he nodded.

She turned on the overhead lights. "The deacons' committee decided to leave the power on so any buyers could see that all the wiring works."

They stepped into what had once been the main sanctuary, but now the altar was bare and all the pews had been ripped out, leaving only a large room with spiderwebs and a musty red and tan carpet. Half-oval stained-glass window lined the walls, and Eleisha turned in a circle to see each one, soothed by the greens, blues, and yellows in the depictions.

"This was built in 1902, and it's been on the market for over two years," she said. "The congregation outgrew it, and they commissioned a new church." She looked at Philip again. "The walls are two feet thick, and there are only two doorways on the ground floor to the outside: this front one we just came in and a single back door."

He still hadn't spoken, but again he nodded and began studying the structure of the high-set windows.

Wade came in only a few steps. "You aren't seriously thinking of buying this place? Of living here?"

"Just leave your suitcases and come this way," she said, dropping her bag and moving behind the altar to a side door. The door led into a hallway where she faced two other doors, a stairway to the left leading down, and another stairway at the end of the hall leading up. Eleisha had studied the floor plan for hours and knew the layout by heart. She turned on the hallway lights.

"These two rooms are offices," she said, opening the closest door.

Wade peered inside at a pleasant room with hardwood floors and cream walls.

"There's a three-bedroom apartment in the basement, along with an industrial-sized kitchen on the other side," she added.

For first time since walking through the gate, Wade turned and seemed to be seriously listening to her. "A three-bedroom apartment?"

"Yes, the place was designed so the pastor and his family could live inside the church. But come upstairs with me first."

Without waiting for a response, she walked down the hall and up the stairs, emerging into another hallway, this one with a red-and-tan carpet like the sanctuary's. Three doors lined each wall, and she flicked on the light and moved onward, opening doors as she went.

"Most of these were Sunday school or meeting rooms, but they're empty now. We could turn one of them into a room for Rose."

The moment those words left her mouth, she regretted them. Both Philip and Wade had agreed to come to Portland and see this mysterious «place» she had in mind, but so far, neither of them had expressed sharing her determination to find this woman who'd written asking for their help. And although she'd meant her outburst back at Maggie's, that she'd find Rose alone if need be… the truth was she wanted Philip and Wade to be part of all this.

Finding a proper safe house was the first step. But she needed to pull them in one step at a time.

Wade and Philip walked the floor, looking inside all six of the bare rooms. Neither one responded to her mention of Rose.

Finally Philip said, "Too many exterior windows. We'll have to seal most of them up."

Wade stared at him. "You're standing outside a Sunday school room, and that's all you can say? ‘Too many windows'? Have you missed the irony here?"

Philip shrugged and put his hand against the wall. "Old buildings are best. This is an йglise solide."

Eleisha had picked up enough French from him to know he'd called the place a sturdy church. Excitement began building inside her. He was clearly considering the idea. Regarding this part of her plan, though, she hadn't worried too much about convincing Philip. Spending four weeks at Maggie's was probably the longest stretch he'd stayed in one place in decades. Before becoming entangled with Eleisha, Philip had not been a cautious hunter-leaving bodies wherever he dropped them. And he'd hunted more often then he needed to, so he was constantly on the move. No, he would feel no hesitation to leave Maggie's. He didn't care where he lived as long as Eleisha and Wade lived with him.

Wade was a different story. He didn't like making decisions, and he was a big fan of "thinking things through"-which she viewed as a euphemism for sitting on the fence.

She nearly ran back to the stairs. "Come on. Let's see the basement."

Not waiting for them, she jumped off the bottom step into the hallway and jogged to the stairs leading down, emerging into a sitting room. Overhead lighting down here was more sparse, as the place must have contained lamps before. She moved to the apartment's small kitchen and switched on a light. Then she walked back into the sitting room.

Even dimly lit, the sitting room was lovely, with soft yellow walls and white molding around the floors and ceiling.

When she turned around, Wade and Philip were standing quietly behind her. "It only has one bathroom, but the bedrooms are over there," she said, pointing through an old-fashioned archway. "And there is a small family kitchen that way. The big congregation kitchen is on the far side of the building."

Wade cooked sometimes-when he didn't order pizza-and Eleisha and Philip sometimes made tea. They could not eat or digest food, but their kind could absorb tea and even small amounts of wine.

She stood tense, unable to read either of her companions. From the moment she had seen the photos, something about this place had called to her… as if calling her home. She felt safe here. Welcome. Wanted. Like the building had been abandoned for too long, and it needed them.

"What do you think?" she asked Philip.

"It's good," he said simply.

"Wade?"

He shook his head in frustration. "This is too big a decision to make right now. Shouldn't we look at other places? Shouldn't we take more time to consider?"

Was he trying to convince himself or her? If she chose to, she could allow a little of her gift to seep out, to seduce him, to make him see she felt safe here so that he would do anything for her. But she wouldn't do that. She wanted his true agreement.

"I don't want to go back to Seattle," she confessed, deciding to try honesty. "I don't want to go back to Maggie's. I don't want to look at any other places. This is the one, Wade."

He stepped closer, his white-blond hair falling forward into his eyes.

"Eleisha…?"

"Don't you miss Portland?" she asked. "Don't you miss it here?"

Why she should love Portland and not Seattle was nonsensical, and she knew it, but for weeks now, the pull to come back to Oregon had grown stronger. The wish to leave Maggie's house had grown unbearable. That house held too many reminders. Maggie had existed there, decorated the place, made it her own. And William… he had died in that house. Eleisha tried, but she couldn't live there.

Philip walked across the sitting room and dropped down near the outlet of what appeared to be a cable hookup. The empty apartment still looked like something from 1902, but it had been updated.

"If we aren't going back," he said, studying the hookup, "we'll have to buy a new TV and DVD player. Wade, you can set the player up for me."

Wade blinked. "Not going back? Not ever? What about our stuff?"

Philip looked back at him. "What stuff? We brought most of our clothes along, and everything else was Maggie's."

That was true, and Eleisha had been banking on at least one of them reasoning this. She mentally searched for an opening to drop the next bomb.

Wade provided it.

"Well, it's not far to dawn," he said, sighing. "We should at least call for a cab and find a hotel. Even if we decide to buy this place, it's not like everything is going to happen overnight. We'll have to negotiate an offer, get the church inspected, get it appraised, and set up a closing date to sign papers. Do you both want to live in a hotel for a month?"

"No," Eleisha answered quietly.

His forehead wrinkled as he looked at her.

She held up the keys. "I leased the building for thirty days."

"What?"

"The deacons' committee is so motivated to sell that they agreed to some unusual requests… and I paid them four thousand dollars to let us have the place for a month. I told them we'd need to see if it suited us, but that was a lie. I knew once when I got here, I wouldn't want to leave."

Philip stood up, and even he appeared surprised by this announcement.

"Come and look," she said, letting Wade walk ahead of her through the archway toward the bedrooms. She showed him each room in turn. They were charming, with more white molding and slanted ceilings. All three of them contained new beds made up with new sheets, blankets, and pillows.

"I'm using the same real estate agent who's representing the deacons," she said. "That means if she sells to us, she gets to keep both commission fees. So… she was willing to go slightly beyond the call of duty. We don't need to go to a hotel."

Philip was waiting in the hallway. He glanced through a door at the nearest bed. "I'll get our suitcases from upstairs. Wade will want his deodorant and toothpaste."

He turned around and left.

Eleisha watched him go, waiting until he was up the stairs-keeping her back to Wade. "I'll handle the negotiations," she said. "We don't need a loan. I can sell some stock and buy the place with cash."

She couldn't bring herself to look at Wade.

"Please," she whispered. "Please say we're home."

He was quiet for a little while, and then he said, "Okay."

For the last few nights, Julian had felt almost… calm.

Mary had managed to locate Eleisha within twenty-four hours and returned to report that Eleisha was living in a house on Queen Anne Hill with a "hot vampire" and a "skinny blond guy." Julian mulled over this information carefully, knowing that the house had belonged to Maggie. It surprised him that Philip would ever consent to staying in one place that long, as he had a tendency to leave bodies lying around. Julian knew almost nothing of the blond man Eleisha had referred to as "Wade," but the very thought of her and Philip existing in the same house with a mortal was baffling.

Even Eleisha had never exhibited behavior quite that bizarre.

Regardless of these mysteries, only one fact mattered. Mary had confirmed that Eleisha was still in Seattle. So, neither Philip nor Eleisha seemed to be coming after him, and they were both safely across the ocean on another continent.

That was all he cared about for now: that they stayed away from him.

So, although having to listen to Mary grated on his nerves, she had managed to bring him some peace-even though she'd whined like a child when he ordered her back to Seattle.

It infuriated him that he couldn't just banish her back to the other lost souls.

But he'd neglected to mention that her servitude might be required for a long time, as it was possible he'd need to keep permanent tabs on Eleisha. He thought it best not to give Mary such information yet; better to control her with a mix of fear and the hint of promises.

In the end, at least she'd obeyed him and gone to keep watch. As he had not seen her in several nights, he assumed all was status quo.

Tonight, he was feeling so liberated, he even left the study and wandered into the dining hall, looking at the massive walnut table, surprised at himself for suddenly thinking of the old days when the manor was alive with people and servants and banquets and hunting parties.

Such events had lost their glitter for him after he was turned. He'd tried coming home several times back then, but he could feel only contempt for the petty mortals at the table-even the nobles.

Yet he had never lost his connection to this place, to Cliffbracken. Legalities had been somewhat tenuous after his mother died in 1842, while his father was still considered "missing." Julian hired a lawyer to go through proper channels to have his father declared dead, but this took seven years.

Then everything came to him, the entire estate, and later, in 1881, he used a law firm to help him pretend to sell the estate to a historical society… which in truth was made up only of himself.

But this way, the manor did not appear to have only one owner for an unreasonable amount of time. No one ever came here except for a few servants, and he changed them every ten years or so.

The dining hall was silent, and he walked through to the other side and down a stone corridor leading to the mudroom, where piles of boots had once been stacked and wriggling spaniels had run through on wet paws.

Julian had not been in here for years.

Why would he come here?

I'm hungry.

How long since he had fed? Too long. His subconscious must be telling him that it was time to leave the manor for a few hours, drive a proper distance, and go hunting.

Yes, with Eleisha well accounted for and safely ensconced in Maggie's old house, there was no reason he shouldn't expose himself and get out for a while. He needed blood, and a fresh kill would do him good. Perhaps he could find a small blond girl and make her suffer.

Feeling even better, he was about to leave the mudroom and go upstairs to change his clothes, when the air shimmered before him, and Mary appeared with a panicked expression on her transparent face, magenta hair sticking out in several directions.

"They're gone!" she cried. "Don't be mad at me!"

All the relief of the past few nights drained away. "What?"

"They were gone last night, but I thought… I thought they'd come back. Today I got so scared I went inside their house. Their clothes are gone and the heat's turned off, and I don't know where they are."

"Stop!" he ordered. She wasn't making any sense. "You have been watching them. How could they leave without you knowing?"

She appeared to be biting the inside of her mouth-which was impossible and provided an offensive image-and she reached up to twirl a strand of her short hair. "Don't be mad," she repeated. "I just left for a little while. I just wanted to see some… other things, and when I got back they were gone, but I didn't worry till tonight." She paused. "I thought I should tell you now and not wait till you called me."

Anger and fear began growing in the pit of his stomach. He stepped forward, wanting to strike her, to knock her off her feet.

He couldn't.

But he could send this stupid bit of trash back where he found her.

Her eyes widened. "I'll find them!" she cried. "Don't send me back. I'm getting good at moving from place to place. I swear I can find them."

He forced himself to calm down, to think. He did not trust himself to speak for a moment, and then he said tightly, "Just where would you begin to look?"

"Well… aren't you scared they might come here? Show me the closest airport on a map. I found out I can wish myself places by looking at maps."

"And how did you realize that?"

She fidgeted. "Practice," she answered evasively. "So I can help you better. But if I can't find them around the airport, you'll have to tell me where to go next. If Eleisha's not here, where would she go?"

Julian's thoughts turned inward. Where would she go? She'd lived in New York with Edward Claymore for over seventy years upon arriving in America, but then she had gone to Portland. For some reason, she preferred it there and she'd stayed.

"I'll get some maps from the study," he said slowly. "Try sensing anywhere near the manor first, and then Cardiff International Airport, and if you can't find her, go back to America and try Portland, Oregon."

Relief passed across Mary's face as she realized he wasn't going to banish her. "I'll find her."