Hunting Memories (9 page)

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Authors: Barb Hendee

BOOK: Hunting Memories
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He lowered the letter and looked away. The feeling passed.
What was that?
He shook his head to clear it.
Then he heard Eleisha’s voice outside, and he shoved the letter inside his shirt again. The front doors opened.
 
Mary materialized just inside the churchyard, around the back, keeping well hidden among the rosebushes. In her current state of existence, one thing that surprised her was than
anyone
could see her if she changed locations without knowing exactly where she would appear . . . and she ended up materializing out in the open.
She’d scared the hell out of a couple of old ladies at the Seattle Center before realizing they could see her—and then she blinked out again. But she was learning tricks to avoid this.
She hadn’t told Julian, but she was learning how to manipulate her abilities far beyond the scant instructions he’d given her.
For instance, she’d found that she could materialize right inside the walls of a building. This didn’t hurt her, and no one could see her. The problem was that she couldn’t see or hear either. But she was discovering new ways to spy and eavesdrop without being spotted, and she was gaining a much stronger grasp on wishing herself into “nothingness” or a state of limbo where she was invisible to people until she either wished to materialize again . . . or Julian called her.
She thought of this as being able to “blink in and out.”
She’d also learned that she had a powerful advantage over the other spirits who’d remained here in what she called “the real world.” From what she understood—by talking to other ghosts—spirits of the dead could exist on three different planes: 1) the real world of the living, 2) the gray in-between plane, and 3) the afterlife. She had no idea what the afterlife looked like, as she had never seen it, but during her time on the gray plane, she’d come to believe the vast majority of ghosts ended up there, as she once could have . . . had she been willing to leave the in-between plane of the spirits who refused to accept death, who still longed to find a way back here, back to the living.
While first hunting for Eleisha in Seattle, she realized she couldn’t yet tell the difference between various forms of the dead. So she’d ended up finding several other ghosts. They weren’t common here in the real world.
But the few she’d met had all been trapped here the moment they died by strong ties to either a person or a place, and many ghosts spent their time in the relaxed state of “nothingness” beyond the sight of living people. However . . . being tied down to a person or place, they could not move with the ease that she could, even if they wished to. As of yet, she hadn’t met a single spirit who’d crossed over from the other side, like she had.
She was unique.
She liked it here. She could go anywhere. See anything. She wasn’t tied to anyone.
Well, that wasn’t true. She was tied to Julian. Bastard. He hated her. She could see it in his dirty face. But when he threatened to send her back, she believed him. She was terrified of going back to that ugly gray plane of nothing, with only other ghosts like herself who shouldn’t be dead . . . who knew they
couldn’t
be dead, who struggled and fought and wept to find a way to get back here.
She was here.
And she wasn’t leaving.
Once she was done with Julian’s tasks and he released her, she was going home to her parents. They were never abandoning her at home again. They were never getting rid of her.
She’d considered popping in on them several times but decided against it just yet. She wanted to wait until she had her freedom first. Then, boy, would they be surprised. This was all their fault! They left her to go see some stupid art opening, not even asking if she wanted to go. They never asked her if she wanted to go with them, and her dad was selfish enough to turn his phone off so she couldn’t even call. They’d practically murdered her. They’d be sorry soon.
Looking around, she realized she was alone outside the church and floated up a few feet to look in one of the stained windows. Peering through a piece of yellow glass, she could see the blond guy sitting on the floor of the empty sanctuary, reading a sheet of paper.
He suddenly looked up and crammed the paper in his pocket. The front doors opened and Eleisha and the other one—Philip—walked inside.
Mary had to find a way to listen. Julian was getting sick of her just reporting on their whereabouts, and he had started demanding she give him reports on what they said to each other. Ugh.
She put her face against a piece of red glass and let the side of her head pass through just enough so she could hear what was being said.
No one would see her against these thick, colored windows.
 
“Of course you won,” Eleisha said, opening the front doors
.
“It was no contest. The best I could do was lure a 7-Eleven clerk into a back room.”
She’d cut her own hand and then gone into an empty convenience store and turned on her gift, and the clerk had fallen all over himself to help her. Philip’s success had been much more clever and creative.
But she hoped he would not wish to play his game again, and she could not understand why he’d been so quiet afterward. She chatted to try to cheer him. She was half-tempted to try reading his mind, but he’d feel her and push her out if he was hiding something private. What could he be hiding? She had agreed to his “more fun” change of plan tonight. She’d done exactly what he wanted.
Then she stepped inside the church and was surprised to see Wade sitting on the floor of the empty sanctuary.
He stood up. “Philip, I’ve got the DVD player hooked up to the TV, and a movie came in that I think you’ll like, an early nineties action film called
Universal Soldier
with Jean-Claude Van Damme. Lots of machine guns and some good hand-to-hand fight scenes.”
Philip took a step toward him, the dark look on his face vanishing. “Oh, Wade . . .”
He stopped. Philip didn’t know how to express gratitude. It wasn’t that he didn’t feel it; he’d just lost the ability to express it long ago.
“Will you watch it with me?” he asked.
“Sure, just go downstairs and get the film put in, and I’ll be right down. I want to talk to Eleisha for a minute.”
A tense pitch in his voice made Eleisha pause and look at him. Philip bounded off down the stairs, and she waited until he was out of earshot.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
Wade tightened his mouth in indecision, and then he blurted out, “A letter arrived from Rose today. I read it.”
As he said this, he pulled a crumpled letter from his shirt and held it out.
Rose sent a letter! And so quickly.
“What did she say? Did she tell us what to do?” Eleisha took the letter and scanned it, exclaiming, “An address! She wants us to come, and she’s trusted us with her address.”
Her mind drifted into the future, of finding Rose in her apartment, bringing her here, making a room for her, building their community . . .
“Aren’t you angry?” Wade asked in surprise.
“About what?”
“That I read her letter, and it was written to you.”
“I don’t mind. I already showed you all her letters. I only wish Philip would read them. Then he’d understand.”
Suddenly, Wade tensed up again. He reached out and took the letter from her. “That’s right. Philip hasn’t actually read any of these, has he?”
“No, except that first short one. I wish he would.”
“Eleisha, what is Rose’s gift?”
The question threw her. Why would he ask that? She shook her head. “I don’t know. We never talk about things like that.”
“Is she telepathic?”
“I don’t know that either, but if she’s not, then she’s still killing to feed and you’ll have to teach her how to wake her abilities, like you woke mine and Philip’s. You will, won’t you?”
“Of course I will.”
She smiled. “I knew it. You’ll be saving so many lives.”
He stared at her. Had that never occurred to him before? That by teaching her, by teaching Philip, he was saving mortals who would have died at their hands?
A plan, a vision, had been growing in her mind for weeks now. Sinking down to the floor, she motioned for him to sit as well.
Slowly, still staring at her, he followed, sitting crossed-legged with his knees close to hers.
“We shouldn’t just stop with Rose,” she whispered. “What if she’s right and there are others like her, alone, like Philip was? We can find them. We can bring them here, and you can wake their telepathy, and I can teach them to hunt without killing. We can build a community here.”
She was frightened, telling him this, wondering how he would react.
Currently, Wade’s life lacked purpose, and he needed a purpose. But Eleisha also knew she’d been somewhat deceptive lately, first by hiding her communication with Rose for a month, and then hiding her plans to buy the church—and then springing it on him while he stood in the basement . . . and now trying to win his agreement for her own vision, for her hopes.
“That’s what you want?” he asked. “To build a community here? For you and me to find hidden members of your kind and teach them to feed without killing?”
At a loss for words, she nodded.
He looked away, but he wasn’t angry. She could see him thinking on her words, and she just sat there for a while, letting him think.
“Are you with me?” she asked finally.
He looked back at her, studying her face.
“So . . . what do we do now?” he asked.
“First, we go to San Francisco. We get Rose.”
 
Julian was alone at the manor. When he woke up a few nights past, both the remaining servants were gone. He could not feel their warmth from anywhere on the estate.
The revelation annoyed him. He’d have to contact the agency again. If he was going to reside here, the main floor should be kept clean.
But for now, he rather enjoyed having the entire place to himself, and he wandered outside, among the abandoned stables. He’d spent more time on the estate this past month than the previous hundred years. He owned a town house in Yorkshire, but he’d come to prefer the south of France these past few decades.
Yet now, he felt safe only here.
It had been so long since he’d had anything to fear that he’d forgotten the cold safety of Cliffbracken. Foolish really; with the possible exception of his familiarity with the entire place, he was no safer here than anywhere else. But he could not bring himself to travel again. Not yet.
He kept mulling over the same questions.
Why would Eleisha buy a church in Portland and move into it . . . like a home?
And what would make Philip stay with her?
And if Philip had been living in Seattle for an entire month, and then Portland for a week, why weren’t the papers filled with stories of ugly murders?
And who was this mortal staying with them, and why hadn’t Philip drained his blood weeks ago? Philip despised mortals.
None of it made any sense.
Eleisha was planning something. He knew it.
He had ordered Mary to bring him more detailed reports, and he hoped the selfish girl understood him. In many ways, she had proven herself useful, but her presence grew more and more grating. She had no manners at all. He longed to banish her, to send her back and to listen to her scream all the way to the other side. But he couldn’t.
He left the stables and tramped toward the manor. Reaching the back door to the mudroom, he pulled it open. Tonight, he was dressed in canvas pants and a black wool sweater and rubber boots. He was about to take off the boots when the air shimmered and Mary appeared.
She began babbling the second she materialized.
“They found another vampire! Eleisha has been writing to her, and they’re all going to San Francisco!”
Julian froze, halfway bent over.
He stood straight and stepped into the mudroom. “Stop!” he ordered, but an unwanted tightness was growing in the pit of his stomach. “What are you saying?”
Mary floated close enough that he could see her nose stud in detail. “Eleisha’s been exchanging letters with somebody named Rose in San Francisco. They were talking about gifts and hunting and if Rose knew how to feed without killing.” She paused. “This is all important stuff to you, isn’t it? You know what it means.”
Julian stumbled back and almost fell against the wall. He caught himself, but the dim room was growing darker, as if his vision didn’t work. This was worse . . . so much worse than anything he’d imagined.
Slowly, he walked back to the study, not bothering to see if Mary followed. He walked across the shabby carpet to a shelf of his own books, where he pulled down a large leather-bound volume:
The Makers and Their Children
.

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