In Memories We Fear (31 page)

But everything happened so fast.

From the time Wade fired the first shot to the instant Julian had beheaded his own companion, only a few blinks could have passed.

Seamus’ companions were all holding their heads in what appeared to be agony. He could not see Maxim, who had run through the headstones. But the girl ghost was in far more pain than Eleisha or Philip or Wade.

She was on her knees beside the dead vampire, sobbing as if she were mortal and crying out over and over again, “No, Jasper, no!”

Seamus was moved by this sight. He understood loss, and he teleported beside them.

“Mary,” he said softly.

She looked up, her features twisted and transparent tears on her face. “Seamus, where is he? Where is his spirit? I don’t see it!”

She let out a long, low-pitched sound of pain, and he wondered how to answer. Had she expected this Jasper to come to her as a ghost?

“I don’t know,” he said. “Mary, I don’t know.”

She made the low-pitched sound again.

 

After the last of the blast faded, Eleisha climbed to her feet, feeling dizzy and sick. She stumbled out into the graveyard.

“Maxim?”

Searching with her mind, she felt him on the other side of a tall headstone, and she stumbled onward, finding him huddled there, frozen in terror. She dropped down, grabbing him and pulling him close.

“It’s over,” she said, rocking him back and forth. But it didn’t feel over. She was shaking and couldn’t seem to stop. All she could think of was the sight of Julian murdering his own companion and running away.

All she could hear was the sound of the girl ghost’s sobbing.

She looked up, dimly aware of the sight of Philip and Wade running toward her. The sobbing faded.

When she turned her head to look back, the girl ghost was gone.

 

Thirty minutes later, Eleisha was sitting on the mattress inside the bedroom of the shack, with Maxim beside her and Rose in front of her.

“That’s a bad bruise,” Rose was saying. “Has Philip looked at this? Did he think the cheekbone was broken?”

Eleisha did not remember leaving the cemetery or coming back here. She didn’t know why she’d have a bruise.

Wade and Philip were speaking in low voices in the main room, but she couldn’t see them.

Bits and pieces of the night began coming back to her, and she remembered Julian’s fist coming toward her face.

Julian.

She gripped Maxim’s hand. He was safe. Julian hadn’t hurt him. He gripped her fingers back.

Philip came through the bedroom door with Wade on his heels. They both looked at her with concern. Why were they concerned?

“Are you all right?” Wade asked.

She just looked at him.

“Philip thinks I should call a taxi,” he went on, “and we should get cleaned up, and try to go home tonight. It’s still early, and we can make Heathrow before midnight. We’ll be traveling west, so we’ll land in the dark.”

For some reason, Eleisha’s voice didn’t seem to work, or maybe it was her mind. She couldn’t answer him, but his words brought a flood of relief. Home. Yes, she wanted to go home more than anything and leave this place behind. She wanted to lock them all away in their fortress of a church, with its heavy doors and bulletproof glass.

“Maxim can’t fly to America yet,” Rose said. Wade turned on her, almost angry. “We can handle it. I’ll help you on the flight, and Eleisha can help Maxim.”

“I think we should go, Rose,” Philip said quietly. “Tonight.”

“I’m not talking about fears and phobias,” Rose answered, growing angry herself. “He doesn’t have a passport. He doesn’t have any identification. We won’t even get him through security.”

Despair flooded in, washing away Eleisha’s relief. They couldn’t go home . . . and how could they ever get proper documents?

But neither Philip nor Wade appeared alarmed. Wade seemed slightly chagrined, and he said, “I think we might have that covered.” He glanced at Eleisha. “But you might not like it.”

He walked out into the main room and came back in carrying a long black coat and a pair of boots.

“The vampire Julian killed was about Maxim’s size, and he was turning to dust, so we took his coat and boots . . . to help Maxim fit in better on the way home.” He reached into the coat’s pocket and took out a wallet and a passport. Opening the passport, he crouched down to show it to Rose. “They look about the same age, same height, weight, slender face, pale with dark hair. Maxim’s hair is darker, but this Jasper Nesland had very short hair, so the color isn’t so visible in the photo. I think this passport will work if we book a plane ticket in Jasper’s name.” He glanced at Eleisha again. “I know it’s ghoulish, but I just can’t think of—”

“No, it’s good,” Eleisha said, finding her voice as bits and pieces of the night still came back to her. She could hear the explosions in her ears. “Where did the gun come from? You didn’t bring it with you.”

“Yes, I did.” He didn’t look remotely chagrined at this. “I hid it in the lining of my suitcase, checked it in, and got lucky. Nobody found it. Why do you think I’ve been wearing this jacket since we got here?” He opened one side, exposing a small holster strapped to his rib cage.

“Oh . . .” She felt brittle, like a dried leaf. “Philip?”

He crouched down beside her, and for once Maxim didn’t hiss at him. Eleisha leaned over, putting her forehead on Philip’s knee. “Take us home. I want to go home.”

chapter sixteen

PORTLAND, OREGON

T
wo weeks later, about a half hour past dusk, Wade made his way up the staircase to the top floor of the church to check on Maxim.

It always took a while for Eleisha to recover after a mission, and this last one had proven no exception. Success or failure, every time she faced Julian, it seemed to take a little more out of her, and Wade couldn’t stop going over the events of that night in the cemetery, wondering what they might have done differently so that Philip might’ve taken Julian’s head.

If they didn’t have to fear Julian, their missions would take on a whole new light.

But . . . Maxim had also proven a welcome distraction from dwelling on such possibilities, and Wade looked forward to their time together. So far, Maxim had not exhibited any ability to instigate telepathic contact on his own, and his language skills were progressing slowly—but they were progressing.

Eleisha had taken him out hunting, and as long as she handled the telepathy and memory replacement, he was able to feed by the first law.

However, Wade felt somewhat guilty over having to create “rules,” such as Maxim’s being permitted to walk alone in the garden but not being allowed beyond the gate by himself. His behavior was still completely unpredictable, and he reacted badly when panicked or confused; the last thing Wade needed was the police knocking on their door.

It seemed heavy-handed to treat a two-hundred-year-old scholar like a child, but secrecy and safety had to come first.

Reaching the upstairs hallway, Wade walked to the first room on the left and knocked.

“Maxim?”

He cracked the door. Upon returning from London, Eleisha had decorated this room with soft blankets and numerous pillows and heavy forest green curtains. She’d hung framed photographs of woodland scenes on the walls and around the room had placed a number of “normal” items, such as a digital clock and a calendar on the wall by the light switch.

Wade stepped inside. “Hey, Maxim, tonight, I thought we might . . .”

He stopped.

Maxim, wearing a pair of dark blue pajamas Eleisha had bought for him, was sitting on the bed and petting a small cat. The cat looked a bit ragged, as if it had been outside for a while, but it was maybe eight or nine months old. Its body was a soft shade of gray with white patches.

Maxim looked up.

“Tiny Tuesday,” he said.

Wade shook his head. “What?”

“Her name.” Maxim held both his hands up with a small space between them. “Tiny.” Then he pointed at the calendar. “Tuesday.”

“Oh, she’s tiny, and you found her on Tuesday.”

Interesting.

“She have no home. Hungry,” Maxim said. “I keep her.”

Wade pondered that for a moment, wondering what Philip might say, but there was no reason why Maxim couldn’t keep a little cat.

“All right,” Wade said, “I’ll go to the store and buy her some food and a litter box. Did she come to you out in the garden?”

Maxim nodded and put his hand on her side. “Babies.”

“Babies? She’s pregnant?”

That did color matters slightly. “You can keep Tiny Tuesday, but I’ll have to find homes for the kittens, okay?”

Maxim didn’t answer, and Wade decided to press it.

“Maxim, if you agree, you need to say ‘okay’ back to me.”

“Okay.”

Watching Maxim sit there, gently petting the small cat, Wade couldn’t help a flash of seeing him sitting beside Adalrik, debating Shakespeare. Did he remember anything at all on a conscious level, or was his former self forever locked away, only to be viewed in memories? He’d once loved
Macbeth
, and Wade had read it back in college. He’d always liked the opening with the three witches.

On impulse, he moved closer to Maxim and quoted the first witch. “‘When shall we three meet again? In thunder, lightning, or in rain?’”

Maxim was still stroking the cat, gazing down at her. But when he spoke, his voice sounded different, clear and smooth, “‘When the hurly-burly’s done, when the battle’s lost and won.’”

“‘That will be ere the set of sun,’” Wade responded, surprised and hoping for the next line.

But Maxim, seemingly unaware he’d even spoken, looked up again. “Not wait to go for store. She hungry now.”

Disappointed, Wade moved for the door. “Is she? I’ve got some milk in the fridge and maybe a can of tuna in the cupboard. I’ll find her something.”

Heading back down the staircase, Wade thought about what a houseful they were gathering . . . and now they had a pregnant cat named Tiny Tuesday.

He could still hear Maxim’s smooth quotation in his head.

Maxim was still in there somewhere.

Wade just had to find him.

Julian was blind without Mary.

He’d managed to make it home to Cliffbracken and take refuge inside the manor, but the holes in his chest had been so extensive, they’d healed completely only a few days ago.

Now, with fear in his heart, he had more time and energy to dwell upon what had happened that night in the cemetery.

And in addition to everything else, it now seemed he had lost Mary.

He sat in his study, staring at a burning candle and cursing fate.

His failure had been absolute that night . . . beginning with a raven landing on an aspen branch. He had pulled back from the brink of disaster after that, only to find himself wounded and bleeding and facing three opponents with different weapons or strengths.

What choice did he have?

Taking Jasper’s head and releasing his memories was the only possible option. While he had no intention of explaining himself to an underling, surely Mary could see he’d had no choice?

But every time he’d called her since that night, she’d shouted profanity at him, called him unspeakable names, and then vanished. One night, he’d called her back three times, and every time was worse. He’d finally given up.

Somehow, he had underestimated her attachment to Jasper.

Then he thought that if he left her alone, let her stew on her own for a while, she might come back to herself and see reason.

That had not happened, and he was growing desperate. He had no idea where Philip or Eleisha might be. He assumed they’d taken Maxim home to the church in Portland, but he didn’t know, and he’d become very, very accustomed to
knowing
.

He could feel desperation leaking in on the edge of his mind, and tonight, an idea had come to him.

Standing up, he called, “Mary Jordane!”

Since he had brought her over from the gray plane—the in-between plane for troubled souls who were not yet ready to move on to the afterlife—he had power over her and could call her to his side when he wished.

She materialized, and upon realizing what had happened and where she was, she pretended to spit at him. “Leave me alone, you son of a bitch!”

“Wait.”

“No! You killed Jasper. I’m never doing anything for you again.”

Her colors began to fade as she dematerialized, and he called out, “He’s on the gray plane.”

For a moment, nothing happened, and then her colors grew bright again, but her face still shone with hatred. “What did you say?”

“His spirit will be on the gray plane, waiting for yours. He’s hardly ready to go on to the afterlife.”

“What do you care where he is? You murdered him like he was nothing!”

“Would you like to join him there?”

This had been a threat he’d used against her in the early days, that since he’d called her, he could send her back if she didn’t obey him.

But now might he not use it as a reward? Having to resort to offering her something was almost more than he could stand . . . almost.

She glared at him. “What do you mean?”

“If you assist me through one more of Eleisha’s so-called ‘missions,’ I’ll send you to the gray plane. You can reunite with Jasper and move on to the afterlife together.”

He had no idea where Jasper’s spirit might be—or indeed if the souls of vampires went anyplace at all—but he could see Mary’s mind working.

She looked at his face again, and her expression closed up. “I’m not doing anything for you. You may as well send me back now.”

“No. One more mission. Then I’ll send you.”

“Oh yeah, well how about if I just teleport to Philip and tell him exactly where you are? How would that be? If you run, I’ll find you. Maybe I should do a few favors for him?”