by Barb Hendee
Philip stood up. “Is she still in the bath?”
He took a step toward the hall, and Wade was about to stop him when the air shimmered and Seamus appeared, looking exhausted and even more transparent than usual. Recently, Wade had begun trying to press Seamus for more specific answers regarding the physics of his connection to Rose and the possible dangers of him staying away from her for too long, but as yet, Seamus either couldn’t or didn’t want to answer.
Forgetting Philip, Wade turned to Seamus in concern. “You’re not going back out. Not yet. You should see yourself.”
“I think I found something, but I’m not sure,” Seamus said weakly, his Scottish accent blending the words.
Wade froze. “What? What have you found?”
Seamus shook his translucent head. “Something. I’ve searched London. I can feel death on the edge of my range—not a ghost—but I can’t find it.”
He had a strange way of wording his abilities. He was seeking the signature of an undead presence, something outside the fabric of life.
“And you’ve never had trouble finding a vampire before?” Philip asked.
Wade had almost forgotten that he was standing in the hall archway, but his question was perfectly sound.
“No, I found you almost right away,” Seamus answered, “once I reached Seattle.”
Wade took a long breath. They certainly couldn’t abandon this lead, but he wasn’t sure what they should do. Should they go to London themselves and search?
“Let me rest, stay by Rose a few nights, and I’ll try again,” Seamus said.
For now, that seemed sensible, but again, Wade wished he understood more about Seamus’ strengths and limitations.
Wade nodded. “She’s in with Eleisha. Let’s go and tell them.”
Philip’s eyes narrowed. “In with Eleisha? Why?”
Seamus ignored him and blinked out.
“Come on,” Wade said, walking down the hallway. “Rose just wanted to check on her.”
Philip followed, still looking less than pleased. “Rose doesn’t need to—”
“Wade!” Seamus’ voice echoed around them. “Hurry!”
Wade bolted into motion, running down the hall and jerking open Eleisha’s door. It took a moment for the scene before him to sink in. Both women were kneeling on the floor. Seamus stood beside them. Rose’s skirt was crumpled beneath her, and strands of hair stuck to her contorted face. She was gripping a silver hairbrush.
Eleisha was wearing a bathrobe, and the bottom was open, exposing her slender legs. She was gripping Rose’s wrist, and her expression was equally disturbed.
What was happening? What should he do? He feared disengaging them by force and causing them further shock.
But in this split second of indecision, Philip pushed past him, moving almost faster than he could see. Before Wade could take another breath, Philip had one arm under Eleisha’s back and another under her legs.
“No!” Wade cried, too late. “Wait!”
Philip had already swept her up into the air, and then he stumbled backward, falling to sit with his back against the side of the bed, crushing her up against himself in a panicked embrace.
“Don’t hurt her,” Wade yelled at him, running to Rose.
“Help Rose!” Seamus was calling in the same moment.
“Take the brush away,” Eleisha choked out.
Too many things were happening at the same time. The brush?
Wade dropped down beside Rose, entering her mind while he was still moving.
I’m here! he projected.
He could feel her pain, but he didn’t read her thoughts, as he could not allow himself to get lost in whatever she was experiencing. Instead, he tried to break her focus, to create a bridge.
Wade?
She could feel him.
Open your hand.
She dropped the brush.
She blinked and then choked at the sight of him.
“Rose, are you all right?” Seamus asked.
She leaned forward, closing her eyes.
Wade could not help reaching out to touch her shoulder. “It’s okay.”
He looked over to see Philip’s arms still tightly gripping Eleisha, but her eyes were open, and she was staring back at Wade.
“The brush,” she whispered. “It was Maggie’s.”
Twenty minutes later Eleisha was sitting at the kitchen table as Wade handed her a cup of very hot tea. She set it down.
Rose sat beside her, still looking somewhat shell-shocked. Seamus hovered directly behind Rose.
Philip was standing by the sink with his arms crossed, his expression dark. Eleisha knew he hated any type of discussion that involved his own past—especially anything that included Maggie.
“Psychometry?” Wade asked Rose. “You picked up memories from touching Maggie’s old hairbrush?”
Even though everyone was calmer now, more composed, underlying tensions still filled the room, and Eleisha’s back teeth kept clicking together. She was having difficulty accepting that Maggie had made another vampire and kept it a secret.
“Yes,” Eleisha answered Wade. “I’ve held that brush many times, and I didn’t flash to a memory.” She looked at Rose. “You have a power that none of us do.”
Rose blinked, as if this had just occurred to her. “It’s not one I would ask for.”
No, certainly not. Being forced inside Maggie’s past must have been terrible. At least Eleisha had chosen to look. Rose had simply been sucked into the vision, an unwilling voyeur to Maggie’s pain.
“You’re sure it was Maggie?” Wade asked.
“Of course I’m sure,” Eleisha answered, somewhat shortly. “But the house was so different, gaudy and garish, like that Austin Powers movie you showed me.”
He moved closer, “Maybe the sixties or seventies?”
“Maybe . . . but the girl, Simone, she didn’t fit. She looked more like someone from the twenties or thirties.”
“Well, if that’s the case, they were together a long time.”
No one spoke for a few moments, but Philip’s expression turned darker, like he was fighting to keep from walking out of the room.
Eleisha hated to drag him into this, but she had little choice. “Maggie never told you?”
He wouldn’t look at her. “You saw it wrong. Maggie made no others.”
“I didn’t see it wrong,” she answered quietly. “Simone said she was leaving to go to Denver, but she seemed . . . to like new things. I doubt she’s still there.”
Again, they fell silent for a short while, and finally, Wade said, “Seamus is in no shape to go out again, but I say we forget the lead in London for now.” He turned to Seamus. “Can you stay with Rose a few nights, until you feel like yourself again, and then go look in Denver?”
Seamus had faced a great many changes in recent months, and he seemed to be having difficulty at the moment worrying about Rose’s newfound ability. Eleisha shared his concern. Would it get worse? Could Wade teach her to control it?
“I can look in Denver,” Seamus answered.
“She was so cold,” Rose whispered. “Simone. Even if we find her, will she want to join us? Will she follow Robert’s laws?”
Eleisha did not understand her questions. Of course Simone would want to join them once she knew they existed.
“We’re bringing back the old ways, where we can live safely with each other and still keep our secrets,” Eleisha said. “She’ll want to come.”
Rose glanced away.
chapter 4
Three nights later Seamus materialized in an alley near Market Street in Denver, making sure he was alone in the darkness. He wasn’t up to full strength, but he was strong enough to do a search, and he instantly began sensing for an undead signature . . . for a black hole in the fabric of life.
A presence, or perhaps an absence, hit him almost right away, close by, and he blinked out, rematerializing in another alley on Larimer, peering across the street into a litt
le tea shop.
There.
He sensed a vampire in that shop. Rose’s vision had paid off—and quickly. Seamus wasn’t certain how he felt about her new ability, but he wasn’t sure how he felt about many things these days. He’d spent nearly two hundred years alone with Rose, never letting her see how a part of him longed for true death, how he’d suffered through the empty nights, one after the next, where nothing ever changed. Yet another part of him could not bear to leave her all alone. She was his blood and kin, and he endured the endless sameness for her sake.
Wade and Eleisha had changed all that, and now Seamus was a part of something bigger. . . . The underground wouldn’t even exist without him. He was the seeker, the searcher, the one who brought everyone together. They could never have found one another without him.
But this joining had brought great upheaval for Rose—and for him as well.
The tradeoff was more than fair. Seamus had not realized how hungry he’d been for friendship, and Wade was a true friend, the best of men, in Seamus’ eyes. Eleisha had won his affections, too, for she was always kind to Rose.
But Philip . . . did not belong among them. Seamus hated him as he hated the vampire who’d turned Rose so many years ago. Philip was the same breed. He’d been a thoughtless killer in the not-too-distant past, and sometimes, Seamus suspected he had not changed at all. Sometimes, Seamus even considered following when Philip went out alone. He hadn’t yet, but the thought had occurred to him more than once.
It was galling that Rose had to live in the same house with such a creature—and even more that Wade and Eleisha could not see the truth of Philip’s character.
For now, Seamus did not wish to rock the boat. He liked his new existence too much, but as he became more and more integral to the group, he planned to make himself heard.
The tea shop across the dark street appeared nearly empty. He could see a garish, abstract painting on the back wall, and he sensed an open space behind it. Blinking out, he materialized in a narrow, one-stall bathroom. He was alone for now, and should someone try to enter, he could whisk himself into nothingness in seconds, hopefully quick enough to avoid being seen.
He had no wish to frighten anyone, and the sight of a six-foot-tall Scottish Highlander from the early nineteenth century could rattle the stoutest heart.
He drifted closer to the wall, already feeling himself beginning to weaken.
This was something else he’d hidden from Wade . . . that within moments of being separated from Rose, he began losing his hold on this world.
All ghosts on this plane were tied to a place or a person. Their spirits remained here due to strong—overwhelming—emotion at the time of death. Seamus was no exception. Rose was his only reason for remaining here, and whenever he left her, he could feel himself slipping away, being pulled to the other side.
He fought back, using all his strength to remain . . . so he could be useful to Wade and Rose and Eleisha.
He told them that being away from Rose simply weakened him. He did not tell them the truth. Once he returned to her, he was most comfortable dematerializing and slipping into what he called “nothingness,” where he could drift unseen near her and draw strength from their connection.
And this was exactly what he planned to do as soon as he had some solid information for Wade. In the past week, Seamus had pushed himself further than before, twice almost succumbing and being pulled from this plane to the other side . . . which he had never seen. The effort to remain was agony, like pulling an entire house filled with stones. But he’d fought to remain.
He had a new purpose now, and tonight he had succeeded. He’d located a new vampire.
Drifting even closer to the wall, he tried to position himself behind the painting he’d seen from outside. Then slowly, ever so slowly, he let just the surface of his face pass through the colors of the painting, so he could see out into the room—without being noticed himself.
Two women sat together over large pottery cups, leaning close as if huddled in conversation.
One of them—the vampire, Simone—was lovely, just as Eleisha had described her, with milk white skin, china blue eyes, and black hair cut in a straight line at her chin.
But the other woman, although older, possessed beauty of her own, with long blond hair and a slender form. She seemed anxious, gripping the cup tightly, and her eyes were tinged red.
“I’m sure it’s nothing, Hailey,” Simone said. “He’s probably just working too many hours.”
Seamus almost floated backward. Simone was having tea with a mortal and consoling her? That hardly sounded like the woman from Rose’s vision.
“No, it’s more than that,” Hailey answered, her voice shaking. “We’ve been married fifteen years, and Alex has worked long hours before. This is different. When he’s with me now, it’s like he’s not even there, like he doesn’t see me.”
To Seamus’ further surprise, Simone reached out, grasping Hailey’s hand.
“I’m here for you,” Simone said, her face awash with concern.
Tears gathered in the corners of Hailey’s eyes. “I know. Your friendship these past months has meant so much to me.” She looked at her watch. “I need to go. I’m hoping he’ll come home for dinner tonight. Maybe . . . maybe we can talk.”
“That sounds good,” Simone agreed, standing up to hug her friend good-bye.
But the second Hailey’s back was turned, and she began walking away, Simone’s expression shifted. All traces of sympathy vanished, replaced with a hard look of triumph, like someone who had just won a deeply satisfying victory.
Seamus watched her in confusion. She didn’t appear to be hunting. What was she doing?
After Hailey was gone, Simone waited about five minutes and then headed out of the tea shop, taking a left and heading toward Sixteenth Street.
Seamus blinked out and rematerialized high in the night air over the tea shop. He drifted along the tops of the buildings, following Simone as she walked quickly down the street until she reached a collection of professional buildings.
She stopped.
Seamus spotted a one-story bank annex and a six-story architectural firm. He moved toward the edge of the bank annex’s roof, lowering his body to a position as if he were lying facedown. Then he peeked over, so he could see below and listen without being seen himself.
“Simone,” a man called, stepping out the glass doors of the firm. He was tall, wearing a polo shirt and sport coat.
She ran to him, letting him grab her . . . letting him kiss her on the mouth. She kissed him back.
“Alex,” she said, pulling away, her voice full of longing.
Seamus couldn’t believe the name she’d spoken. She was dallying with Hailey’s husband? How could she do such a thing? More important, why would a vampire even want to?
“You’re late,” he said.
“I’m sorry. I was . . . I was with Hailey.” She reached out to him again. “We have to tell her.”
“No. You don’t know what it would . . .” He shook his head. “I can’t.”
“Then we have to stop this,” she said, her voice full of pain.
She took a step to walk away, but he grasped her arm, gently, and lifted his right hand to her face.
“Simone,” he mouthed.
She looked up into his eyes.
And then the strangest feeling began to slowly envelop Seamus. Suddenly, he began to envy Alex for touching Simone, for even standing so close to her. Seamus envied Simone’s beauty so much, he wanted to posses her, to make her his own.
The drive was almost overwhelming, and he struggled to hold himself back.
But through the haze, he also fought to focus on Alex’s face . . . and he saw the same emotions reflected there: the envy, the need.
“I love you,” Alex said raggedly. “Do you hear me?”
Then Seamus understood what was happening. . . . Simone had turned on her gift.
She melted into Alex again. “You mean it?
You do?”
“Yes.”
“Say it again.”
He held her against himself, so that her face looked over his shoulder, and Seamus could see her clearly.
“I love you,” Alex repeated softly.
Alex could not see her face, but again her expression altered to a look of cold, wild triumph. Had she been waiting for those words?
Then, just as quickly, her expression shifted to open adoration, and she pulled back slightly to look up at him. “It’s no one’s fault, Alex. It just happened.”
His eyes moved up and down her delicate face. “I have to go home tonight, but I’ll call you later.”
“And we’ll be together soon?”
“Soon. I promise.”
She smiled at him, like a joyous young girl. “You make me so happy. I’m going home, too. I’ll wait to hear from you.”
Alex kissed her again, more deeply this time, and then he walked toward a parking garage. Simone watched his back, her blue eyes glowing with triumph again, her face a hard, perfect mask—hiding whatever seethed beneath.
The feelings of envy vanished from Seamus.
He had no idea what she was playing at, but now, the mere sight of her made him feel like small insects were crawling up and down his transparent arms. He wanted to shudder.
She began walking in the other direction, and he followed.
If she was going home, he needed to see her address.
Philip went looking around the church for Eleisha, knowing that if she wasn’t in the kitchen or reading in the downstairs living room, she was probably out in the garden. He found her near the front gates, down on her knees, clipping faded buds from a climbing yellow rosebush.
She didn’t hear him coming, and he stopped to watch as she worked intently. She was wearing a long broomstick skirt and a thin flannel shirt. Her hair was loose, hanging almost to the ground where she knelt. She never wore makeup, but her ivory face glowed in the darkness.
She looked small and fragile.
He’d never known anyone like her. She represented the present for him, the now, and he didn’t want to look back on the past. He didn’t like the chain of events that was unfolding, and when he’d agreed to help Wade and Eleisha in this bizarre “search,” he’d never expected to find anything remotely connected to himself.
