by Barb Hendee
“In here,” he said.
Her head swiveled toward him, and he could see the strong bones of her face. She looked healthy, with lightly tanned skin.
“Now,” he said, allowing more fear to seep out until she was too terrified not to do as he ordered.
She took a step toward him and then wavered. He felt mild surprise. It had been a long time since he’d encountered anyone with such a strong survival sense. But he let the power of his gift increase until her face twisted in fear and she came toward him.
The second she was close enough, he grabbed her arm and jerked her into the darkness between the buildings, moving farther back. Then he slammed her up against a brick wall. Her backpack cushioned the impact. Locked in fear, she couldn’t talk, but her expression pleased him.
He didn’t hesitate and bit down hard just below her jaw, holding her tightly while she bucked and struggled. She smelled of clean perspiration and vanilla.
Just as he began to swallow mouthfuls of her, he turned off his gift. He always did at this point, relishing most the feel of his victims’ natural terror as reality set in and they knew they were about to die.
Suddenly, the feel of her body changed. She became more fluid in her struggles, trying wildly to push him away. He was drinking hard and fast.
But she managed to cry out, “No!” once before growing too weak to form verbal sounds, and then she stopped pushing at him. He was forced to hold her up.
It had indeed been a long time since he’d fed on someone this strong willed. He knew that other vampires saw the memories of their victims, pieces of the mortal’s entire life while feeding. He did not. He had no telepathic ability at all.
Her heart stopped beating, and he almost regretted that the experience was over.
But he felt sated and strong again.
Still holding her up with one hand, he pulled back to look at her. Her throat was torn, and her head lolled forward. Blood still ran freely down onto her gray T-shirt.
He saw a small pile of aging bricks near the building behind him, and he dragged her over to them. Opening her backpack, he pulled out her wallet and her passport, slipping them into his pocket. He stuffed a few bricks into the backpack. After making sure the path was empty, he dragged her to the river and dropped her in, watching her body slip beneath the current. Then he washed his face quickly and made certain his shirt was clean.
Before he’d even reached his car, he’d forgotten all about the girl.
He got behind the wheel and started for home. Within a few kilometers, he was back to dwelling on Eleisha’s progress, wondering whether she had found another elder.
The air beside him shimmered, and Mary suddenly appeared in the passenger seat, her silver nose stud glinting in the darkness.
“There you are!” she exclaimed. “I looked all over the manor. I even looked in the stables. I finally had to start searching for an undead signature.”
Clenching his jaw, he wished they could devise some method of warning before she just popped into view like that. But he was more interested in hearing what she had to say.
“Eleisha and Philip are going to Denver,” she blurted out. “Tonight.”
This startled him so much that he briefly crossed over to the wrong side of the road.
“Denver?”
“Yeah, they—”
“Stop!”
Looking ahead for a clear area, he pulled the car off and put it into neutral, leaving it running. Then he turned his full attention to Mary.
“You said they were looking in London,” he stated coldly.
“Yeah, but something happened. I’m not sure what. They pulled out of London and sent Seamus to Denver. He found another vampire, named Simone Stratford.”
Julian’s mind raced. Back in 1825, he had stolen a book called The Makers and Their Children, filled with detailed notes of all vampires currently in existence: their homes, their preferences, their companions. He had used this to hunt down all the elders—and he had studied it for countless hours. There was no vampire in the book named Simone.
“I don’t think she’s the kind that you’re looking for,” Mary rushed on, “ ’cause they were talking about waking up her telepathy.”
Julian tensed.
He mentally separated vampires into two categories: (1) those who existed before his purge, who practiced the laws and who wanted him destroyed because he could not follow the first law, and (2) those who came after, who had no training in telepathy from a maker and no knowledge of the laws.
Vampires like Philip, Eleisha, and Maggie had fallen into a gray area of being created before the purge but left to develop on their own. They had posed no threat to him—until recently.
But he was interested, desperately interested, only in Eleisha tracking down the first type, and he did not want her distracted by running off after some vampire like Rose who fell into the second category.
“You’re certain?” he said. “This Simone is young? She knows nothing?”
“I don’t know. But Eleisha seemed to think so. And she’s so worried Simone might be dangerous that she’s leaving Wade and Rose behind. She’s just taking Philip.”
He sat straighter. “Dangerous?”
This was getting worse. First Eleisha finds some useless young vampire in Denver, abandoning the more promising search in London, and now she was approaching an unknown, undead, unpredictable creature?
He shook his head in frustration.
“You want me to contact Jasper and tell him to meet me in Denver?” Mary asked.
Julian put his fist to his mouth. He often forgot all about Jasper Nesland—a vampire he’d recently created to serve him.
“No. Go to Denver and keep watch.”
Eleisha could be wrong about this woman they’d found . . . and she could still be an elder who’d simply changed her name.
“Find out what’s going on and report back to me,” he said. “But come straight back if you think Eleisha is in danger.”
“ ’Cause you need her to keep hunting for the older ones, like that Robert guy?”
“Just keep watch and report to me.”
She rolled her eyes. “Whatever. But we need to go to the manor first. I don’t know how to get to Denver. You’ll have to pull down some maps.”
He took his fist from his mouth, knowing she was right, and wondering how recent his maps of America might be. He would have to order some new ones if Eleisha continued searching in the States.
“You go on ahead,” he said, unable to stand Mary’s company a moment longer. “I’ll meet you there.”
Thankfully, without another word, she vanished.
Julian sat there, still absorbing this unexpected change of events. Then he put the Jetta in first gear and pulled back out on the road, heading for Cliffbracken.
SAN FRANCISCO, CALIFORNIA
Despite Julian’s orders, Mary to decided to go see Jasper before teleporting herself to Denver.
Of all the people in the world, Jasper was the only one that Mary considered . . . a friend. She spent as much time with him as she could, but even this relationship seemed to be changing.
For one, Julian had put Jasper into a gorgeous town house at the Infinity complex near the waterfront, leased him a BMW, and given him a credit line with Wells Fargo. Before Jasper was turned, he’d been a damaged, tasteless, directionless young man living in a rat-hole apartment with one chair and an old TV.
Mary had handpicked him for Julian, and so she kind of felt like he was “hers.”
After being turned, Jasper adjusted to life as a vampire with amazing speed, and although he’d messed things up a few times on their last attempt to use Eleisha, he’d certainly proven he wasn’t afraid to follow Julian’s orders or to throw himself into a fight.
He liked the rewards too much: the town house, the money, the car, the clothes.
But after a few months of having money, he was beginning to look and act like a different person, and Mary found herself wi
shing he would go back to being more like he was in the beginning, when he was more like her.
She’d been an outcast in high school.
So she’d decided to live up to everyone’s bad opinion of her by chopping off most of her hair in the bathroom one night, dyeing it magenta, and then going out and getting a nose stud. She’d acted out at school, driven her parents to the edge of sanity, and basically done everything possible to make herself visible.
She had a feeling that Jasper had done everything possible to make himself invisible back in high school, but that their social suffering had been pretty much the same.
She’d never asked him about this. They were both past all that now. A vampire and a ghost, working together.
At first, she felt like her condition gave her advantages over him. She could move anywhere she liked almost instantly. Disappear and reappear. Spy for Julian almost effortlessly.
Jasper couldn’t do any of that. But then she found out he could do one thing she could never do.
He could change himself.
Teleporting from Wales to Jasper’s town house in San Francisco, she found the place empty. This didn’t surprise her. He normally went out at night. She floated just inside the door, looking around. The place was amazing, with marble-tiled floors and a state-of-the-art kitchen of stainless-steel appliances. One wall of the living room comprised a giant window overlooking the bay. The whole room was decorated in black and white.
Where had he gone? By now, she knew the specific feel of his undead energy signature—or perhaps his lack of an energy signature in the world of the living—and she tried to sense for him.
He was close. Very close.
She realized he was stepping off the elevator. She didn’t sense any living person in the hall, so she blinked out and then blinked into the hallway. He was walking toward her.
“Mary,” he said, glad to see her.
He was the only one who was ever glad to see her.
But he looked so different now.
When she’d found him, he’d been a shabby, skinny mess, wearing dirty pants and scuffed athletic shoes. His hair had been a tragedy.
She’d begun to believe the lyrics from that old song “Money Changes Everything.”
A local stylist had taken in the shape of Jasper’s face and then cut his hair very short, almost into a military cut—like George Clooney had worn for a while. Somehow, this suited Jasper, making the bones of his face appear more defined. He was wearing a simple pair of Levi’s over some black boots, a Hugo Boss T-shirt, and a smaller version of the light Armani coat that Philip wore.
He looked stylish and confident.
He made Mary wish she could grow her hair out, dye it back to its normal brown, and go shopping for some new clothes. Although she’d never admit it aloud, he made her want to look like her old self again.
But she couldn’t. She would always look exactly the same as she had the moment she’d died.
“What’s up?” he said, unlocking the door to the suite.
He didn’t bother asking her in because he seemed to think the place belonged to them both. That was something else she liked about him. He always acted as if they were a team who shared everything—well, everything he could share with a noncorporeal spirit.
“I just wanted to tell you to stay close and be ready to move,” she said. Julian had not ordered her to give Jasper any messages, but this just seemed sensible.
“Where to?”
“Denver. I think Eleisha found someone. She took Philip, and they’re flying out tonight.”
“Just Philip?”
“Uh-huh. Wade and Rose are staying behind.”
A new sword glistened in a rack over the fireplace. Jasper glanced at it. “Who’d they find?”
“I don’t know. Some woman named Simone.”
“Does he want me to take her head?”
“Not yet. I’m supposed to get more info first. Just stay close to the suite, so I can find you.”
“Okay.”
She wished she had more to share. She wished she had a reason to stay longer.
“I’ll be back soon,” she said finally.
He nodded a bit sadly, like he wished she could stay, too. But they both had to follow Julian’s orders.
She blinked out.
chapter 5
DENVER, COLORADO: TWO NIGHTSLATER
Simone Stratford took a final look in the ladies’ room mirror, pleased as always by what she saw.
The styles of the late 1920s had suited her to perfection, and she’d had the good sense to never become a fashion slave. She wore straight-cut, low-waisted, sleeveless dresses in vivid but solid colors—that accentuated her slender body—along with flat shoes and long beads tied in a knot below her collarbone. She liked black eyeliner and lipstick.
Rather than looking out of style in any given era, she always looked as if she were setting a style.
She’d never met a man who could resist the hint of an early-century flapper. Men were too drawn to the combination of color and energy and life.
Tonight, she was meeting Alex Barber at the Samba Room on Larimer Street. The place was slightly beneath them both, but she couldn’t risk meeting him anyplace where they might be seen by anyone he knew. Besides, tonight she felt like dancing.
She’d arrived a little early to check her appearance and scout a table. As she stepped out from the ladies’ room, she saw Alex coming through the front doors. He spotted her immediately, and she smiled, flashing white teeth and moving her head slightly so her shining black bob would swing.
He froze.
She knew he would.
She let him come to her.
“You’re early,” he said.
He was tall, with sharp features, still wearing his polo shirt and sport coat from work—as a partner in an architectural firm. He liked to be in charge, and she enjoyed the illusion of letting him think he was.
His wife of fifteen years was an ex-fashion model named Hailey. At present, Hailey was Simone’s best friend.
“I thought I’d get us a table,” Simone said.
“Have you?”
“Not yet.”
She allowed a tiny bit, just a whisper, of her gift to leak out, making him envious of her beauty, of her entire life.
“I’ll find us one,” he said.
“No, I want to dance.”
He cocked his head to one side. He wasn’t a fool, and he wasn’t given to falling for feminine wiles. That’s why he made this exciting.
“Sure.”
A Latino song was playing, soft and slow. He led her to the dance floor and pulled her close. She melted against him.
The place was packed. Normally, Alex didn’t like such crowded venues, but she was in the mood to punish him a little.
He’d told her he loved her a few nights ago, which was good, but as yet he’d said nothing about leaving Hailey. Simone had been working on this game for four months! By now, he should be ready to leave his wife and beg Simone to live with him.
And then she would let Hailey find out about everything . . . everything. But Alex had to be disgusted with Hailey, tired of her, and mad for Simone first. Then she could feed on the shock and pain on Hailey’s face as the truth finally hit her.
When Simone had first met these two, first seen the way Alex looked at Hailey—with a mix of love and desire in his eyes after fifteen years—she knew she’d found something special. Lately, the thrill of the contest had been losing its shine, but this was the most satisfying game she’d played in a long time.
As she danced, pressing her body up against his, she let more of her gift seep out, affecting the people around them. Heads turned her way as the people dancing near them were infected by envy. Women wanted to be her. Men wanted to be part of her life. She pulled her head back to watch Alex notice all the people looking at her.
She was the center of the world.
His eyes filled with need and longing. Maybe tonight he’d finally
tell her he was leaving Hailey.
The dance ended, and she started to lead him off the floor, but a man standing near a table, staring at her, caught her attention.
He was taller than most men in the room, with amber eyes and red-brown hair hanging to the top of his collar. His ivory face was so handsome, it bordered on beautiful, and he wore a long Armani coat even through it was seventy-eight degrees outside.
Something about him frightened her—and she was rarely frightened.
Then a crowd of dancers exiting the floor crossed in front of him, and when she looked back he was gone.
“What is it?” Alex asked.
She shook off the eerie feeling. “Nothing.”
Alex watched the cocktail waitresses nearly jumping among numerous tables and then running back to the bar with drink orders to fill. “We’ll never get served like this. You find us a place to sit, and I’ll get us something from a bartender.”
“Red wine,” she reminded him, looking around for a table.
She spotted one that appeared empty, except for a few remaining beer bottles, and she headed toward it.
Then a young woman stepped into view about fifteen feet away, and Simone stopped again.
The woman—girl—seemed too young to be in a lounge. Like Simone, she looked out of place, like someone from another country or another time. She was small, with pale arms, wearing a tan tank top and matching broomstick skirt. Her dark blond hair was long and wispy, hanging loose. She wore no makeup, and the effect of her clothes and coloring created the image of a stalk of wheat swaying in a wind.
Simone backed up without knowing why.
Something about this girl frightened her.
Simone half turned, looking across the room for an exit, and she saw the ivory-skinned man in the Armani coat standing about twenty feet to her left. She whipped her gaze back to the front, and the girl was gone. The path to the front door was open.
Simone hurried across to the bar, grasping Alex’s sleeve. “Forget the drinks. I don’t like this place.”
He frowned but let her pull him out the door and outside. She hailed a cab the instant her feet hit the sidewalk.
