by Barb Hendee
He sank to the pavement.
Mary hid in the shadows at the back of the alley. Her only weapon was the element of surprise, and she couldn’t waste it. But as soon as Jasper saw Simone, Mary couldn’t stop a creeping feeling that they’d made a horrible mistake in obeying Julian tonight.
They should have told him to get stuffed and then suffered whatever punishment he gave—anything would have been better than this.
The look on Jasper’s face made her want to cry. He’d lost before the fight even started. When Simone turned on her gift, Mary felt it, too.
She longed to look like Simone, to be like Simone, to have Jasper stare at her with that same hungry expression.
But then Simone drew closer and whispered something in his ear, and he dropped his sword.
He sank to his knees.
Simone looked down at the sword, and again, Mary caught a flash of vicious hatred flicker across her lovely face.
Simone reached toward the hilt.
Shoving away the thick cloud of envy, Mary blinked out and rematerialized right beside Jasper, screaming so loudly, anyone on the street could have heard.
“Get away from him!”
The scream pierced Simone’s ears, and she stumbled backward, nearly falling against the wall.
Twisting back around, she froze at the sight and sounds she saw just a few steps away.
A transparent girl with spiky magenta hair and a nose stud was standing over Jasper. Her translucent face was contorted in rage. She was shaking a fist and screaming loudly enough to bring anyone within a half mile running toward the alley.
“Get away! Get away from him!” she shrieked over and over.
The shock was almost too much, and Simone drew back, not certain what to do. The dark-haired vampire was still on his knees, staring straight ahead, but the girl ghost kept screaming.
People from the street would be coming at any moment.
Simone turned and ran into the hotel lobby as fast as she could.
Mary fell silent, tense, waiting to see who else might come . . . police, bystanders, anyone who might have heard her.
But no one came.
Maybe people didn’t walk into dark alleys anymore when they heard someone screaming.
Jasper fell forward, catching himself with one hand, gagging as if trying to draw breath he didn’t need.
“Jasper!”
She knelt beside him, coming to a decision.
“It’s all right,” she said. “You’re okay.”
It took a few moments for his eyes to clear, and then he looked around at the alley, at her, at his sword on the pavement.
“Oh my God,” he choked. “Mary, did I ... ? What did I do?”
The line of his cheekbone twitched as he grabbed for the hilt, trying to gain his feet, but he tripped, falling again.
“Stop it,” Mary told him. “It’s over. She hit you with her gift, and you couldn’t hold it off. That’s all.”
“Where is she?”
“Gone. I chased her off.” She hesitated, hating the idea of lying to him. “Then I left you for a few minutes, and I teleported back to Julian. He says this is too much for you, and he’s going to take care of it himself. You’re supposed to head for the airport and go back to San Francisco. Right now. If you can’t catch a plane that will land in the dark, just get a hotel room and leave first thing tomorrow night.”
“What? No! I can do this. I can take her head, Mary.”
But she knew what he really feared—being cut loose from Julian for failure.
“He’s not even mad at you!” she insisted, trying to sound convincing. “Everything’s okay. But those are his orders. Go home. He’ll take it from here.”
“He doesn’t even want to see me?”
“Not tonight. I’m sure he’ll have something else for you to do soon, but for now, he wants you out of the way.”
He glanced away, hurt and worried at the same time. She felt awful for deceiving him like this, and she knew there’d be hell to pay later. Julian might even banish her back to the gray, in-between plane.
But at least by tomorrow night . . . Jasper would still have his head on his shoulders.
Simone was alone in the elevator, and she pushed the STOP button, leaning against the wall, too shaken to stand on her own.
A number of realizations continued striking her at the same time.
Philip hadn’t come for her.
Eleisha hadn’t lost the game.
Someone had just tried to kill her in the alley.
She’d been attacked by a slender, dark-haired vampire and a girl with magenta hair. . . . Wasn’t that how Eleisha had described Julian’s servants?
Julian was real.
She’d never truly believed that before. He’d always been some story Maggie had used to frighten her. But he was real.
Think, think, think.
What to do next?
She straightened and forced her mind to clear. In essence, not much had changed. Philip’s apparent “job” on this quest was to protect any vampires Eleisha contacted. This meant he was capable of handling Julian. Since Julian’s two servants had gone to extensive lengths to lure her outside, that meant they knew where she was but clearly didn’t want any trouble inside the hotel.
All she had to do was keep Eleisha with her until dawn.
Once Eleisha had been removed, she simply needed to contact Philip. Without his chains, he’d be free, he’d be grateful, and he could protect her from Julian. They could leave the city together. Go anywhere.
Yes, in essence, very little had changed.
She started the elevator again, heading up to the thirtieth floor.
Wade made his way up the stairs toward his office.
He was sweating and tired, but working out seemed to make the time go faster while he waited for word—any word.
The phone rang.
Forgetting his sore legs, he bounded upward, three stairs at a time, running for the office. The door was open, and he flew inside, grabbing the phone.
“Eleisha!”
“Wade,” Philip said quietly. He sounded broken. “I lost her. I can’t find her anywhere.”
“What? Where are you?”
“Back in the hotel suite. I didn’t know where to else to look, so I came back.”
This was almost too much for Wade to take in—or follow. The last time the phone had rung, Eleisha had lost Philip. Now it was the other way around? And Philip sounded desperate, as if calling Wade was a last resort.
“What do you mean, you ‘lost’ her? When?”
“Just past dusk. I told her we were going home, and she left while I was in the shower.” His voice faltered. “She’s with Simone, and Simone is damaged . . . a killer, a player. I don’t know what to do.”
Rather than feeling sorry for Philip, Wade was angry. “Player? What does that mean?”
Philip’s communication skills were scanty at best, but now he seemed so scattered that he wasn’t making sense.
“Her father was cruel,” he nearly whispered, “pitting her and her sisters against each other. It ruined her.”
Wade breathed through his mouth in disbelief. “Are you listening to yourself? Eleisha’s gone missing, and you’re so useless that you’re actually standing there telling me about a hundred-year-old vampire with daddy issues?”
He wanted to throw the phone across the room.
The line was silent, and he closed his eyes, cursing himself now. This wasn’t helping.
“What do you need?” he asked. “Should I fly out to meet you?”
“I need to find Eleisha.”
Anger resurfaced, and he gripped the phone tighter.
Then he heard running footsteps out in the hallway, and Rose rushed in the door, frantic and disheveled—wearing a silk bathrobe, soiled at the knees.
“Is that Eleisha?”
“No, it’s Philip.”
She ran over, not bothering to try to grab the phone from his hand,
hitting the SPEAKER button instead.
“Philip, listen to me,” she said, her voice shaking. “You need to gather up Eleisha and come home right now. I don’t care how you do it. Force her on a plane if you have to, but get her away from there. We’ll figure out what to do about Simone later, but you must come home. And this is important: Whatever you do, don’t let Simone see Eleisha as any kind of competition. Do you understand?”
The line was quiet. Was Philip still there?
Rose’s eyes flew up to Wade’s face.
He shook his head. “They’re separated.”
“It’s my fault,” Philip whispered.
At least he was still on the other end.
Rose leaned down closer to the speaker. “You have to find her.”
“I’ve tried. I don’t know else where to look. Tell me what to do.”
Wade blinked. Philip had never asked Rose for anything. She moved away from the phone, looking all around, her face set in determination.
“Seamus!” she shouted with surprising force.
This time, the air by the desk shimmered, and Seamus’ transparent form materialized. He still looked exhausted, the colors of his plaid washed out and faded. But he was visible.
“Go to Denver,” Rose told him immediately, “just for a short while. Find Eleisha and tell Philip where she is. That’s all you have to do. Then come straight back.”
He didn’t speak but nodded.
Rose turned back to the phone. “Philip, did you hear? I’m sending Seamus. He’ll find her.” She stopped and leaned close to the speaker again. “And do not concern yourself with our hopes and plans for the underground . . . not this time. You do whatever you have to.”
“I know.”
Wade heard a click as Philip hung up, and he took a long breath in confusion.
Both Rose and Philip seemed to know a good deal more than he did.
Slipping back inside the hotel room, Simone knew she had to choose her words carefully. By nature, she was always careful, but tonight was critical.
“Everything all right?” Eleisha asked, turning from the view out the balcony window.
City lights glowed off her light green tank top, and her wispy hair hung forward down her shoulders. Simone had never played anyone quite like Eleisha before, but for once, the “new” experience wasn’t completely welcome. She didn’t want to make any mistakes.
“Yes, it’s fine. I’m sorry it took so long.”
Eleisha walked closer. “You said you wanted to show me something?”
Now came the difficult part.
Back outside, in the parking garage, Simone had clearly seen the quickest path to gaining Eleisha’s trust: remorse.
Eleisha respected remorse, even revered it. She preferred the company of vampires who deeply regretted having killed to survive. Simone doubted that Philip had ever expressed such a sentiment, but it seemed like he’d been with Eleisha for some time, and she’d come to trust him through other means.
Simone had only a few hours.
The trick was not to let Eleisha see her true motives. She had to come at this from another angle.
“You claim you’ve done terrible things,” Simone said, turning away. “But I don’t think you’ve done the things I have.” She paused, looking back, allowing a hint of pain to seep through her voice. “And I don’t want to be hurt when you find out and decide I’m not fit for your community.”
“No, Simone. I promise that I’ll—”
“Just listen!”
Eleisha fell silent, just watching her.
“I want to show you a memory . . . the worst thing I’ve ever done,” Simone said. “If you can watch that and you still want me, I’ll go to Portland and see the underground. But I’m not going to uproot myself until I know we’re on the same page.”
Simone had to fight to keep her expression sad and determined.
“You don’t have to show me anything,” Eleisha said quietly. “Didn’t Philip just put you through this last night?”
“I want to show you. I want to be certain.”
Eleisha’s mouth tightened, as if in reluctance. Perhaps she didn’t like being exposed to ugly memories. But she sank down to the floor and held out her hand.
“Come and sit.”
Simone wanted to dance with joy. This memory was the key to Eleisha’s trust.
“Just close your eyes and think back,” Eleisha said, cross-legged on the floor. “Try and pinpoint the right moment.”
Simone closed her eyes.
chapter 16
In the winter of 1982, Simone walked down Broadway in the cold night air, somewhat sorry she had to cover her new dark pink dress with a coat. She’d never been fond of pink, but this particular shade made her eyes shine.
Ah, well.
But Denver winters were frigid. It was snowing lightly, and she would have looked odd indeed walking around without a coat. She also wore a black felt hat to keep her hair dry.
Then she imagined the look on Randal’s face when she arrived at the restaurant and took off her coat and hat. She smiled. He’d swoon. Maybe it was better this way after all. This certainly wasn’t the most exciting game she’d ever played. Randal sold German sports cars for a living—and he was the type to dye his hair and go to tanning booths. His wife, Ruth, was slightly dumpy, with a hook to her nose, but she was a renowned surgeon at St. Anthony’s Hospital, and he showed such deep respect for her, such admiration for her success, that Simone had not been able to resist.
Tonight she was meeting him at a small cafe just off Broadway. The place was far beneath them both, but she wouldn’t risk being seen by anyone he knew. Besides, he rather enjoyed the grittier elements of their secret rendezvous.
As she walked past a bookstore, closed for the night, she caught her own reflection in the darkened window, and she stopped, unbuttoning the top of her coat to let some of the color of her dress show. This shade really did complement her skin. She should consider dark pink more often.
“Simone?”
The creaking sound of an incredulous voice caused her to turn rapidly, on guard against . . . what?
An old woman stood just a few feet away. She wore a bulky coat that did little to hide her stout figure. Her white hair was unruly, and a set of thick glasses made her eyes look large.
There was something so familiar about her, something so familiar, Simone forgot all about Randal. The small hairs on her arms began to tingle with warning.
“Simone?” the old woman said again, her voice clearer this time. “It can’t be....”
Reality splashed over Simone.
She was looking at Pug.
Even after all these years, in her mind’s eye, she always saw Pug at the age of eighteen, quirky, smart, with uneven brown curls. Sweet, funny, caustic Pug.
How old was she? Seventy?
And Simone still looked twenty-two.
Every once in a while since returning to Denver, she’d noticed someone giving her a second glance as if recognizing her, and then shaking his head. She’d never paid much attention. No one had known her well enough to believe his eyes.
Except Pug.
Her mind raced. What could she say?
Suddenly, she smiled and moved closer. “I’m sorry. My name is Victoria, after my grandmother.”
“No, no . . . Simone, it’s you.” Her eyes were milky, and her face was wrinkled, but she still looked like Pug.
“I had an Aunt Simone. But I’ve never met her.”
“An Aunt Simone? Who is your mother?”
“Kristina McCarthy. But we live in New York. I’m just visiting.”
The look of near horror washed from Pug’s face, and she breathed out through her teeth. “Oh, of course. Kristina’s girl? My God, you look just like your aunt. You could be twins.” Now she seemed happy, reaching out with one gnarled hand to touch Simone’s coat. Simone grasped her fingers.
Pug.
“Did you know my aunt?”
She
knew she should make a polite excuse and flee down the street, but for some reason, she couldn’t bring herself to leave. Pug was the only person who’d ever truly loved her—well, maybe except for Maggie, but that was different.
“Know her?” Pug answered. “She was my best friend, my dearest friend. I still think of her every day.”
Simone almost winced. She hadn’t thought of Pug in decades.
“Are you in a hurry?” Pug asked, catching her off guard. “I have a house just over there.” She pointed to her parents’ old place. “I’m still unpacking. I retired a while back and decided to come home to Denver. But I have a box of photos of your aunt when she was young. Come and I’ll show you.”
Pug was lonely. Simone could see it in her face. And retired? She’d always liked to be busy, and Denver was so different now. Had she inherited the house? This must be so hard on her, to come back to her parents’ old empty home, with everyone she’d ever known gone or dead.
Simone was surprised at herself for reasoning such things.
Again, the instinct to run welled up inside her.
“You won’t believe it.” Pug said. “You look just like her.”
Simone didn’t want to leave. She wanted to go with Pug and look at the old photos like some elderly woman dreaming about the past. Without letting herself think, she fell into step, and they made their way down the block.
They climbed the steps to the front porch.
The house looked just the same, maybe a bit shabbier, but Simone could not help remembering the happy years she’d spent here in high school. This place had been her refuge, somewhere safe and comfortable to laugh and eat baked beans on toast.
They went inside, and she looked around, trying not to tremble. Why did this affect her so much? All the memories of those years came crashing back, when she had been valued and accepted by the people who lived here. The shallow, hollow images of the last fifty years echoed inside her mind.
She walked over to the faded couch, upholstered in tacky brown and yellow flowers, chunks of stuffing coming out. It was the same couch she and Pug had once sat and played cards upon.
