by Barb Hendee
Hunting Memories
( Vampire Memories - 2 )
Barb Hendee
Eleisha Clevon has begun a correspondence with fellow vampire Rose de Spenser. Both reluctant predators, they venture outside only when the hunger becomes unbearable, trying not to draw attention to themselves-and feel guilty when ending human lives.
But Eleisha has learned a way to draw blood from her victims without killing them. She wants to share this knowledge with like-minded vampires and create a haven where they can exist together-and forge a united front against Julian Ashton, a vampire who has been hunting down and destroying his own kind…
Barb Hendee
Hunting Memories
For my editor, Susan, and my daughter, Jaclyn, who both put an amazing amount of thought, time, and work into helping me with this novel.
Prologue
SAN FRANCISCO, CALIFORNIA: Spring 2008
Rose de Spenser sat at an antique desk with her pen poised above a sheet of pristine stationery. Night lights from Chinatown glinted through her bedroom window as she stared outside. town glinted through her bedroom window as she stared
She knew what she had to do, but fear and uncertainty kept her pen in midair.
"Don't do it." A voice came from behind her. "You'll give us away."
"I have to," she whispered. "We cannot go on like this." Then she turned partway in her chair, facing inside the room.
Her nephew stood in the doorway. His form was transparent as always, so she could see out into the living room behind him. Though long dead, he looked eternally seventeen years old, his brown hair hanging to his shoulders. He wore the same blue-and-yellow Scottish plaid draped across his shoulder and held by a belt over the black breeches he had died in. The knife sheath at his hip was empty. After all these years with her in America, he'd never lost his accent.
"The world has shifted, Seamus," she said, "and if we do not act now, we'll lose our chance."
He looked at the wall and did not respond. But he must have known she was right.
What choice did they have? To continue rotting away in this apartment for another hundred years? To leave all the others, the lost ones in hiding, to rot away for another hundred years?
No.
Her attempt to convince him somehow strengthened her own resolution, and she turned back to the desk, this time lowering her pen to the sheet of paper. She wrote:
You are not alone. There are others like you. Respond to the Elizabeth Bathory Underground. P.O. Box 27750, San Francisco, CA 94973.
She folded the sheet and placed it inside an ivory envelope, addressing it carefully:
ELEISHA CLEVON
1412 QUEEN ANNE DRIVE
SEATTLE, WA 98102
She stood up and walked to the door. Seamus didn't move, but she had never once walked through him.
"Where are you going?" he asked.
"Downstairs. To mail it."
She could see the pain on his face, the worry for her, but she just stood there quietly, waiting. After a long moment, he stepped aside.
Chapter 1
SEATTLE, WASHINGTON: Four Weeks Later
"If you want to see the new Rambo movie, you'll have to take Wade… or go by yourself," Eleisha told Philip. "There's no way I'm sitting through that." She looked down the dark street into Pike Place Market. "Now focus. You need to practice so you can do this by yourself."
Philip was so tall that she realized she was standing under his chin, so she stepped away to see his face. He frowned, but she couldn't tell if his bad mood was due to her refusal to see Rambo or her insistence that he focus on the task at hand. Philip was hard to read, and they'd promised not to use telepathy on each other without permission.
"Your gift is better than mine for hunting like this," he said in his thick French accent, not bothering to look down at her.
"No, it isn't."
A month ago, Eleisha had discovered that she could feed without killing…Well, more important, a few weeks before that, she had learned that most vampires were latent telepaths who simply required another telepath to help their abilities surface. Not long after developing her own psychic powers, she had fed upon a mortal, left him alive, and then altered his memories so that he never remembered meeting her.
To her, this was a revelation. She had always hated killing to exist, and now she didn't need to.
She'd expected Philip to be equally pleased… and relieved.
But to Philip, this new method of hunting felt more like a bridle-something to hold him back. He was a killer by nature, and Eleisha knew this. But he wasn't stupid, and he understood the freedom of feeding without having to worry about hiding or dumping bodies.
He also cared what she thought of him. He wanted her approval. She didn't like using this against him, but she would if she had to.
"Your gift is good for any kind of hunting," she said.
And it was.
Of the few other vampires she'd met, Philip's gift made hunting look the most effortless.
Within a few nights of becoming undead, a specific element of their previous personality developed into an overwhelming aura-which could be turned on and off at will. Eleisha's gift was the illusion of helplessness. She was perceived as a helpless teenage waif who needed assistance. The fact that she was small with wheat gold hair contributed to the strength of her gift. Her victims longed either to take care of her or to take advantage of her-and she used to feed only upon the latter.
Philip's gift was sexual attraction.
She glanced up at him again, and this time he looked down, tilting his pale, perfect face. He was slender and muscular at the same time, wearing Levi's and a long-sleeved Hugo Boss T-shirt. Thick red-brown hair hung halfway down his back.
Eleisha wasn't affected by his handsome appearance, but she understood its purpose.
And when he used it in combination with his gift, victims practically fell into his lap.
"Come on," she said, walking away, knowing he would follow.
Western Avenue grew less crowded as she moved away from the market, toward the parking garage.
By now, Philip knew the drill, and although he'd already complained a few times about the monotony, he agreed with the sensible nature of Eleisha's preference to get somebody inside of a parked car-as long as the car was in the shadows.
They paced the lowest level together, not speaking, just keeping an eye out until they'd reached the darkest sector, and Philip stopped.
A young woman wearing a Market Spice apron walked alone toward a Ford Taurus positioned behind a column. She looked tired, probably just getting off work.
Philip didn't hesitate. He'd been undead since 1819, and he knew how to pick someone.
"Pardon," he said, approaching her.
The woman turned at the sound of his voice in partial annoyance and partial alarm. She hit the unlock beeper on her keychain instantly. What was she doing down here by herself anyway? Stupid.
But then she froze at the sight of Philip, and he let his gift flow outward, surrounding and permeating her.
Eleisha fought to block it. She wasn't immune to his gift, and he wasn't immune to hers, so they had to be careful when hunting together. But she could still see Philip as this woman did: beautiful, strong, and passionate, like a hero from some cheesy book cover on the romance shelf at Barnes amp; Noble.
Yet even as Eleisha had this last thought, she could feel the pull of his gift, and she regretted every nasty comment she'd ever made about his taste in films and music.
He was perfect.
She shook her head hard, trying to clear it.
Focus, she told herself.
The woman stood there, watching as Philip walked up to her. She had brown-black h
air in a ponytail. She wore a stylish leather messenger bag over one shoulder and large gold hoops in her ears.
"My sister and I have car trouble," he said, letting his French accent mesh the words together. "Can you help?"
"Do you need my phone?" she asked, taking shallow breaths, her eyes locked on his face.
"No, we are late for a family dinner on Capitol Hill. Can you take us?"
Letting strangers into her car was probably not something this woman did every day, but if he'd asked for her Visa card, she would have given it to him.
Eleisha decided not to talk-as he'd introduced her as his sister, and she couldn't fake a French accent.
"Um… okay," the woman said. "How far up on the hill?"
"I'll show you." He smiled and held out his hand. "Philip."
"Trudy," she responded, taking his hand, her voice shaking.
Eleisha climbed into the backseat quickly, as this was the only difficult part of her new routine. They couldn't let their intended victim start the car. So far, while training Philip, Eleisha had handled this part.
Earlier tonight, she told him he'd be on his own. He needed to learn how to do this.
But as Trudy put on her seat belt and fiddled with the keys, Philip just sat there, examining the stereo.
Without invading his private thoughts, Eleisha flashed out telepathically.
Put her to sleep!
He flinched and then frowned. Maybe he wanted to go for a ride up to Capitol Hill? He reached out to touch Trudy's face with the tips of his fingers just before she put her keys in the ignition.
"Wait," he said softly.
Her hand paused in midair.
Eleisha watched Philip's face as his eyes narrowed slightly in concentration. He was getting better at controlling his newfound abilities. Right now, he was inside Trudy's mind, lulling her to sleep.
Within seconds, her head fell back against the seat. Her eyes were closed.
He'd done it.
"Good," Eleisha said. "Remember to feed from her wrist."
"I know!"
His whole body looked tense, as if it took all his effort not to rip out Trudy's throat. His lips twisted back over his teeth, and his eyes were hard. Eleisha had seen him struggle in their earlier practice sessions but never like this.
"Philip?" she asked, getting ready to launch over the seat.
He moved closer to Trudy, took her right wrist in his hand, and bit down, being careful not to tear too much skin-just as Eleisha had taught him.
She relaxed slightly. He seemed to have gained control of himself, and the worst was over. All he had to do now was keep Trudy asleep, take enough blood… enough life force to sustain himself, and then replace her memories of meeting him with one that convinced her she'd fallen and gashed her own wrist and then climbed into the car before passing out.
Accomplishing this last part was easy, or at least Eleisha thought so. They would be out of the car in a few moments.
But then Philip's feeding sounds grew louder, and he suddenly used both hands to grip Trudy's arm inside his mouth as he tore down deeper, draining and drinking her blood fast enough to kill her. His features were taut, and his eyes were glowing.
He'd lost himself.
Eleisha knew better than to touch him when he got like this. On instinct, she flashed out telepathically.
Stop it!
To her relief, he jerked his head back, pulling his teeth from Trudy's arm.
But this broke his mental hold on her, and she opened her eyes, seeing his blood-smeared face, seeing her torn arm, and she began to scream. Anyone within a hundred yards would hear her.
He snarled and covered her mouth with his hand.
"No!" Eleisha said, and this time, she reached over the seat, grabbing his shoulder, trying to pull him back. "Get off!"
Instantly, she reached out with her thoughts, taking control of Trudy's mind, rushing her back in time to the moment she walked into the parking garage.
The inside of the car fell silent, and even while she focused on Trudy's memories, Eleisha could feel Philip's tight shoulder easing beneath her fingers.
The memory of a simple fall would no longer work.
Eleisha created the image of a mugger as she rebuilt the last ten minutes in Trudy's mind. Trudy walked toward her waiting Taurus. A man jumped out from behind the column, waving a knife and shouting for her bag. He slashed at her, and when she raised her arm, he cut her several times. She dropped the bag. He grabbed it and ran. Terrified, she made it inside the car and then passed out.
Eleisha opened her eyes and reached to Philip.
"Give me your knife."
He was staring at her in confusion, as if he wasn't sure what was happening, but he reached down into his boot and pulled out the hunting knife he always carried. Eleisha took it and leaned all the way over the seat, making a few shallow cuts in Trudy's arm, hoping to cover the mess Philip had made. Then she handed the blade back to him.
"Get her bag from the floor," she said. "Hurry."
She was out of the car before he was, but he followed quickly, slamming the door and carrying Trudy's bag. Eleisha headed for the stairs.
He followed.
Either no one had heard Trudy screaming or no one cared, but Eleisha didn't even start to relax until they were back up Western Avenue again, moving farther away from the market.
Then Philip stepped in front of her, wiping the blood from his mouth onto his black sleeve. He didn't touch her, but he wouldn't let her pass.
"You're angry," he said.
Was she angry? She didn't think so. She wasn't sure what she felt. He shouldn't be having this much trouble. The fact that they didn't have to kill anymore shifted the entire balance of their existence. Why couldn't he see that?
She shook her head.
"Then what is wrong?" he asked. "You are different tonight, even before… before that in the car. So quiet and no fun at all." When agitated, he had more trouble with English.
But Philip always said she was no fun if she didn't do exactly what he wanted. She was used to that.
Tonight he could somehow sense more. And he was right. She'd had something on her mind for weeks now… something she had not told him or Wade.
"Let's just get a taxi and go back to the house," she said. "We can talk there."
"No." He didn't move. "Tell me you are not angry."
He could be such a child sometimes. He looked ten years older than her. He was thirty years older, and he'd recently passed the two-century mark. Yet he often made her feel like the grown-up.
Still, she understood him. Philip hated being alone more than anything, and he'd spent one hundred and eighty-three years of his undead existence alone. Now that he had companionship, he feared losing it.
She reached out to take the bag from him, tossing it into a Dumpster.
"I'm not angry," she said. "But you need to try harder."
He had to learn to control his blood lust while focusing his telepathy at the same time.
His expression melted into relief. "Is that all? Yes, yes, I will try harder." Then, as if forgetting the entire event in the parking garage had taken place, he turned and sidestepped so she could walk beside him.
"Did you rent a new movie for tonight?" he asked. "With guns and explosions?"
"No, I want to talk to you and Wade about something."
"About what?"
"Let's just go to the house."
Wade often felt at odds, rattling around the house by himself as if he had nothing better to do than wait for Eleisha and Philip to come back.
Unfortunately… he didn't have anything better to do.
Not quite three months ago, he'd enjoyed an orderly life, one he'd worked hard to create. He had a posh loft in Portland, Oregon, a career as a police psychologist, and the respect of his peers.
Now he had no job, no home of his own, and he was living in Seattle with two vampires.
What the hell happened to his life?
&nb
sp; But he already knew the answer.
Eleisha.
Wade had always been a little out of the ordinary. For one, he'd been born telepathic, so he'd never expected a completely normal life… but this?
He wandered from the kitchen and into the living room, glancing at the television and the small pile of Philip's DVDs on the floor. Eleisha never watched TV of her own accord. Yet for someone who'd been around since the early 1800s, she was surprisingly well-adjusted to the modern world. Philip, however, was not, and sometimes, Wade regretted having taught him to use the DVD player. Philip had developed a fascination with action movies-especially anything by John Woo with Chow Yun-Fat-and he tended to play one after the other when he was bored.
And if he wasn't hunting, he was always bored.
A creak on the front porch sounded, and Wade turned to look hopefully at the door. Were they home already?
No one came in. The house must just be settling.
With that thought, he suddenly realized that none of them ever referred to this place as "home." All three of them still referred to it as "the house."
But that was probably due to the fact that they'd been living here only a month, and before that, the place had belonged to another vampire named Maggie Latour… who was dead now, turned to dust.
So none of them had roots or memories in this house.
He dropped into a chair near the fireplace, trying not to feel sorry for himself. He knew Eleisha and Philip were both working to come to terms with the chain of events that had brought them here, too.
Wade let his mind roll back. When had it started?
Last March? When a vampire named Edward Claymore had committed suicide by jumping off his own front porch in broad daylight, bursting into flames?
Or when the police investigation had dropped Wade right into Eleisha's path, and he discovered someone just as telepathic as he was?
Or maybe it really began when he had quit his job in Portland to follow her here?
No, it began long before that, in Wales, in 1839 when a vampire named Julian Ashton had turned her undead and then cut her loose, sending her to America with no information and no real idea what she was, forcing her to figure things out on her own.
