by Barb Hendee
"What do you think?" she asked Philip.
"It's good," he said simply.
"Wade?"
He shook his head in frustration. "This is too big a decision to make right now. Shouldn't we look at other places? Shouldn't we take more time to consider?"
Was he trying to convince himself or her? If she chose to, she could allow a little of her gift to seep out, to seduce him, to make him see she felt safe here so that he would do anything for her. But she wouldn't do that. She wanted his true agreement.
"I don't want to go back to Seattle," she confessed, deciding to try honesty. "I don't want to go back to Maggie's. I don't want to look at any other places. This is the one, Wade."
He stepped closer, his white-blond hair falling forward into his eyes.
"Eleisha…?"
"Don't you miss Portland?" she asked. "Don't you miss it here?"
Why she should love Portland and not Seattle was nonsensical, and she knew it, but for weeks now, the pull to come back to Oregon had grown stronger. The wish to leave Maggie's house had grown unbearable. That house held too many reminders. Maggie had existed there, decorated the place, made it her own. And William… he had died in that house. Eleisha tried, but she couldn't live there.
Philip walked across the sitting room and dropped down near the outlet of what appeared to be a cable hookup. The empty apartment still looked like something from 1902, but it had been updated.
"If we aren't going back," he said, studying the hookup, "we'll have to buy a new TV and DVD player. Wade, you can set the player up for me."
Wade blinked. "Not going back? Not ever? What about our stuff?"
Philip looked back at him. "What stuff? We brought most of our clothes along, and everything else was Maggie's."
That was true, and Eleisha had been banking on at least one of them reasoning this. She mentally searched for an opening to drop the next bomb.
Wade provided it.
"Well, it's not far to dawn," he said, sighing. "We should at least call for a cab and find a hotel. Even if we decide to buy this place, it's not like everything is going to happen overnight. We'll have to negotiate an offer, get the church inspected, get it appraised, and set up a closing date to sign papers. Do you both want to live in a hotel for a month?"
"No," Eleisha answered quietly.
His forehead wrinkled as he looked at her.
She held up the keys. "I leased the building for thirty days."
"What?"
"The deacons' committee is so motivated to sell that they agreed to some unusual requests… and I paid them four thousand dollars to let us have the place for a month. I told them we'd need to see if it suited us, but that was a lie. I knew once when I got here, I wouldn't want to leave."
Philip stood up, and even he appeared surprised by this announcement.
"Come and look," she said, letting Wade walk ahead of her through the archway toward the bedrooms. She showed him each room in turn. They were charming, with more white molding and slanted ceilings. All three of them contained new beds made up with new sheets, blankets, and pillows.
"I'm using the same real estate agent who's representing the deacons," she said. "That means if she sells to us, she gets to keep both commission fees. So… she was willing to go slightly beyond the call of duty. We don't need to go to a hotel."
Philip was waiting in the hallway. He glanced through a door at the nearest bed. "I'll get our suitcases from upstairs. Wade will want his deodorant and toothpaste."
He turned around and left.
Eleisha watched him go, waiting until he was up the stairs-keeping her back to Wade. "I'll handle the negotiations," she said. "We don't need a loan. I can sell some stock and buy the place with cash."
She couldn't bring herself to look at Wade.
"Please," she whispered. "Please say we're home."
He was quiet for a little while, and then he said, "Okay."
For the last few nights, Julian had felt almost… calm.
Mary had managed to locate Eleisha within twenty-four hours and returned to report that Eleisha was living in a house on Queen Anne Hill with a "hot vampire" and a "skinny blond guy." Julian mulled over this information carefully, knowing that the house had belonged to Maggie. It surprised him that Philip would ever consent to staying in one place that long, as he had a tendency to leave bodies lying around. Julian knew almost nothing of the blond man Eleisha had referred to as "Wade," but the very thought of her and Philip existing in the same house with a mortal was baffling.
Even Eleisha had never exhibited behavior quite that bizarre.
Regardless of these mysteries, only one fact mattered. Mary had confirmed that Eleisha was still in Seattle. So, neither Philip nor Eleisha seemed to be coming after him, and they were both safely across the ocean on another continent.
That was all he cared about for now: that they stayed away from him.
So, although having to listen to Mary grated on his nerves, she had managed to bring him some peace-even though she'd whined like a child when he ordered her back to Seattle.
It infuriated him that he couldn't just banish her back to the other lost souls.
But he'd neglected to mention that her servitude might be required for a long time, as it was possible he'd need to keep permanent tabs on Eleisha. He thought it best not to give Mary such information yet; better to control her with a mix of fear and the hint of promises.
In the end, at least she'd obeyed him and gone to keep watch. As he had not seen her in several nights, he assumed all was status quo.
Tonight, he was feeling so liberated, he even left the study and wandered into the dining hall, looking at the massive walnut table, surprised at himself for suddenly thinking of the old days when the manor was alive with people and servants and banquets and hunting parties.
Such events had lost their glitter for him after he was turned. He'd tried coming home several times back then, but he could feel only contempt for the petty mortals at the table-even the nobles.
Yet he had never lost his connection to this place, to Cliffbracken. Legalities had been somewhat tenuous after his mother died in 1842, while his father was still considered "missing." Julian hired a lawyer to go through proper channels to have his father declared dead, but this took seven years.
Then everything came to him, the entire estate, and later, in 1881, he used a law firm to help him pretend to sell the estate to a historical society… which in truth was made up only of himself.
But this way, the manor did not appear to have only one owner for an unreasonable amount of time. No one ever came here except for a few servants, and he changed them every ten years or so.
The dining hall was silent, and he walked through to the other side and down a stone corridor leading to the mudroom, where piles of boots had once been stacked and wriggling spaniels had run through on wet paws.
Julian had not been in here for years.
Why would he come here?
I'm hungry.
How long since he had fed? Too long. His subconscious must be telling him that it was time to leave the manor for a few hours, drive a proper distance, and go hunting.
Yes, with Eleisha well accounted for and safely ensconced in Maggie's old house, there was no reason he shouldn't expose himself and get out for a while. He needed blood, and a fresh kill would do him good. Perhaps he could find a small blond girl and make her suffer.
Feeling even better, he was about to leave the mudroom and go upstairs to change his clothes, when the air shimmered before him, and Mary appeared with a panicked expression on her transparent face, magenta hair sticking out in several directions.
"They're gone!" she cried. "Don't be mad at me!"
All the relief of the past few nights drained away. "What?"
"They were gone last night, but I thought… I thought they'd come back. Today I got so scared I went inside their house. Their clothes are gone and the heat's turned off, and I don't know where they are."
"Stop!" he ordered. She wasn't making any sense. "You have been watching them. How could they leave without you knowing?"
She appeared to be biting the inside of her mouth-which was impossible and provided an offensive image-and she reached up to twirl a strand of her short hair. "Don't be mad," she repeated. "I just left for a little while. I just wanted to see some… other things, and when I got back they were gone, but I didn't worry till tonight." She paused. "I thought I should tell you now and not wait till you called me."
Anger and fear began growing in the pit of his stomach. He stepped forward, wanting to strike her, to knock her off her feet.
He couldn't.
But he could send this stupid bit of trash back where he found her.
Her eyes widened. "I'll find them!" she cried. "Don't send me back. I'm getting good at moving from place to place. I swear I can find them."
He forced himself to calm down, to think. He did not trust himself to speak for a moment, and then he said tightly, "Just where would you begin to look?"
"Well… aren't you scared they might come here? Show me the closest airport on a map. I found out I can wish myself places by looking at maps."
"And how did you realize that?"
She fidgeted. "Practice," she answered evasively. "So I can help you better. But if I can't find them around the airport, you'll have to tell me where to go next. If Eleisha's not here, where would she go?"
Julian's thoughts turned inward. Where would she go? She'd lived in New York with Edward Claymore for over seventy years upon arriving in America, but then she had gone to Portland. For some reason, she preferred it there and she'd stayed.
"I'll get some maps from the study," he said slowly. "Try sensing anywhere near the manor first, and then Cardiff International Airport, and if you can't find her, go back to America and try Portland, Oregon."
Relief passed across Mary's face as she realized he wasn't going to banish her. "I'll find her."
Chapter 3
By two nights later, several things had happened in Eleisha's world.
First, through Rose's address being absorbed into her consciousness, Eleisha had named their new home, and she spoke the name so often that Wade was also referring to the church as "the underground." He joked it was rather like Tara from Gone With the Wind. But Eleisha compared it more to terms like "head-quarters," in old spy movies.
Second, the deacons had gladly accepted her offer on the property. She'd waived the right to the sale being complete pending an inspection, and a bank appraisal wasn't necessary because she planned on buying the place with cash.
Now, she just needed to sell some stock and have the money available.
Unfortunately, her broker was on vacation in Costa Rica and wouldn't be back in the States for six days. But the closing date to sign paperwork wasn't set for three weeks, so aside from feeling in limbo, she wasn't concerned.
She'd written a long letter to Rose, telling her everything about the underground, including the wrought-iron fence and night-blooming roses, how the place felt like home… how it had been abandoned and seemed to need someone. She could tell Rose things she could never tell Philip or Wade. Now, she would simply have to wait for a response before knowing the next step. Eleisha understood Rose's caution-as Rose didn't know if she could trust them either.
Last night, Eleisha had taken a taxi east to set up orders at several furniture stores, while Wade and Philip had taken the public Streetcar downtown to pick out a new television and DVD player. They'd brought a DVD player home, but the flat-screen TV that Philip wanted was temporarily out of stock, and they would have to wait a few days for delivery.
So now, with little else to do, Wade and Eleisha had set to work cleaning the inside of the church. Wade might be terrible at making decisions, but once a decision was made, he threw himself in with both feet. At the moment, he was busy scrubbing the upstairs windowsills.
Philip had discovered a hardwood floor beneath the outdated carpet in the sanctuary, and so he was ripping up the carpet.
Eleisha was trying to get the sitting room in the downstairs apartment ready for a delivery of furniture from Crate and Barrel. Scrubbing and sweeping, she felt almost like a housewife, dressed in a pair of Wade's old sweatpants and a flannel shirt, with her hair in a knot on top of her head. She found the idea humorous. Her. A housewife. How long since she'd set up a house?
Had it been 1912?
Yes, that was the last time… really, the only time.
When she'd landed in New York in 1839, so lost and confused, another vampire, Edward Claymore, had taken her and William under his wing. Edward had protected her and trained her to hunt. But he'd never felt a need for a «home» and always kept them living in lavish New York hotels. In the end, Eleisha had struck out on her own, come here to Portland, and bought a house for herself and William. Yes, that was the last time she had set up a home.
It felt good to be doing so again.
She finished wiping the last cobweb from a corner. The room was clean. What now?
She decided to go upstairs to see how Philip was progressing. Emerging from the door behind the altar into the sanctuary, she found him sitting on the floor in a pile of moldy carpet remnants, gazing at nothing.
Most uncharacteristic.
Dust floated in the air. Soft illumination from the streetlights outside filtered through the stained-glass windows, glowing in greens and yellows off the side of his face.
"Are you okay?" she asked.
He looked up at her. When he spoke, his accent sounded thick and he started mixing English with French. "I want to talk. Sйrieusement."
He wanted to talk seriously? She tensed, hoping they were not going to have another showdown over Rose. She was definitely not feeling up to a fight with Philip.
"What?" she asked cautiously.
He stood, went over to the altar, and picked up a manila folder. "Come and look."
His expression was so intense, it frightened her. What could be so important that Philip wasn't even complaining about the lack of fun or about all the hard work of prepping their new home?
She hurried over. "What is it?"
He crouched down and opened the folder, spreading out its contents. Eleisha found herself looking at the newest editions of GQ, Men's Vogue, and a small collection of photos of famous male actors. Brad Pitt was on the top of the stack.
Philip picked up the GQ. "Look at the men here and then tell me. What do they have in common, eh?"
If he had spoken in Russian, Eleisha would not have been more confused. "I don't understand what you're-"
"Look! What is the same about them all?"
She glanced down at the magazine as he paged through it for her.
"They're all shallow and self-absorbed?" she ventured.
"No!"
She flinched. He was really upset about something.
"Their hair," he said. "Now, look at this Vogue. Not a single man has long hair like mine." He lowered his voice to conspiratorial tones. "I am passй."
For nearly thirty seconds, she almost couldn't believe what he was saying. In the past month, she had lost her purpose in existence-her William. Then she and Philip had faced down Julian, abandoned Seattle, and found a new home so they could bring in a frightened vampire who had somehow escaped Julian's killing spree in the nineteenth century, and Philip was worried about his hair?
"It's your fault," he went on. "All your talk of new music and new movies, and I did not know until now that my hair makes me look like some shabby eighties rock star."
Eighties rock stars did not run around wearing shirts by Hugo Boss… Well, maybe some of them did.
"Oh, Philip." Eleisha sank down beside him, realizing there was more going on here than vanity. The world at large kept moving faster and faster, and living alone for so long, he hadn't been able to keep up, and he'd never seen himself through any eyes but his own. He was becoming more self-aware due to his newfound companionship. "What if you
get it cut, and you don't like it?" she asked. "It might not grow back."
She'd discovered this fact within a year of being turned. Although any flesh wound she'd received healed quickly, other aspects of her body worked differently. At first, her hair and fingernails had continued to grow, but then they stopped.
"Here," he answered, digging through the stack of actors' photos, holding up a head shot of Viggo Mortensen from A Perfect Murder. "What about this? It's still down below his ears."
"Where did you get all these pictures?"
"From other magazines. Wade took me to a bookstore called Powell's last night. It is very big."
A part of her still could not believe he'd been laboring over anything so trivial, but if he was this concerned, she wanted to help. Philip had fought Julian for her, protected her, stayed with her when she needed him-when he could have left and gone anywhere in the world.
"Well… I've never been to a hair salon," she said, "but Wade has. He might be able to suggest one."
"Wade!" Philip was aghast. "He goes to Supercuts. No, I've read articles, and I know something of this. I should not pay less than two hundred dollars, and I should only see a gay stylist. I can risk no mistakes."
His expression was so troubled.
Torn between wanting to comfort him and wanting to hit him across the face with a loose floorboard, Eleisha said. "Okay, we'll get a phonebook, and we'll start calling, and we'll find you an overpriced gay stylist."
He rocked back on his heels, clearly relieved. "Bien."
She could hardly believe this was the same man who'd recently kicked Julian out a window.
Julian paced the filthy study at Cliffbracken, dragging a sword over the Indian carpet.
Mary had not returned to him, and every few hours, he was gripped by an almost overwhelming impulse to call her back. But he feared pulling her away too soon-in case she was close to locating Eleisha.
What could be taking so long?
