Blood Memories vm-1 Read online

  "No packing," he said to me suddenly. "No packing."

  "No, we don't need to pack. We're staying here."

  For the first time, I felt sick at the sight of his aged, senile face. He couldn't help me. Why was he so useless? "Get away from me, William. I'm going out."

  Without bothering to wait for an answer, I ran out the front door and down the dark side of the street. Single people and couples moved past me, doing whatever it is mortals do at night in the Emerald City, but I ignored them and headed toward downtown.

  Mad Dog 20/20 littered the chipped sidewalks like pebbles in a stream. I hopped easily around them without thinking, and for once didn't stop to give the homeless bums any money.

  Moving by a tattoo shop, I stopped at the sound of two raised voices.

  "Yeah, yeah, I'll be back by two. You lock that door on me again, and I'll kick your teeth in."

  The shop was empty except for a young woman with greasy hair, smoking a cigarette, and a stocky, dark-haired man pulling on a jacket.

  "Where're you going?" the woman asked.

  "Out."

  "What if a customer comes?"

  "Tell 'em we're closed. I don't care! Go to bed or something. Just don't lock that goddamn door."

  He hurried out, lighting a cigarette, and walked quickly toward a beat-up Ford Pinto parked near the curb.

  "Why don't you get a key?" I asked softly.

  "Huh?"

  He half turned in annoyance, and then stopped sharply at the sight of me leaning up against the building.

  "Why don't you get a key for the front door? Then you wouldn't have to worry about being locked out."

  "Do you always hang out listening to other people's problems?" he asked.

  "Not usually. Why don't you have a key?"

  "She chains it from the inside." He had a stocky build, a hard face, dark hair, and china-blue eyes, like Dominick. "What do you want? You need a ride or something?"

  For once I didn't fall into my helpless act. He didn't seem to need it. But my recently adopted hooker's pose didn't fit right either. Besides, going out hadn't been on my agenda, and I was wearing a long broomstick skirt with a white tank top, in spite of cool April night air.

  I walked out to him slowly. He was about five foot six, and I had to look up to see his face. My small size had always been a turn-on for short men. Julian did a good job choosing me as William's caretaker.

  "Yeah," I said. "Some friends are waiting for me down on the pier."

  He motioned with his head toward the car door. Loose ashes from his Marlboro scattered lightly on the pavement. "Get in."

  Soiled McDonald's and Burger King bags covered the passenger seat. He gathered most of them up and threw them in the back without apologizing. It took him five tries to get the engine started.

  "Where on the pier?" he asked.

  "Just down by the aquarium. Where are you going?"

  "No place. I just had to get out of there. Couldn't breathe."

  "Do you actually put tattoos on people?"

  He glanced over. "No, I bake doughnuts, and the tattoo sign just lures hungry people in. What do you think?"

  "Do you have any?"

  "Any what?"

  "Tattoos."

  "Yeah."

  "Can I see them?"

  This time he slowed the car down slightly. "How old are you?"

  "Twenty-one."

  "Bullshit."

  "Want to see my license?"

  He stayed quiet for a minute, and then said, "You want to blow off your friends and go have a drink someplace?"

  "Why don't we just get a bottle and drive to Union Park?"

  For the first time, he smiled at me. "Look in the glove box."

  I popped it open and found a half-empty fifth of Black Velvet. "Nice. You shouldn't keep it there, though. That's the first place cops look."

  "I never speed."

  His teeth were yellow and the stench of three-day-old perspiration drifted over to my side of the car.

  "What's your name?" he asked.

  "Does it matter?"

  Mortals never cease to surprise me. He looked about as bright as an antique fire hose, but he suddenly realized this situation was a bit out of the ordinary.

  "Hey, what are you doing with me?"

  "I was bored. You looked bored."

  He still seemed uncertain, as if he thought maybe I was going to get him off and then ask for a hundred bucks.

  He pulled into Union Park, grabbed the bottle out of my hand, and stepped outside. The lights on the water were beautiful at night. Black, cold water so polluted no one could swim in it, but tugboats drifted gently across the surface, in and out of the harbor, at all hours. I loved it.

  My companion walked halfway up a grassy hill and sat down. The place was deserted. We could hear cars and distant voices, but couldn't see anyone. I sat down next to him and took a shallow drink from the bottle, even though warm, straight Black Velvet didn't appeal to me.

  He reached out for another drink and grabbed my wrist instead. His hand surprised me. The bottle fell and shattered on a jagged rock. Instinctively, I tried to pull away, and he pinned me down beneath his chest. Bile rose in my throat as I tasted warm whiskey and stale French fries on his mouth. He was too strong to push off, and panic set in. He ripped the back of my tank top, and I managed to pull my face away.

  "Don't."

  "What's wrong?" he breathed without letting me up.

  His eyes looked like Dominick's, cruel and flat. This must be the way Dominick made love, too. I pretended he was Dominick and felt my own control returning.

  When he kissed me again, I didn't struggle. Memories of watching Maggie flooded past me, and I kissed him back the way she would have, openmouthed, with no pressure at all. His tongue pressed in violently.

  The grass felt soft, and his body felt hard. Running my hands lightly up his chest, I listened to a sharp intake of breath. He rolled over with a groan and let my lips move down his unshaven cheek.

  Touching him made me sick, but I just kept seeing him as Dominick. As my face buried itself in the crook of his neck, I reached up with one hand, grabbed his hair and bit down so hard that hot liquid spurted out in a tiny, pulsing fountain on the first strike.

  His body bucked once, but I ripped upward with my teeth and bit down again so fast he went into shock. The blood tasted good, sweet. I tried to shut out all the ugly, shabby images of his life flowing through my mind. The faster I drained him, the fainter he got. With each swallow his arms grew weaker until they stopped pushing at me altogether.

  Even when I couldn't take in any more, his heart thumped in his chest. I dragged him down the hill and rolled him into the bay, watching him sink, glad he was dying.

  It was an unexpected experience, standing over the black water, blood all over my face and arms, rejoicing in someone else's death. So far I'd always hated killing. Tonight was a first.

  Was the world changing or was it just me?

  Chapter 12

  Twenty minutes later, home was just a few blocks away, and I was wishing for a coat. I'd tried to clean myself up, but had only made the mess worse. Between the torn tank top and the blood drying in my hair, I looked like a battered teenager. Only a few people passed me on the street, but my appearance stood out enough to be noticed, even in the dark.

  Relief flooded through me when I saw the porch light at Maggie's.

  Almost there.

  The iron gate creaked slightly as I slipped through. Poor William. He would need comfort and to be tucked in bed with soft words. My earlier manner with him had been harsh and unfair. None of this was his fault.

  The path to the door seemed endless, and then something soft and tentative touched my mind. My legs froze. I looked up wildly.

  Wade sat on the front stairs, gazing out through a pair of tired eyes, his white-blond hair hanging in messy tufts.

  Neither one of us moved or spoke for a full minute.

  "What happened to you?" h
e finally asked. "Are you hurt?"

  "No. I'm… No."

  He was wearing a pair of torn jeans and a faded Colorado State sweatshirt.

  "Is that your blood?"

  "What are you doing here?" I asked, ignoring his question.

  Maybe it had always been there, but that moment was the first time I noticed a sadness etched in Wade's face. He'd led a strange life so far, colored by bizarre abilities he'd never asked for. Rather like me. And maybe it was because my world felt so alone, but he looked familiar. His serious, narrow countenance was an almost welcome sight. I walked up toward the porch and sat down on the stair below him- instinctive deference-not caring what he thought of the blood and ripped tank.

  "Dominick came to my room this morning, a few hours after you left," he said softly. "We had a talk… that turned into an argument."

  "About me?"

  "He said a lot of crazy things about you. I had to see you again."

  What did he want? Was he here to prove Dominick wrong? If so, he would have a rude awakening. Maybe he should know the truth. So far I hadn't used my gift on him, but in his present state of mind, seducing him into a protective position wouldn't be too difficult.

  "Wade, I'm a mess. Do you want to come inside?"

  His brow creased in uncertainty. I had a pretty good idea what Dominick told him. But then a question struck me.

  "How did you know where to find me?"

  "I saw pictures in your head the night your friend died. I drove around until I found the right neighborhood."

  "You didn't tell anyone else, did you?"

  He winced. "What do you think I am? Didn't I show you last night that I could be…" He trailed off for a few seconds, and then his expression tightened and he nearly shouted, "I'm trapped! I quit my job and my best friend's a stranger. You're the only one with answers, but you're just sitting here without a scratch… covered in blood… worried about yourself!"

  Okay, that did it. His anger unsettled me, and I immediately focused on his need to protect. Staring at a discolored stone on the stairs, I crossed my arms as though cold and whispered, "I'm sorry."

  Worked like a charm.

  "Eleisha." His expression instantly melted to regret. He dropped down on the step beside me and pulled my head into his chest. I let him touch me because William and I needed someone on our side, or that's what I kept telling myself. Wade's skin felt warm through his thick sweatshirt, and his fingers were soft on the back of my hair.

  "I don't want to hurt you," he said. "But there's no one else left. I can't see into Dom's head. Everything's gone dark."

  "Come inside with me. You need to meet someone."

  "Who?"

  "The other half of the ‘us' I mentioned in your room last night. The someone I bought the second plane ticket for. But whatever you do, don't try to read his mind. At least not yet."

  Whatever Dom had told him encompassed the ugly aspects of my kind. I didn't have a choice anymore about showing secrets to Wade. It was either tell him or kill him, and he didn't deserve to die.

  He followed me cautiously into the front foyer of Maggie's house-I still thought of it as Maggie's house.

  "William," I called. "Where are you?"

  Wade's head turned at the sound of shuffling feet. Sweet William wandered out of the living room in his burgundy smoking jacket and wrinkled trousers. By the frightened look on his face, he remembered my earlier harsh manner.

  "Chess game's set up," he mumbled. "Won't cheat for Maggie."

  "Not tonight. We have company."

  He peered out into the foyer. "Someone we know? Julian?"

  "No, this is Wade. He's a new guest."

  Glimpses of long-forgotten pleasantries came over William. He shuffled forward, right hand extended. "So pleased to meet you. Sorry Katherine's not here. She sets a fine table."

  Wade's reaction didn't surprise me. Maybe that's why I let him in. Anyone else would have pulled back in revulsion at William's pale, corpselike visage.

  "Glad to meet you," he answered politely, shaking William's shriveled hand. "Don't worry about the table. I had a late supper."

  "Fine, fine. Come to the fire for brandy?"

  "Later," I put in. "Wade and I need to discuss some business. You go on ahead, and we'll join you in a while."

  William smiled, pleased that he had handled himself so well, earlier fears forgotten. "I'll stoke up the fire."

  Leading Wade down the hall, I whispered, "That's one of the ‘killers' Dominick is hunting. Quite dangerous, don't you think?"

  For some reason, I wanted him to see Maggie's bedroom. The opinions of mortals mattered little to me, but he needed to see, to feel, what Dominick had wasted, had destroyed.

  "Jesus," he murmured, looking around. "Did you do this?"

  "Me? No, I could never do anything like this. I wouldn't even think about it. This is… was Maggie's room."

  "Your friend?"

  "Yes."

  "She was beautiful."

  That pleased me. "Yes, she was. But you should have seen her back in-"

  "In?"

  "Do you trust me?"

  "Should I?"

  "You don't know how hard this is for me or what you're dealing with. But if I show you what happened, if I show you how all this began, will you trust me?"

  His face twisted in indecision, and I found him handsome. He wasn't a fool. "I don't know," he answered. "But if you even try to help me, I promise to help you."

  "Sit down, on the carpet, like we did in your motel room."

  He'd been so eager to show me his past, to share it with someone, anyone. I had been blind to his feelings because of my own fear at the time. Now his emotions seemed clear. I understood. For so long my past had been buried in dirty, black secrets.

  When Wade sat down on the floor by Maggie's glorious bed, I reached out and grasped two of his fingers. Not to seduce him, not to trick him into protecting us, but just to help him connect.

  Then I looked up into his eyes and dropped the shield covering my thoughts. This is what he saw.

  Chapter 13

  Eleisha

  Eleisha Clevon was born May 19, 1822, in Glamorgan, Wales, near the shores of Cardiff on the Bristol Channel. Icy wind blowing against cold flesh was the most vivid memory of her childhood, besides hunger. She considered the kitchen of Cliffbracken to be her home until the age of six-upon being informed by a cook that she and her mother only slept in the pantry through someone else's charity. After that, the concept of «home» simply didn't matter, even though she grew up within the confines of Lord William Ashton and Lady Katherine's walls.

  Her mother's beauty faded early from hard work, malnutrition, and sorrow. Her father remained a mystery. Gossips of the manor hinted he'd been a French soldier who once served under Napoleon. Others said he was a traveling merchant, but Eleisha never knew what to believe and her mother refused to tell.

  As a child, Eleisha discovered that the most worthwhile talent a little bastard kitchen wench can achieve is invisibility. The less the cooks saw her, the safer and healthier she remained. Lord William's enormous stone manor struck her as damp and cheerless, but filled with wonderful places to hide. Richly dressed people discussing private matters often walked right past her, never realizing she was there. By the age of eleven, flitting about the house became far preferable to scrubbing pots in the kitchen while watching her mother stare for hours into space, dreaming of something no one else could see.

  Eleisha had been wearing the same brown dress for three years on the day she finally met Lady Katherine. Cliffbracken bustled with life. Apparently, young Master Julian, Lord William's son, was home after being away on business for several years. Eleisha found all the wild activity disconcerting. Why all this commotion?

  She was making a poor pretense of dusting the banister when animated voices rose up the staircase, accompanied by sounds of light-clicking heels.

  "What do you mean, ‘she's disappeared'?"

  "I can't unde
rstand it, my lady. We've searched everywhere." This voice was masculine: the house steward, Mr. Shevonshire.

  Eleisha slipped quickly behind a large red vase on the first landing. Who had vanished?

  "Well, you'll simply have to replace her. There are twenty people on the guest list, and Marion cannot serve dinner alone."

  "What do you suggest, my lady?" the steward asked dryly. "That we set up interviews in the study? We have three hours."

  "Serving girls are not my concern. Why you can't deal with these trivial matters yourself has never ceased to-" The female voice stopped. "Come out of there."

  When Eleisha realized she'd been noticed, she stopped breathing. But survival instincts took over, and she stepped into view.

  "What were you doing back there?" demanded a tall, auburn-haired lady with dark circles under her eyes.

  "Dusting," Eleisha answered with downcast eyes.

  "Who are you?"

  "Eleisha Clevon. My mother helps in the kitchen."

  The lady stared at her for a moment, taking in her hair and thin stature. "How old are you?"

  "Twelve."

  Tossing her head as though having made a decision, the woman turned to sweep back down the stairs. "Put her in a uniform," she said offhandedly to Mr. Shevonshire. "And have Marion give her the course list. She'll have to do."

  Eleisha found herself standing alone with the angry house steward. They expected her to serve a formal dinner?

  "Oh, no," she said. "I can't hold trays for proper ladies and gentlemen. I wouldn't know which one to bring out first."

  "Be quiet." The expression on his face suggested he'd rather drop her down the stairwell, but he sighed and headed for the salaried servants' quarters. "Come with me."

  Marion, the head serving maid, turned out to be so glad at the prospect of help she actually smiled and went over the menu several times, explaining carefully when each dish would be served. "Don't be worrying. You just follow what I do and keep your eyes down."

  Eleisha's fear faded slightly at Marion's calm manner. She'd never been in one of the hired servants' rooms before. White walls and a little four-poster bed made the atmosphere pleasant.