Barb Hendee - Blood Memories

"You're missing the point. Edward and I developed no psychic powers from living together. It never even occurred to us."

"I know. Angelo said such power must be taught… like Wade has done for you. Perhaps we all have the power buried, waiting to wake."

"All except Julian."

Yes, all except Julian. That was the crux. He feared what he did not possess, enough to murder his own kind.

Philip stood up, towering over me. "Leisha?"

"Mmmmm?" He pulled me out of concentration.

"Do you remember a few weeks ago, when Maggie called me and told me you were living with her?"

"Yes, I remember."

"It hurt, and I hadn't felt anything for a long time."

"You missed her?"

"No, it wasn't that. But she spoke of fireplaces and the three of you talking together. It didn't seem fair when I had to stay by myself. It made me think of John and Angelo-things pushed to the back of my head for so many years."

"And you like having company now?"

"Yes, but look at us! Julian was right. Only a few nights together, and it's started."

I turned to him angrily. "Listen to yourself! He's been rationalizing his own fear, his own weakness, for so long you've started believing it. Telepathy isn't a disease. It's more like a muscle. The more you use it, the stronger it grows. If not for Wade… Oh, he's still in the bedroom."

"Oh."

Philip jumped up and crossed the room. "I am sorry, Wade. We're finished." He spoke like someone who'd known Wade for years.

When they came back to the couch together, I noticed similar lines of sadness below their eyes, on their foreheads. What a team the three of us made. Almost everyone we'd ever cared about was dead or gone, taken away in this unstoppable conflict, which started with the single action of Edward Claymore jumping off his own front porch.

Why couldn't we mourn? Wade had tear ducts. Why didn't he cry for Dominick? Philip rarely mentioned Maggie unless he had to. And me? I couldn't think about William, couldn't let the image of his face enter my consciousness or I might dry up and crumble. What a team.

A fruit basket sat cheerfully on an oak writing desk against the wall. I picked it up and peeled back the plastic cover. "Wade, you should eat some of this. Do you like apples? Maybe these grapes?"

He nodded tiredly, and I flashed inside his mind, I'm sorry about Dominick .

No answer came, but he took some grapes and a banana from me.

"We should go," Philip said. "I called Julian hours ago, but he did not tell me his location."

"Couldn't we just keep all this a secret?" I asked. "Why does he have to know?"

"He'll know," Philip answered softly.

I wasn't so sure, but those stories of Julian stepping out from nowhere frightened me enough. I kept fantasizing his dark visage popping up behind the couch, a broadsword arcing in his grasp.

Wade's hands were shaking, maybe delayed shock from everything he'd gone through tonight. Helping him peel the banana, I asked, "Do you still have the Prius?"

"Yes."

"Good, we'll let Philip drive. One ride with him and nothing will ever scare you again."

We all laughed briefly, but the laughter was forced. Taking the fruit basket seemed a good idea. It would be easy for me to forget that mortals had to eat every day. Wade seldom spoke up about things like hunger or sleep.

He'd have to come with us, at least for now, at least until we figured something else out. He was just so vulnerable, so unprepared for what lay ahead. Even his growing tolerance, perhaps acceptance, of Philip might fade away after witnessing the first hunt. Running all night, sleeping all day. What kind of life was that for a man like Wade?

But nothing could be done about it now.

"Help me take those blankets off the windows," Philip said. "We won't need them anymore, and the maids might wonder why we put them up."

"Okay," I answered uncertainly.

How could he worry about things like blankets over hotel windows and then kill cops on busy streets? Sometimes he was too weird-even for me.

The next few seconds caught me completely off guard. Thinking about Philip's inconsistencies took my mind from our immediate problems. I reached out for the hanging blanket nearest the west wall, and a pale hand snaked from behind it, grasping my wrist like a vice.

"Having a party?" a voice as cold as ocean depths echoed from behind the drape. "Without me?"

Julian.

I almost screamed, but didn't. He stepped out, still holding me-dressed in black, looking identical to the image imprinted on my memory: broad, pale features set off by cold eyes. All I could feel was fear. Uncontrollable, sickening waves of fear washed down my throat, making my teeth click rapidly together.

From the corner of my eye, I saw Philip turn and stop. "Did you climb all the way up the side of this building just to impress me?" His voice was light and flippant. He had good control.

"Of course not," my maker answered. "I took the stairs to the roof and climbed down one floor. Did I impress you?"

"As always. It's good to see you."

Even through my haze of fear, I could hear that their casual banter was wrong-it didn't fit. And from the corner of my eye, I could see Philip's face, guarded but terrified, no matter how calm he sounded.

His gift didn't work against Julian. Strange how the one person Philip feared in this world had been the reason for my existence, always there, but distant, hiding in the shadows, the one person William truly remembered.

Had Julian ever felt my gift? Did he know what his pretty creation could do?

Reaching up with my free hand, I touched his fingers softly. "Master, your grip is too tight."

I focused on emanating an image of myself-small, fragile, hardly worth the bother of a creature like Julian, far beneath him in every respect. A peasant, and yet somehow one of his own. How could he think of hurting me? Harmless and defenseless, I needed protection and the strength of someone like him.

His susceptibility to suggestion surprised me. Philip had played along when we first met, even allowed himself to be affected, but he always knew the game. He always knew exactly what I was.

But Julian let go instantly, actually steadying me to make sure I wouldn't fall.

"My father is dead?" he asked, his words sounding more like a statement than a question.

Some of my terror began to fade, and I bowed my head for a moment, as if not worthy of looking him in the face. Then carefully, I raised my eyes.

"Yes, my lord."

"And where is his murderer?"

"Dead. Philip killed him."

A flicker of relief passed across his pale features. His work here was done. The senile abortion he called father no longer haunted him. Revenge had been exacted, and Philip and I were no threat because we had been beaten into states of eternal fear. Things must have looked quite rosy.

He didn't seem to sense or suspect a thing about our growing telepathy. Maybe Philip gave him too much credit?

My hope began to rise.

Maybe if we just behaved correctly, fed his ego, and walked three steps behind him, we'd get out of this without a fight. I had no pride left, not when it came to Julian.

But then he turned to Wade, who'd been standing silently in the corner, just watching, breathing quickly. Even wearing his canvas jacket, he looked so slender, almost fragile, his white-blond hair hanging forward over his eyes. After that first intense scan of my memories a few nights ago, Wade knew my maker well.

My heart sank again.

"Who is this?" Julian asked. "Did Philip bring dinner?"

I wanted to scream, to claw his eyes out. What had I been thinking? Hoping we could flatter our way out of this? Julian would never let Wade out of the building.

Of all the ways I thought to die, defending a mortal wasn't one of them. Then again… I did possess one weapon, and I still might be able to use it here.