Barb Hendee - Hunting Memories

"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."

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.