Hunting Memories (19 page)
Authors: Barb Hendee
“I am so afraid,” she whispered. “I need to run. You stay here and protect my way.”
He shifted his weight to his right foot, wavered slightly, and repeated, “Protect your way.”
But then . . . she felt something inside her mind, something pushing back. Robert stumbled forward, and he made a sound like a mortal trying to suck in breath. She could feel him pushing her out.
“Turn it off,” he gasped.
She stepped closer, trying to hold on, wrapping her thoughts around his, making him see her as helpless, frightened, someone he must let run away.
I won’t hurt you
, he flashed into mind.
Turn it off
.
, he flashed into mind.
Turn it off
.
His verbal thoughts were so clear—even clearer than Wade’s—that she felt truth behind them. Who was he?
Still doubting herself, beginning to doubt her own instincts, she shut off her gift.
Rose staggered a few feet back, nearing the staircase.
Robert dropped to one knee as if released from some physical hold, and he placed his palm against the floor. “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,” he said, looking up at Eleisha, the contempt on his face fading slightly. “Who taught you to do that?”
She just looked at him, studying his lean face and his nearly clear eyes.
“You’re of the wild generation,” he said, his tone growing more demanding. “
Who
taught you to do that?”
Who
taught you to do that?”
Wild generation? What did he mean?
Rose was gaining control of herself and hurried forward, holding her long green skirt in one hand. “Eleisha, this is Robert Brighton. Forgive me for not telling you anything before, but I swore I would not expose him. He has no reason to trust any of us . . . any more than we have to trust each other.” She paused, standing close to Eleisha, “He agreed to see only you.”
Eleisha looked at her, thoroughly confused now. Rose had not led her into a trap? Could it be that Rose was so determined, so desperate, to bring any vampires still in hiding together that she would do anything, go to any lengths just to manipulate meetings? Could Eleisha blame her? Isn’t this what they both wanted? What they had planned and dreamed of in their letters? If that was the case, then perhaps Rose could be trusted—as long as Eleisha never forgot how single-minded she could be in this pursuit.
Without asking, Eleisha slipped inside Rose’s mind.
You found him and drew him here? Through Seamus?
Rose’s eyes widened again.
Yes, and a brief exchange of letters.
Yes, and a brief exchange of letters.
Why?
If we are to build a community, we have to find the others. But I never thought to find one like him still in existence—
“That is impolite,” Robert said. “And this is pointless. You have no knowledge and no manners. You plan for things of which you have no understanding.”
Eleisha pulled out of Rose’s mind and tilted her head to one side. In Philip’s memories, she had seen detailed images of him living with Julian, John McCrugger, and his maker, Angelo Travare. Only after the beginning of Julian’s killing spree did the vampires break up and travel alone. Had it been normal for them to exist together before? This Robert Brighton had been hiding—just like Rose—but he had come out of hiding and traveled all the way from Russia to San Francisco, so no matter how much he protested, he must be desperate to rejoin his own kind.
“Why did you come here?” Eleisha asked him. “Did Rose tell you about the church? Do you want to come home with us?”
He seemed taken back by her direct questions and paused. Then he shook his head. “Not if you keep company with Philip Branté. He’s feral. As blood brother to Julian, he was the only one with a chance to stop those horrors, and he did nothing, not that I should have expected more. Angelo had already ruined him, taught him nothing, let him run wild, let him kill whoever he pleased.”
Eleisha was getting sick of these vampires constantly bashing Philip, but she froze, taking in Robert’s words. If he knew Philip and Julian personally . . . then Julian must have known him, and he was clearly telepathic.
“How did you survive?” she asked.
Again, he seemed unsettled by her direct question, as if he thought her rude.
“I did not,” he answered. “Julian believes he hacked my head off.”
“What?”
“Eleisha,” Rose interrupted, “this can all wait.” She turned to Robert. “You can see the truth of my words.” She pointed to Eleisha. “She fought Julian and won—sent him packing. Everything has changed. You must agree to meet Philip and Wade. There is strength in numbers.”
His expression went still for a moment, as if he considered her offer, and then he took a step backward. “I’ll not be in the same room with Philip Branté. He’s feral. And a coward.”
Eleisha turned around and headed for the stairs. “I don’t care who you are. I won’t listen to this.”
Rose ran after her, catching her arm, leaning close to whisper, “Wait. He is old, with knowledge of our kind we could never find anywhere else. Please, Eleisha, convince him. He may be the only one from . . . before.”
Eleisha stopped. How old was he? She’d believed that any survivors would most likely be like herself or Edward or Rose—turned either right as the killing spree began or after, with no opportunity for telepathic training or somehow off Julian’s radar.
But she could not help being disgusted by this Robert Brighton’s arrogance and contempt. If he was going to join them, he would have to accept a few truths.
She turned to face him. “You call Philip a coward?” she asked. “When you’ve been hiding in Russia? Yes, Philip is terrified of Julian. We all are. But he kicked Julian out a twelve-story window. Do you know why? To protect me. Don’t you ever call him a coward.” She dropped her voice lower. “I don’t believe Julian will ever come near us again, but I can’t promise anything will or won’t happen. If you want your freedom, if you want to live with your own kind again, then you have to be willing to expose yourself and
fight
.”
fight
.”
He stared at her in surprise.
“If not,” she added, “you can go back to Russia and hide out by yourself. I’m sure the high summers are lovely there.”
“Will you at least meet with them?” Rose rushed to say. “Can I set up a meeting?”
He didn’t answer for a long moment, and then nodded stiffly, once. “Not here. Somewhere public . . . but not too public.”
Rose closed her eyes. “Tomorrow night, just past dusk, at the Japanese Tea Garden. That should work.”
She opened her eyes again and took Eleisha’s hand as if anxious to be off now that they had completed her desired task. Eleisha allowed herself to be led down the stairs—beginning to understand the depth of Rose’s resolution. But she still felt shaken by her own outburst.
As they neared the last step, she asked, “How old is he?”
Rose hesitated before answering quietly. “I don’t know for certain, but I know he was a man-at-arms for Thomas Howard, Earl of Surrey.”
“Earl of . . . ?”
Although she was of Welsh heritage, like all those from the Commonwealth, Eleisha knew basic English history—at least the major players. Thomas Howard, Earl of Surrey, had later become the third Duke of Norfolk. He was Anne Boleyn’s uncle and had served in the court of Henry VIII.
That would make Robert nearly five hundred years old.
Wade’s tongue felt thick inside his mouth.
He could hear voices on the edge of his awareness.
“The door is broken!” someone said in alarm. “Seamus, how did this happen?”
He felt soft fingers on his forearm. “Can you hear me?”
Forcing his eyelids to open, he saw the blurred image of Eleisha leaning over him. “Leisha?”
He was lying on a settee. How had he gotten here? The last thing he remembered was eating dinner in the kitchen. She helped him to sit up. He saw an open wooden box lying at his feet . . . with a leather sheath lying beside it.
“Who broke the door?” she asked.
“Philip did.” A hollow voice with a Scottish accent came from nowhere. Seamus appeared behind Eleisha, his expression angry. “He came back and found the door locked, so he kicked it in.”
Eleisha crouched down on the floor. “Oh . . . I’m sorry. Where is he now?”
“Out looking for you.”
She got up, went over, and opened a window, closing her eyes. “I’ll try to reach him. I don’t think he would go far with Wade still in the apartment and the door broken.”
Wade was still confused. How had he ended up on the couch, and when had Philip come back? He didn’t remember anything.
Less than five minutes later, he heard the sound of booted feet running down the hallway, and Philip nearly fell through the broken door, carrying a machete.
“Eleisha!”
His eyes looked half-crazy, and Rose drew away from him, closer to her bedroom door. Seamus hissed. Wade stood up, but he was dizzy. What was going on?
Eleisha ran from the window to intercept Philip. “It’s all right,” she was saying. “Everything’s all right. I’m sorry we missed each other. Where did you get that? Put it down.”
Wade was trying to follow too many things at once.
“Don’t tell me what to do!” Philip ordered, and he pointed at Rose with his free hand. “She drugged Wade, didn’t she? Where have you been?”
Drugged Wade?
His head was beginning to clear a little, and he remembered bits and pieces: eating eggs, drinking tea, growing tired . . .
“I can’t explain it with words,” Eleisha rushed to say. “I need to show you.” She took Philip’s outstretched hand. “Come and sit. Just let me show you. Wade, can you make it over here?”
Philip still looked enraged and manic, but he let her pull him to a clear area of the room. “What?” he demanded. “Show me what?”
Wade stumbled over, still trying to gain his wits. Eleisha had dust smeared on her face and her tank top.
“Sit down,” she said. “Let me in.”
Sitting, Wade closed his eyes, and the shock of Eleisha’s rapid mental entry almost made him fall backward. To see her memories clearly, he had to reach back, make the connection.
Then he was in the kitchen drinking tea earlier that night, seeing himself through Eleisha’s eyes. He was Eleisha. She took him forward from there, and he forgot himself.
Wade did not know how much time has passed when Eleisha pulled out of his mind. His head felt clearer, but he gasped several times, reeling from everything she had just shown him. He’d felt it all, exactly as she had. Her doubts, her fear, the fierce use of her gift . . . her strength. Her realization of the depth of Rose’s single-minded determination.
And Robert Brighton, a soldier from the sixteenth century.
Reality was still sinking in.
“No!” Philip shouted almost immediately, breaking the revelations of the moment. “An elder?” His French accent was so thick, the words were hard to follow. “You don’t know with what you deal. We leave this place tonight!”
“Eleisha?” Rose questioned softly, still standing by her door.
Philip turned on her, his lips curling up in snarl.
Eleisha grabbed his arm. “Philip, stop. Listen. . . .” Trailing off, she looked toward the guest room. “Come with me.” She pulled him toward it—and again, he let her—taking him inside and closing the door. Wade could hear Philip’s low, angry voice on the other side, followed by Eleisha’s softer, comforting one.
Suddenly, Wade was completely fed up with Philip.
How nice, how very nice it would be to throw a temper tantrum, wave a machete around, and have Eleisha drag him off to the bedroom to calm him down. Maybe he should try it sometime and see what happened?
But Seamus and Rose were both watching him with uncertain eyes.
“He’s mad,” Seamus said. “You know that, don’t you?”
Wade sighed and shook his head. “No, he isn’t.” He walked over to Rose. “Don’t worry. Eleisha will get him to agree.”
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