Blood Memories - By Barb Hendee Page 0,24
a man so unaffected by Maggie’s beauty. Dominick hadn’t even flinched.
As my mind ran back over the horrible scene of him pinning her to the ground, I began to focus on a few things more clearly. He hadn’t seemed surprised when his gunshot didn’t kill her, even though he’d caught her square in the back. The memory of his face floated in front of me so solid and sharp it might have been there. The emotions flowing across it had run a rapid course—fear, hysteria, hatred—but not surprise, never once surprise. Why? Wade didn’t know what I was, so he couldn’t possibly know about Maggie. Yet Dominick severed her head. How had he known to do that?
The only way to permanently destroy one of us is to somehow destroy the body: decapitation, fire, explosion . . . A stake through the heart is not enough. I’ve read that old European vampire hunters believed after staking an undead they also had to cut its head off—something about saving the soul. A stake through the heart would probably incapacitate any of us long enough for some zealot to perform a decapitation. The shock alone would cause temporary paralysis.
But how had Dominick known what to do?
It suddenly occurred to me that his gun had been lying on the ground somewhere close to me after the psychic pain of Maggie’s death faded away. All I’d had to do was pick it up and shoot him. But no, I’d run off like a scared rabbit.
Something began stirring softly inside my head. Wade was awake. Without attempting to push him from my mind, I thought about nothing. I pictured a huge black hole covering the world. He would still be able to read my presence, but hopefully couldn’t pinpoint my location or extract any information.
I didn’t try to read his thoughts or do anything besides crouch there, picturing a black hole. He cast about for me in weak thought patterns and then stopped, probably exhausted. I moved toward the alley until Dominick’s voice became audible.
“Just stop it then! She’s long gone by now. If I had half a brain, I would’ve gone after her. Jesus, Wade, I thought you were dead.”
When Wade answered, he startled me. Dominick’s voice sounded exactly like he looked—mean and ugly. But Wade’s voice was clear, kind of breathy. It didn’t match his roughly scattered thought patterns.
“You killed her, Dom! You killed that woman. What are we going to do?”
“We’re going to get the hell out of here. Can you walk?”
“We can’t just leave her. There’s a bullet from your gun in her back.”
“No, come here and look. It went straight through her.”
“Then it’s still here somewhere. You know the routine. They’ll find it.”
“Come on, Wade. She looks like just another hooker. Nobody’s gonna search this alley.”
I’d never seen a dead vampire before. I mean . . . we’re undead, but Maggie was dead now. Edward once told me that our bodies would begin cracking within moments, and then start turning to ash. This would eradicate any evidence of her existence. I had a sick feeling Dominick knew that or he wouldn’t have been so flippant about the missing bullet.
Their argument grew muffled, and I could pick out only bits and pieces. Then they started moving. I kept the black hole in my mind in case Wade tried to search again, but I was beginning to realize that he didn’t know much more about focusing his psyche than I did.
I followed them as closely as possible. It would have been a lot easier if I simply could have gone inside Wade’s head and viewed his physical surroundings through his eyes, but that would have given my position away.
They eventually ended up on Fourth Avenue and got into a silver Mustang. I panicked for a second. Having to follow them in a car never occurred to me. The dark streets were nearly empty. Then I spotted an overweight teenager unlocking a dented Ford Escort.
The Mustang pulled out from the curb.
I ran to the pudgy kid. “Hey,” I said, smiling. “Do me a big favor? Quick. For twenty bucks?”
His face melted in a simultaneous mask of suspicion and interest. “What kind of favor?”
“Follow them,” I said, pointing to the disappearing Mustang.
He stared at me. “You’re kidding.”
“Just do it, okay?”
“Old boyfriend?”
“Something like that.”
“Okay, get in.”
“You’re a prince.”
He was actually pretty good behind the wheel and caught up to the silver moving target within a few seconds.
“Not bad,” I said. “You practice this?”
He lit a cigarette