the oldest cities this country boasts—still young by decent standards. Actually, I live on the lower west side of Manhattan. Wonderful place, teeming with life. The whole city keeps burning down, and they just build it right back again. Marvelous. We’ll begin traveling back later this week.”

He chatted on while boiling her a cup of mint tea. “Here, now,” he said, “try a sip of this. It’s one of the few mortal pleasures we can still enjoy—in weak doses. Something about the mint gives me a sense of comfort.”

She sipped from a bone china teacup. “It’s good.”

“Wonderful stuff. But that’s about the extent of what you can consume, except perhaps dark, very fruity red wine. Julian did tell you not to eat any food, didn’t he? Our bodies can’t pass waste anymore, so alien substances just sit and rot. I’ve heard terrible stories. But a few liquids in small doses seem to agree and dissipate.”

“It’s nice to drink tea again.”

“Quite. Try to get Lord William to take a little. He’s weak. I tried feeding him from my wrist last night. He wouldn’t swallow, just spat and choked.”

“That happened the night we left Wales, too. But on the ship, he seemed to draw more energy from the rats than I could.”

Edward’s dark eyebrows knitted. Tonight he wore well-tailored black trousers, a pressed white shirt, and a dinner jacket. She liked the way he combed his hair straight back so his pale forehead was bare.

“Can you tell me what happened before all that?” he asked.

Talking over tiny sips of tea, Eleisha started with Lord William’s first signs of illness and worked her way to the nightmare journey to New York, watching Edward’s face shift from wonder to disgust and back again. She left nothing out.

“Well, that explains my part in this,” he said finally.

“What do you mean?”

“I’m a selfish bastard and Julian knows it. He’s probably trying to absolve his own conscience without really helping you. He sent me a message to meet you, knowing I can’t stand filth or imperfection. I should have cut and run, leaving—pardon my bluntness—an ignorant child to care for the old coot. You would have failed and probably been beheaded by some Irish immigrant from the old country. That great fear-emanating pig could comfortably blame everyone but himself.”

Eleisha glared at him. “You’re being unfair. Julian loves his father. He never wanted this. You didn’t hear the things Lady Katherine said to him.”

“It’s quite rude to be loyal to someone I’m criticizing. Please don’t do it again.” He took her empty cup. “But we’ll just disappoint him. I think you and Lord William might remain safe a bit longer.”

She smiled up at him, thinking how vain and shallow the man behind this charming facade must be.

Not understanding him at all.

When she woke up on the third evening, Edward’s bed lay empty. She searched the hotel room without finding him. A physical emptiness like hunger agitated her, and his absence brought her close to panic. William slept heavily on the couch, as though too weak to move.

Where had Edward gone?

This absolute dependence upon him bothered her, but nothing could be done about it now. To strike out with William on her own would be stupid, probably suicidal.

She was on the brink of walking down to the lobby and asking for messages when Edward swept in, carrying a struggling, yowling burlap sack, his handsome face etched in anger.

“For God’s sake, help me.”

“What is it?” Eleisha asked.

“An alley cat. Lord William has to feed on something. This is madness. If he can’t hunt, he should be put out of his misery.”

“No.”

“Then you feed him! I’ve got claw marks up both arms.”

“A cat? We have to kill a cat?”

“Have you a better idea?”

“Why do we feed on blood anyway? That’s the madness, not William’s age.”

“It isn’t blood; it’s life force.” Edward grew calmer. “And we ought to feed him so we can go hunting ourselves. I just hope this works. No one sells a handbook for the care and nursing of wrinkled-up undeads, you know.”

He appeared so frustrated, Eleisha took the bag.

“William,” she whispered. “Wake up.”

His lids fluttered. Without thinking, she reached in, caught the cat with both hands, and snapped its back, not caring that it raked her hand. Weeks ago, the thought of breaking an animal in such a fashion would have sickened her. Now the act seemed merely an unfortunate reality. Biting into the cat’s throat, she tore fur open to expose veins and white, daisy-chained vertebrae.

William’s eyes