She was frightened, telling him this, wondering how he would react.
Currently, Wade’s life lacked purpose, and he needed a purpose. But Eleisha also knew she’d been somewhat deceptive lately, first by hiding her communication with Rose for a month, and then hiding her plans to buy the church—and then springing it on him while he stood in the basement . . . and now trying to win his agreement for her own vision, for her hopes.
“That’s what you want?” he asked. “To build a community here? For you and me to find hidden members of your kind and teach them to feed without killing?”
At a loss for words, she nodded.
He looked away, but he wasn’t angry. She could see him thinking on her words, and she just sat there for a while, letting him think.
“Are you with me?” she asked finally.
He looked back at her, studying her face.
“So . . . what do we do now?” he asked.
“First, we go to San Francisco. We get Rose.”
Julian was alone at the manor. When he woke up a few nights past, both the remaining servants were gone. He could not feel their warmth from anywhere on the estate.
The revelation annoyed him. He’d have to contact the agency again. If he was going to reside here, the main floor should be kept clean.
But for now, he rather enjoyed having the entire place to himself, and he wandered outside, among the abandoned stables. He’d spent more time on the estate this past month than the previous hundred years. He owned a town house in Yorkshire, but he’d come to prefer the south of France these past few decades.
Yet now, he felt safe only here.
It had been so long since he’d had anything to fear that he’d forgotten the cold safety of Cliffbracken. Foolish really; with the possible exception of his familiarity with the entire place, he was no safer here than anywhere else. But he could not bring himself to travel again. Not yet.
He kept mulling over the same questions.
Why would Eleisha buy a church in Portland and move into it . . . like a home?
And what would make Philip stay with her?
And if Philip had been living in Seattle for an entire month, and then Portland for a week, why weren’t the papers filled with stories of ugly murders?
And who was this mortal staying with them, and why hadn’t Philip drained his blood weeks ago? Philip despised mortals.
None of it made any sense.
Eleisha was planning something. He knew it.
He had ordered Mary to bring him more detailed reports, and he hoped the selfish girl understood him. In many ways, she had proven herself useful, but her presence grew more and more grating. She had no manners at all. He longed to banish her, to send her back and to listen to her scream all the way to the other side. But he couldn’t.
He left the stables and tramped toward the manor. Reaching the back door to the mudroom, he pulled it open. Tonight, he was dressed in canvas pants and a black wool sweater and rubber boots. He was about to take off the boots when the air shimmered and Mary appeared.
She began babbling the second she materialized.
“They found another vampire! Eleisha has been writing to her, and they’re all going to San Francisco!”
Julian froze, halfway bent over.
He stood straight and stepped into the mudroom. “Stop!” he ordered, but an unwanted tightness was growing in the pit of his stomach. “What are you saying?”
Mary floated close enough that he could see her nose stud in detail. “Eleisha’s been exchanging letters with somebody named Rose in San Francisco. They were talking about gifts and hunting and if Rose knew how to feed without killing.” She paused. “This is all important stuff to you, isn’t it? You know what it means.”
Julian stumbled back and almost fell against the wall. He caught himself, but the dim room was growing darker, as if his vision didn’t work. This was worse . . . so much worse than anything he’d imagined.
Slowly, he walked back to the study, not bothering to see if Mary followed. He walked across the shabby carpet to a shelf of his own books, where he pulled down a large leather-bound volume:
The Makers and Their Children.
His own maker, Angelo Travare, had written it over a course of centuries . . . including fine details on every vampire existing in Europe by the year 1825. This was how Julian found