to the edge, and he quietly slipped the woman’s body into the water.
She disappeared beneath dark waves.
Philip closed his eyes for a moment, and he saw Eleisha’s calm face looking back at him. He remembered the feel of her soft hair tangled around him when he’d woken up tonight.
He knew that he should feel remorse for his actions, for keeping this secret from her.
But he didn’t.
Julian retrieved his baggage and then walked out of the San Francisco International Airport through a set of glass doors and into the cool night air. He was carefully groomed with his hair combed back, and he was wearing slacks, an Italian belt, a white shirt from Savile Row, and a black wool coat that reached his calves. He carried a light overnight bag in one hand and a long wooden box in the other.
He took a taxi to Nob Hill, to the Fairmont, where he had already reserved the Buckingham Suite.
He needed no one to help carry his luggage, so he got a key at the front desk and went straight to his room.
Opening the door, he walked across a parquet floor into a wood-paneled parlor with a fireplace. The suite was decorated in tones of dark rust and hints of yellow. Glancing across the parlor, he noticed a glass-enclosed balcony.
Fairly impressive for America.
But he didn’t care.
“Mary Jordane,” he called.
The air shimmered and her spiky magenta hair materialized, followed by the rest of her. She looked around.
“Geez,” she said. “You’ve got even more money than I thought.” Then her eyes landed on the long wooden box in his hand. It stretched from his knee up past his shoulder. “What’s in there?”
“You have work to do,” he said coldly. “Find them.”
chapter 7
Eleisha did not know what to say or even what to feel as she followed Rose down a dark street in the Mission District bordered by rows of run-down, empty-looking buildings.
Rose had drugged Wade and then used her gift to draw Eleisha away from him.
And yet . . . Eleisha still followed.
She could have done any number of things to stop this, to subdue Rose and run back to Wade.
But she didn’t.
“It’s not far now,” Rose said, moving more quickly. “Just down this side street.”
Eleisha stopped.
Rose looked back at her. “You’ve come this far. We have to trust each other.”
How could Eleisha explain what she was feeling? She’d led Wade to San Francisco, and before twenty-four hours passed, Rose had already proven she could not be trusted.
“No, we don’t,” she answered.
“He is only sleeping,” Rose insisted. “Seamus will stay with him, and in a few hours he will wake.”
“You could have just asked me to come.”
“I couldn’t. You’ll understand soon.”
What could be so important that she would go to these lengths to get Eleisha off alone? In truth, Eleisha wanted to know. She took a few steps forward.
“This way,” Rose said, sounding relieved.
They walked down a nearly black side-street, and Eleisha realized the buildings around them were abandoned warehouses. If they’d been two mortal women walking here at night, anyone with half a brain would have considered them quite foolish.
“You’ve done well with your Wade,” Rose said suddenly. “He’s a rare one. So kind to my Seamus.”
Your Wade.
Eleisha hardly thought of him as her own. Still, somehow, Rose’s open sentiments made her feel a little more grounded—a little less shaken about following her instincts.
“But Philip,” Rose went on, her voice taking on a harder tone. “I don’t know how you ended up with the likes of him. I don’t think I want to know.”
In spite of her resentment over Rose’s methods in getting her here, Eleisha realized they were completely alone and could speak freely—beyond their letters. She had no idea when this might happen again.
“I know he can be a handful,” she said, “but we need him.”
Rose stopped walking. “A handful? That’s how you see Philip?”
Eleisha blinked and did not know how to answer. After the memory share last night, she had not expected Philip and Rose to keep regarding each other in this hostile fashion. But if they were all going to start building a community together, something would have to change.
Finally she said, “With the exception of occasional, and short, periods with Maggie or Julian, Philip spent over a hundred and eighty years alone . . . and he hates being alone more than anything. Have some pity, Rose.”
“Pity?” She sounded incredulous. She seemed about to say more and then changed her mind, walking forward again. “In here,” she said.
Eleisha followed,