chapter four
LONDON
As Philip stepped from the taxi out in the Bloomsbury district, right in front of the Montague hotel, he was surprised by an unexpected sense of satisfaction. Eleisha climbed out behind him, staying close to his side and looking around. Instead of a suitcase, she’d brought a backpack, and she shifted its weight on her right shoulder.
“Oh, this is nice, Philip,” she said, looking at the front of the hotel and the manicured flower beds along the street. “Better.”
Wade and Rose’s taxi pulled up to the curb.
Philip was beginning to think Eleisha had seen too many overromanticized British films. They’d landed at Heathrow and taken two cabs to the hotel. But throughout the drive, Eleisha had seemed more and more surprised—and appalled—to find that London was just another big, dirty, crowded city.
Wade got out of the taxi and reached to help Rose step down to the sidewalk. Not for the first time tonight, Philip made a mental note to insist Wade buy himself a more fashionable coat. He was wearing a brown canvas jacket with big pockets, and the bottom hung at an awkward angle below his hips. Seemingly unaware that he resembled a bumpkin, Wade looked around. “Oh, good. Better.”
Apparently, he was of the same mind as Eleisha. What had they expected? At least seven million people lived here. Some of it was going to be seedy.
But Philip had handled the hotel reservation. He always stayed here on trips to London, and he knew Eleisha would like their suite.
She walked over to Rose. “Are you all right?” she asked.
“Yes, let’s just go inside.”
Eleisha took her hand, and they walked to the doors while Philip paid both drivers. True to his word, Wade had managed to keep Rose quiet and calm—almost asleep—the entire trip. Although he wouldn’t admit it, Philip did find the prospect of having Seamus entirely at their disposal to be a relief.
A bellhop came to get their luggage. Philip and Wade followed him inside and up to the suite.
“Philip,” Rose said, stepping through the door. “It’s beautiful.”
The suite was split level with one bedroom upstairs and one on the main floor. The color scheme was cream, brown, and light burnt orange. Most of the fabrics were silk, and a crystal chandelier hung over an antique coffee table in the sitting room.
Philip had already decided that he and Eleisha would take the upstairs bedroom, Rose could sleep in the main bedroom, and Wade could sleep on the couch. Wade never minded that, and it was better for them all to stay together.
Eleisha reached down to touch a silk throw pillow, and Philip just watched her, expecting to feel another wave of satisfaction that his greater knowledge of the world was finally useful. But the room was so familiar to him that, without any warning, a memory suddenly surfaced in his mind . . . of a night sometime back in the mid-1980s when he’d brought two prostitutes back here. He’d killed one of them quickly and the other one slowly.
The memory disturbed him—as if he feared Eleisha or Wade might enter his mind and read it—and he pushed it away while he tipped the bellhop and quickly showed the man out.
“I don’t think I can start any kind of search tonight,” Wade said once the door was closed. His eyes were bloodshot. “I need some sleep.”
“I know,” Eleisha said. “I feel strange, too. We’ve been up so long.”
At least Wade had the luxury of falling asleep. The rest of them wouldn’t go dormant until the sun rose here. But Philip had other plans anyway.
“I need to feed,” he said abruptly. “Eleisha, come out with me.”
She moved to him, and he studied her. She looked especially pretty tonight, wearing a short denim skirt and a tight-fitting black turtleneck. Some of her hair was pinned up with loose strands hanging past her chin.
“Already?” she asked. “You just fed the other night.”
“The woman was small, so I didn’t drain her much. But I want to be at full strength before we start anything here.”
“Of course.” She nodded. “Rose, would you like to come with us?”
This was a polite question, and Philip didn’t worry about having extra company along. He knew Rose wouldn’t be going anywhere.
“No, I’ll stay here with Wade,” Rose answered.
Eleisha looked all around the suite. “Seamus? Are you here?”
The air wavered, and Seamus materialized near the door. His colors were bright, especially the blue shades in his plaid. “I’m here.”
“Wade’s going to sleep for a while, and Philip and I are going out,” she said. “I don’t think we’ll be starting a search until tomorrow night, so you can just stay near Rose.”
He nodded his transparent head.
Philip opened the package hiding his machete, strapped the sheathed blade to his belt, and buttoned his coat over the top. He headed for the door, knowing Eleisha would follow. Shortly after they’d first met, she told him she’d follow him anywhere, even to France. But then they’d moved to Portland and started the underground. Tonight, he honestly did want to feed and gain his full strength, but more important, he wanted to show London to Eleisha . . . by himself.
 
As Eleisha stepped from the subway station out in Covent Garden, she could not help feeling impressed by the sheer organization of the city’s underground transportation system. However, she was completely lost in this foreign place, and Philip seemed to know exactly what he was doing and where he was going at every turn.
It was . . . disconcerting.
Staying close to him, she took in the sights around her, finding some pleasure in the old-world charm of this area—more of what she expected. Her first impression of London had not been good, and she was rather glad to be out with Philip now.
An incredible variety of colorful shops and restaurants stretched all around them, along with an overwhelming array of people even this late into the night. Voices speaking in English, French, German, and Swedish floated swiftly past. As she stepped forward into a courtyard area, she heard music and turned to see a young man sitting in a chair out in the open, playing U2’s “Sunday Bloody Sunday” at a surprising volume on an acoustic guitar.
“Come on,” Philip said. “I want to show you Neal Street. It’s so dark there.”
The eagerness in his voice caught her attention, and she realized he wanted to do more than just go hunting. Were they sightseeing? This was hardly the time or the right situation.
“Philip . . . I thought you wanted to feed? We left Wade and Rose alone.”
He glanced back, and his eyes flickered with something she couldn’t quite name. Disappointment? Instantly, she regretted her words. Wade and Rose would be safe at the hotel.
“I’m sorry,” she said, moving more quickly to walk beside him. “Show me Neal Street.”
His eyes cleared, and he pointed. “That way.”
She followed him to a dark street, lit only by the shop windows, and she could see why he liked it here. A busy nightclub graced the entrance, but once they’d walked past, she spotted a more interesting array of choices, including a small store devoted to books on astrology and a tea shop where a lattice-styled window made up the entire front wall.
“This used to be nothing but warehouses,” Philip said. “I hunted a good deal down here, and I can still remember when the change began.”
Everything but the nightclub was closed at this hour, and Eleisha wondered how Philip was going to hunt down here now. There were no parking garages where he could lure someone into a car. The restrooms at the nightclub would be packed, so they were out of the question.
Something seemed to catch his eye, and walking up to the front of the tea shop, he looked through the lattice window. She followed. Although the place was closed, the inside was well lit, and a large man stood working on a display near the back wall.
Philip suddenly turned to Eleisha and grasped her wrist. He rarely touched her unless they were sleeping, so the action took her back slightly.
“I don’t want to play any games tonight,” he said. “But I want you to stay with me . . . to stay inside my head while I’m feeding, as you did when you first taught me. I miss that.”
She stared at him in the darkness. While she’d been training him how to alter a victim’s memory, she’d joined her thoughts to his in order to monitor him—and to take over in case he faltered or failed in the attempt. She always assumed he viewed the act as intrusive. But he missed it?
“Okay,” she said uncertainly.
“Now. Come inside my head now.”
What was the matter with him? This was hardly like Philip. But she’d do anything he asked, anything to make him happy, and she reached out with her mind. Right away, she could feel him putting up a block against sharing any of his own memories. He just wanted her to see his immediate thoughts.
He knocked on the window lightly.
The man inside turned with an annoyed expression, waved Philip away, and mouthed the word “closed.”
Let them in, Philip flashed into the man’s head. They will spend big and leave quickly.
Eleisha was surprised by his precision and control. He planted the suggestion almost effortlessly. The shopkeeper walked to the door and opened it. Philip turned on his gift.
“Thank you,” he said in his thick accent. “We hoped to buy some decent tea before going back to our hotel.”
Eleisha had expected him to choose a large man tonight—as he wanted to take in as much blood as possible. But Philip’s gift worked differently on most men than it did on women. Men were sort of . . . awed by him, basking in his company as if his aura of attraction would rub off. But Eleisha could feel it sinking under her skin, making her see how perfect Philip was, how much she wanted to touch him. She shook her head hard, fighting to clear it. This was one of the reasons she’d begun hanging back when he hunted. His gift was too strong.
“Come in,” the shopkeeper said, locking the door behind them. “I was just tidying up for tomorrow.”
The walls inside were covered in shelves and cub-bies holding every kind of tea Eleisha could imagine. All around her stood little tables covered with a variety of pots, cups, and strainers. Philip walked straight to the back of the shop and around a dividing wall, out of sight of the window.
“Do you keep the imported oolong back here?” he asked.
The man had hardly noticed Eleisha; he was too focused on Philip. She kept her gift turned off, letting Philip completely run this show.
Stay inside my head, he flashed to her.
She didn’t understand why he wanted this, but she stayed inside his mind, still struggling to hold his gift at bay.
The shopkeeper hurried around the divider after Philip. “Yes, top shelf on your right.”
Eleisha followed just in time to see Philip reach out with one hand and say, “You’re tired. You should sleep.” She could feel the power behind his suggestion.
The man dropped like a sack of potatoes, and Philip caught him, lowering him to the floor. Within seconds, Philip had the man’s wrist in his mouth and bit hard, drawing down and swallowing. Locked inside Philip, Eleisha could taste the warm, salty fluid and see the images and memories of countless customers coming through the shop, countless nights cleaning and prepping the shop for the next day. Most of the man’s days had been almost identical. She saw no wife or children, but a Scottish terrier named Reginald who’d recently died of bone cancer.
Philip kept sucking and drinking, maybe too long, and Eleisha was just on the edge of telling him to stop when he pulled back on his own. He’d consumed a lot of blood, but the man seemed all right. Through Philip’s contact, she could hear his heart still beating.
Philip looked at a large glass vase on the counter. “Shatter that,” he ordered, “right there.” He pointed to the floor beside him.
Eleisha took the vase and dropped it, letting it break into pieces. She watched as Philip used a shard to connect the teeth marks on the man’s bloody wrist. Then Philip slipped inside the man’s thoughts again, taking him back a few moments earlier. He’d continued working on the display. He’d seen no one. He’d let no one in. Then he knocked the vase off the counter and tripped, cutting himself.
Philip’s execution was flawless . . . perfect to the last hint of control and last bit of detail.
He stood up. “Come.”
They went to the door, leaving quickly, making sure it was locked behind them, and they moved down the dark street. Eleisha reached out with one hand, grasping Philip’s coat and stopping him in the shadows near a china shop.
“Why did you want that?” she whispered. “Why did you want me to stay in your mind?”
He leaned close, his mouth a few inches from her ear, and she could smell the Paul Mitchell gel in his hair. “Because you keep me calm,” he whispered back. “You keep the demons away. No one can be closer than the two us of when you’re inside my head and we hunt.”
She tensed, her fingers still gripping the black wool of his coat. What demons? And what did he mean, “no one could be closer”? Was that Philip’s idea of intimacy? He still hadn’t said a word about the memory she’d shown him of Robert and Jessenia, and she longed to talk about it.
He didn’t seem to want to acknowledge it had ever happened.
Maybe their visions of intimacy possessed a gap they could not bridge.
 
Julian reached the Great Fosters hotel hours before Jasper, and he went up the suite he’d reserved. While he found the décor here somewhat dated, the service was unparalleled, and the location was perfect, about forty-five minutes outside of London.
Alone, he sat on a dark burgundy couch, staring out the window, and wondering how fast he’d be able to move in once this started. Eleisha had spent far too much time with Robert before Julian had managed to take his head. This time, if she had indeed located an elder—mad or not—the target must be removed quickly.
Unfortunately, the impending chain of events was completely out of his hands.
He didn’t care for the unplanned or the unexpected, but there was no choice here. He was forced to wait upon however Eleisha decided to proceed . . . before he could proceed.
He sat there for hours, just thinking, and then a knock sounded on the door.
“It’s me,” Jasper said from the other side.
Julian got up and opened the door. Jasper walked in with a long box in one hand and a small bag over his left shoulder. He tended to pack light. But every time Julian saw him, he grew more wary of the drastic changes in his servant. Jasper looked like a completely different person from the one Julian had chosen and turned. Worse, he acted like a different person—quiet and confident.
But in truth, Julian worried less about him than he did about Mary. Jasper functioned on a platform of pure greed. Julian understood that. He trusted it.
These days, he wasn’t sure at all about Mary’s agenda.
As if on cue, the air shimmered, and she materialized into view. “Okay, we’re here,” she said. “You want me to go into London and track them? Find out where they’re staying?”
“There’s no need,” he said. “They’ll be at the Montague.”
She blinked. “How do you know that?”
“Because Philip always stays at the Montague.”
Mary tilted her head, as if digesting this information. “We’re kind of on your home turf this time, aren’t we? Yours and Philip’s?”
Sometimes, she could be quite perceptive.
He ignored the question. “Just go make sure they’re all at the hotel. I doubt they’ll begin anything tonight, but make sure. Don’t let Seamus sense you.” Julian relied almost entirely on the element of surprise. He glanced at Jasper. “Have you fed?”
“Yes. Before I left.”
“Good. I’m going out.”
As Julian fastened his sword to his belt and then reached for his coat, he noticed how close Mary floated to Jasper while they chatted quietly with each other.
“I’ll check the pay-per-view schedule,” Jasper was saying. “Maybe when you get back we can watch a movie.”
“Okay,” Mary answered. “I won’t be long.” Julian walked out the door, growing more concerned about both of them.
But as he headed outside, he forgot all about them. These might be the last few hours he had to himself for a while, and he’d always liked hunting in England. He was in the mood for a brutal kill . . . and perhaps the taste of a German tourist.