Free In Memories We Fear by Barb Hendee Page A

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