Blood Memories

She was gone. I'd led them right to her. Lying down on her satin comforter, I closed my eyes to the sight of Edward jumping off his porch again. How many weeks ago? Edward, Maggie, Dominick, William, Philip, Julian… they all kept spinning around inside me until my stomach tightened in sharp rebellion. And what about Wade? He occupied my thoughts almost as much as William. It amazed me that someone so intelligent couldn't recognize insanity in his own partner. Mortals always use pretty euphemisms like "caught in an obsession" to sugarcoat realities like madness.

"What do I do?"

I didn't know and there was no one to tell me. In a rare moment, Edward had once whispered, "When we die, our maker will feel the pain halfway across the world. The pain of their children will always reach them."

If that was true, Philip already knew about Maggie's death. If I had taken the time to sit down calmly and write out a list of all the reasons for us to flee from this house and get as far away as possible, we might actually have made a decent run for Canada or New Zealand or maybe even China. But I wrote no such list, and I was tired of running. I'd told Wade we would disappear, and yet… if we ran now, we'd never stop. This house was perfect. It had been Maggie's, and now it was mine.

I got up off the bed and walked back out into the living room. William paced back and forth between the fireplace and the dining room, muttering bits and pieces of "Rapunzel," which Maggie had read him almost every night.

"No packing," he said to me suddenly. "No packing."

"No, we don't need to pack. We're staying here."

For the first time, I felt sick at the sight of his aged, senile face. He couldn't help me. Why was he so useless? "Get away from me, William. I'm going out."

Without bothering to wait for an answer, I ran out the front door and down the dark side of the street. Single people and couples moved past me, doing whatever it is mortals do at night in the Emerald City, but I ignored them and headed toward downtown.

Mad Dog 20/20 littered the chipped sidewalks like pebbles in a stream. I hopped easily around them without thinking, and for once didn't stop to give the homeless bums any money.

Moving by a tattoo shop, I stopped at the sound of two raised voices.

"Yeah, yeah, I'll be back by two. You lock that door on me again, and I'll kick your teeth in."

The shop was empty except for a young woman with greasy hair, smoking a cigarette, and a stocky, dark-haired man pulling on a jacket.

"Where're you going?" the woman asked.

"Out."

"What if a customer comes?"

"Tell 'em we're closed. I don't care! Go to bed or something. Just don't lock that goddamn door."

He hurried out, lighting a cigarette, and walked quickly toward a beat-up Ford Pinto parked near the curb.

"Why don't you get a key?" I asked softly.

"Huh?"

He half turned in annoyance, and then stopped sharply at the sight of me leaning up against the building.

"Why don't you get a key for the front door? Then you wouldn't have to worry about being locked out."

"Do you always hang out listening to other people's problems?" he asked.

"Not usually. Why don't you have a key?"

"She chains it from the inside." He had a stocky build, a hard face, dark hair, and china-blue eyes, like Dominick. "What do you want? You need a ride or something?"

For once I didn't fall into my helpless act. He didn't seem to need it. But my recently adopted hooker's pose didn't fit right either. Besides, going out hadn't been on my agenda, and I was wearing a long broomstick skirt with a white tank top, in spite of cool April night air.

I walked out to him slowly. He was about five foot six, and I had to look up to see his face. My small size had always been a turn-on for short men. Julian did a good job choosing me as William's caretaker.

"Yeah," I said. "Some friends are waiting for me down on the pier."

He motioned with his head toward the car door. Loose ashes from his Marlboro scattered lightly on the pavement. "Get in."

Soiled McDonald's and Burger King bags covered the passenger seat. He gathered most of them up and threw them in the back without apologizing. It took him five tries to get the engine started.

"Where on the pier?" he asked.

"Just down by the aquarium. Where are you going?"

"No place. I just had to get out of there. Couldn't breathe."

"Do you actually put tattoos on people?"

He glanced over. "No, I bake doughnuts, and the tattoo sign just lures hungry people in. What do you think?"

"Do you have any?"

"Any what?"

"Tattoos."

"Yeah."

"Can I see them?"

This time he slowed the car down slightly. "How old are you?"

"Twenty-one."

"Bullshit."

"Want to see my license?"

He stayed quiet for a minute, and then said, "You want to blow off your friends and go have a drink someplace?"

"Why don't we just get a bottle and drive to Union Park?"

For the first time, he smiled at me. "Look in the glove box."

I popped it open and found a half-empty fifth of Black Velvet. "Nice. You shouldn't keep it there, though. That's the first place cops look."