Blood Memories

He started weaving through traffic, the needle peaking ninety. Steering with one hand, he fished around on the dashboard, found a crusty Black Sabbath tape, and slammed it in. Ozzy's voice screamed out two rear-window speakers. Whoever owned this car really needed to be told what year it was. I hadn't seen a cassette player in years.

"Where are we going?" I asked.

"Seattle Center. This city is new to me, but Maggie said hunting in the center was good."

"You want to hunt now?"

"Don't you? We just woke up." His accent seemed to be getting worse instead of better, making me wish I spoke French.

"No, I fed last night."

"So don't feed." He shrugged. "Just hunt."

Maybe Maggie had been right about me. Maybe I hadn't seen enough in my one hundred and eighty-six years. "You just want to kill someone?"

He took his eyes completely off the road and stared at me. "Is this for real or are you playing? What do you do all night if not hunt?"

"Take care of William, read books, settle the bank accounts, talk to my investment broker. I don't know, just things."

"No?" Amused, almost pleased, he pushed the needle up higher. "William is gone. You are immortal, with no need for books and investment brokers."

That's the first time the word «immortal» sounded absurd to me. Webster's unabridged defines it as "not mortal; deathless; living forever." I know. I looked it up once. What a crock. We may not get any older, but the body count hit three last night. Sounded pretty mortal to me. Maybe Philip wasn't keeping score.

Watching him drive-his long hair flying out the window, his head bobbing to the music, his face sporting an adolescent grin-made me try to see beyond his gift. What was he besides beautiful and careless? His black Hugo Boss pants and Calvin Klein shirt suggested his taste was not only good, but up-to-date. Edward always bought Savile Row and Christian Dior, which worked on him but was sort of "older crowd"-sort of.

Philip also cared what Julian thought. Why? Why would Julian's opinion matter?

"Turn down the Mercer/Fairview exit," I said.

Downtown Seattle is a mass of one-way streets, confusing signs, and heavy traffic, but my too-happy companion drove as if he were on a backwoods dirt road.

"Where'd you learn to drive?"

"Paris," he answered. That figured. He found a pay-by-the-hour parking lot near the Space Needle and jumped out. "We ditch this car now."

"Whatever you say." Instinct screamed that it was time to ditch golden boy. But I didn't. Maybe he was the only true vampire among us-cold and fast and wild. Maybe Edward and I struggled too hard to hoard little bits of humanity and somehow never quite fit into either world. Philip didn't feed just on blood. He seemed to feed off the world, draining life and power and material wealth from anything unlucky enough to cross his path. And he did it without thought or remorse or pity-a purist in the true sense. Fascinating. Frightening.

"Look, a roller coaster," he said, smiling. Canned carnival music and bright lights flooded the scene. He bolted toward the bumper cars, and then stopped, looking back for me. "You like rides?"

"No… I don't know."

He jumped the few steps back to me, looking confused, as if he wanted to grab my arm but didn't know how. Again, his expression reminded me of a computer accessing data it couldn't find. Perhaps he'd forgotten how to touch someone he wasn't murdering.

"Come, Eleisha. Come on."

"How long has it been since you've hunted with someone else?"

His eyebrows knitted. "What year is it?"

What year? How could he be so up on fashion and not even know the year? "Don't you read the newspaper?"

That annoyed him. "Newspaper? For sheep and puppets. You start to believe your own gift."

"And you don't?"

The night lights and black corners pulled at him. I could see it in his eyes, and in spite of myself, it called to me as well.

"Too much talk," he said. "Come."

Changing his mind abruptly, he steered away from the carnival and headed down toward the fountain. I followed about a half step behind him, watching a wide variety of people pass us. Philip ignored all of them like an overfed cat turned loose in a science lab. We reached the huge round fountain in Seattle Center's heart. Four teenage kids sat on the lawn, smoking and talking. Philip headed straight for them.

A tall boy, about sixteen with a shaved head and two pewter skulls hanging in the same ear, took a long drag and noticed us. Apparently he didn't want extra company, because his lips tightened angrily at our approach, and then Philip smiled. All four of them smiled back. Too weird.

"Bum a smoke?" my partner asked, pointing to the cigarette.

"Here." Pewter Skulls held out the pack. "Where're you from?"

"France, but I like your city."