"Oh, capital idea. Just waltz them past the desk clerk and dump their bodies out the window, I suppose?"
"Whose bodies?"
As those two words escaped her lips, Edward started in surprise. Some form of realization flickered in his eyes. "Get dressed, Eleisha," he ordered. "And do something with your hair."
Twenty minutes later, they were walking down a Southampton street, her hand inside his arm, striking the sharp image of a wealthy couple. But something felt wrong. She sensed it in his silence, in an intimate tension so thick she had to hold on to him to keep from running.
"Where are we going?" she whispered.
He didn't answer.
An enormous number of strangers passed them. How could so many people live in one place? How could there possibly be enough food and water? And they were all dressed in such various forms. Edward sported a tailored brown suit tonight. Similarly dressed gentlemen tipped their hats to him, and factory workers in rags moved out of his way.
"It's so crowded," she said.
"Wait till you see Manhattan." Her companion finally spoke. "There are sixty-four thousand Irish immigrants alone."
"Sixty-four thousand?"
"That's why I live there. No one is ever missed."
She pulled her hand away. "Why are you acting like this?"
"Because I don't know what else to do." He ran a hand across his face and suddenly motioned to an alley. "In here."
Pushing her up against a brick wall with his chest, his face moved closer until she could see tiny swollen blood vessels behind green irises.
"Can you read, Eleisha?"
"Let go of me."
"Can you read?"
"A little."
His grip reminded her vaguely of Julian's strength-only Edward moved more like a tree, flexible and solid at the same time. Unable to disengage him physically, she fingered the fabric of his jacket and dropped her gaze.
"You're hurting me," she murmured.
His hands jerked back as though she were on fire; a mask of fear flickered across his face. "Don't you ever try using that on me again!" he spat. "I'll drop you in the East River."
Her actions had been instinctive, without thought. "What did I do?"
Stomping his feet on the ground while walking in a small circle to regain control of himself, he muttered, "Should've thrown myself in the river when that clipper ship hit dock."
"Why did you bring me out here?" she asked.
"To hunt! You really don't understand, do you? I've never seen any vampire who could seep power like you before she'd even made a kill. God knows what you'll be like in a few months."
"What are you talking about?"
"How can you be so dense? Don't you have the slightest clue? We are dead, Eleisha. And we aren't dead. We'll never get any older, but have to draw life from those we kill. I fed you from my own arm. Where do you think that blood came from? A cat?"
She stared at him. "You killed someone?"
"I've been killing for the past twenty-six years," he hissed softly. "That's what we are. It's what we do. And I can't believe that I'm actually standing here, explaining this to you."
"I won't murder other people."
"Then you'll starve. Life force from animals won't give you enough energy. After a while, you'll grow too weak to move at all and live forever in a state of frozen, emaciated agony. No one will take care of Lord William, and the same thing will happen to him. Isn't that a pretty scene?"
For the first time in her life, Eleisha experienced hatred, not for Julian who had done this to her, but for Edward who told the truth. Rational or not, she hated him for forcing the reality of existence on her and for leaving her no control and no way out.
"Follow me," he whispered. "Don't ask questions, and just follow me."
With no other choice, she walked behind him out of the alley and into a small pub. The smoke and human smells and crush of bodies caught her senses. Wooden tables, pints of beer, men playing cards, brightly dressed women in tight corsets…
What a different place. So busy and unaware of itself. Everyone so intent on individual activities.
Then she noticed Edward's face. All traces of stress and pain had vanished, leaving only foppish, cynical humor. "Gregory, old man," he called to the bartender, "marvelous apron tonight. Did you wash it?"
Several heads turned in pleasure at the sound of Edward's voice. Eleisha observed the cheerful effect he had.
"Black heart," one of the barmaids said, smiling. "Matilda's nearly wasted away just waitin' for you to come back in."
"How many times have you been here?" Eleisha asked softly.
"Once. Last week."
The extent of Edward's popularity kept everyone's attention on him as he flirted with barmaids, teased the bartender, and joked with customers. But his eyes never strayed far from the door. No one besides Eleisha noticed a lone sailor who paid his tab and left.
"I've kept you all from serious drinking long enough," Edward said a moment later. "Off to a late supper now."
Laughing over loud protests, he handed Eleisha her cape, and they stepped outside. What happened in the next few moments took place so fast she almost couldn't follow the order of events. They caught up with the sailor outside another alley, and Edward suddenly jingled a change purse.
"Excuse me," he said. "I think you dropped your pouch."
When the sailor turned to see who had hailed him, a relaxed smile curved his lips. "Oh, hello. Don't think that's mine. Someone else might have dropped it."
"Are you sure? It struck the ground right behind you."
Holding it out like an offering, Edward waited until the sailor leaned over to inspect the purse. Before the actual movement registered, both men disappeared inside the alley, and Eleisha heard bones cracking.
Just like the cat.
Her companion had chosen a good time and place. No one else passed by to hear the struggle. Not that it was much of a struggle. She moved into the dark alley mouth only seconds later to see Edward leaning over a slumped form.
"It's time," he said.
"I can't."
But as she looked at the open throat, exposed veins, red fluid running down onto the ground, a hunger-and not a hunger-sent her memory into a wavering haze. Had this source ever talked and moved and danced? Or was it just a source? A wellspring?
"This pulls at you," Edward whispered. "Don't let yourself think."
He reached out and gently took her wrist. No pulling back. No fighting. She let him draw her forward, and then knelt down on her own.
The experience was similar to feeding on Edward's arm but more intense. The warm liquid was sweet. Heat raced through her while pictures of ocean waves and fistfights and a brown-haired woman etched themselves into her brain. After the initial physical connection, she was no longer conscious of her mouth on the sailor's throat, only the strength and pleasure and energy his life force brought.
Just as she could take no more, she felt his heartbeat stop. When she lifted her head, she saw torn-edged flesh and two dead eyes staring up into empty space.
Euphoria faded.
Edward's hand touched her hair. Turning, she hid her face in his chest, forgetting she might get blood on his jacket, not hating him anymore.
On the fourth night, they began traveling to Manhattan in Edward's carriage.
"The trip should take three days or so if we don't dally," he said, falling into his charming fop routine. Perhaps he played it so often the personality had become part of him. "I know a delicious little dress shop on Market Field Street. It's divine. We'll buy you something low-cut in red taffeta."
A handsome pair of bay horses trotted ahead of the carriage, pulling it away from the Croissant House Hotel. Eleisha felt sorry to be leaving. The hotel room had grown comfortably safe.
"Once more into the breach, dear friends," Edward called, snapping his whip in the air.