For an answer, Philip moved quickly around him and made a grab for the latch. His feet left the ground as John picked him up and threw him backward.
"Philip, I'm not playing with you! You get up and get your horse, now."
"We can't leave her alive. She saw both of us. We'll never be able to come to this part of the city again."
"Trust me now," John said in what looked like despair. "Let us go home."
Neither one spoke for the first half of their ride back through the trees. Doubts swirled in Philip's mind. He hated them. What could he call these unwanted thoughts? Concern. Yes, that's it. He was concerned.
"Why did you leave that woman alive?" he asked finally, breaking the tense silence. "She will remember us."
"No, she won't."
"Of course she will."
"Angelo warned me about hunting with you," John said quietly. "Try to remember that you aren't like me. Master wants you to grow and develop at your own pace with no preconceptions of what you should be. Do you understand?"
"No."
"I can do things you can't. Believe me, that woman won't know us if we go back to town. She won't remember anything."
Philip pulled up his horse. "Oh, it's a trick? One of your little psychic tricks? You made her forget?"
"Yes."
"Well, why didn't you tell me?" Relief and annoyance replaced concern. "You've ruined the whole ride home for nothing. We could have raced or chased down some peasants."
John laughed and kicked his horse into motion. "Still plenty of room for that," he called. "I let you win last time."
Unpleasant thoughts forgotten, Philip urged Kayli to bolt, leaping forward across the snow.
"Julian?"
A few nights later, Philip searched the upper west tower for companionship. Master Angelo had gone out on business, and John was cloistered with a book again. This tower hadn't been cleaned in years, and he felt uncomfortable here in this dead, cheerless place filled with ancient ghosts. Not that ghosts bothered him, but the outdoors beckoned, fresh air and wind rushing through the trees.
Dust flew up into his mouth as he called out. Julian's company didn't appeal to him any more than this tower did, but talking to someone else, anyone else, was preferable to being alone. Loneliness hurt more than hunger, and he was no good at entertaining himself. Angelo tried to teach him a game of solitary cards once, but he couldn't sit still or focus long enough to learn.
"Julian?"
"Who's there?" a dull voice called from somewhere ahead.
"It's me. Where are you?"
"Philip?"
"Yes, of course. Which room are you in?"
A tall form dressed in black stepped into view down the hallway. "Down here. Are you alone?"
"Quite alone. I'm so bored even you sound like good company right now."
"Come ahead then."
He followed Julian into a small, alcove-styled room with an open window that faced Harfleur. Lights and smoke from city fires glowed in the distance. Julian looked terrible-and he smelled stale. His skin was sallow with dark circles under his eyes. His hair was lank and uncombed, and he was wearing a cloak that had not been brushed out for weeks.
"Shouldn't we light a candle?" Philip asked.
"No," Julian said. "You're a vampire. You can see in the dark."
"I suppose."
"Why did you come here?"
"Looking for you. Come out hunting?"
"Not tonight."
Philip rolled his eyes and dropped into a dusty wooden chair.
"What's a bastard?" he asked after a few moments.
"Someone without a legitimate father." Julian was looking out the window, but his profile was clear, and his expression lost its melancholy cast. He sounded mildly interested. "Why would you ask me that?"
"John said my father is a bastard, but he must have meant something else then."
"Oh." The corner of Julian's mouth curved up. "It can also be used to call someone heartless or cruel. Your father did treat you badly, but only because you disappointed him. He wanted you to be strong. Take his place."
"Is your father a bastard?"
"Mine? No. Mine is… an unusual man. I wish your memory hadn't erased him. He taught you to ride when you were six."
"Truly?"
"Yes, you were afraid of horses, and my father understands fear. We probably should have switched places. You loved it at Cliffbracken, and I always felt stifled."
"I can't imagine being afraid of horses."
"No, you've changed. Tragic, really. Your father would worship you now." He paused and frowned. "You're certainly full of words tonight. I haven't seen you this coherent since before Angelo turned you."
"I have things on my mind."
"What mind?" Julian snorted coldly.
"John and I rode into town a few nights ago, and he…"
Julian turned away from the window. "He what?"
"He used one of his mind tricks to make a whore forget him, forget he had fed upon her, and he left her alive."
Julian fell still, gazing at Philip through the darkness. "Has he or Angelo ever done that to you? Tried to enter your mind? Tried to make you obey? Or tried to make you forget something?"
"What?" This turn in the conversation startled Philip. "No. Of course not."
"How would you know," Julian whispered, his dark eyes glittering, "if they'd already made you forget?" He stepped closer. "We have no defense at all. Do you understand what that means? They could make us think anything, do anything… and even make us forget… and as we have no such power, we could do nothing to stop them."
Philip fidgeted in his chair. "What is wrong with you these past nights?"
"We have no defense against them… against any of them."
"Stop saying that!" Philip snapped.
Julian fell silent, turning back and staring out the window into space.
"Oh, please, Julian," Philip begged. "Can't we do something, anything-riding, hunting? We could even practice fencing if you like. One more moment in this house and I'll die."
"No," his undead brother whispered. "You won't die."
A few nights later, Julian vanished, and Philip had no idea where he'd gone.
Several weeks passed, and then one night, Philip came home an hour before dawn to find his master and John in the library, deep in whispered conference.
"Telling secrets?" Philip asked, smiling. "About me?"
Angelo Travare, Earl of Scurloc, rested in a stone chair. He was a slender Norman creature who told stories of crusades and knights with swords, his flesh long since grown so preternaturally pale he scarcely passed as human. Dim candlelight exposed deep lines of strain now marring his milky forehead.
Two thick pieces of parchment lay on the oak table before him.
"Sit down, son," Angelo said.
"What's wrong?" Philip asked.
"Our time this winter is over. You must return to Gascony."
"But it's not even January yet. We have months to go."
"How many vampires do you know?"
"How many? You, John, Julian, Maggie, and John's servant, Edward. What does it matter?"
"Do you ever wonder if there are others like yourself, beyond your circle?"
"No."
"There are, Philip. Nearly thirty others in Europe alone."
"Like us?"
"Just like us," Angelo said. "But tonight, we've learned that three of them are dead." He pointed down to the parchment letters.
"Dead?" Philip repeated. "We can't die. We're immortal."
"Of course we can. I've explained this. ‘Undead' does not mean your body can't be destroyed. Fire, sunlight, and decapitation will end your existence. Now, listen to me carefully. Do you know why Maggie has no psychic powers?"
Philip frowned without answering.
"Because you were not able to teach her," Angelo said.
John leaned forward in his chair, nodding, dark blond hair falling across his eyes. "And neither does my Edward because I chose not to teach him yet, and he has no contact with others of our kind."