Blood Memories

"Oh, no." Her face became even paler, and she seemed to grow less accusing of me and more caught up in my nightmare story. I decided not to tell her everything about Wade, that he had pushed inside my head and shown me visions of his own thoughts.

"It gets worse," I went on. "My car was parked outside his house all day, so they have one of the names I use and my home address. Edward had a photograph of me over his fireplace… that he shot ten years ago, and an oil painting in the cellar from 1872."

She gasped and then snapped, "How stupid can you be? Why did I even let you in here? Julian wouldn't blame me for pitching you out right now."

"I didn't think-"

"That's pretty obvious, Eleisha. Your job is to take care of that old senile abortion. That's why Julian made you. None of this has anything to do with me."

Staring at the carpet, I let my shoulders turn in. "Please, just for a week or so, until I can find us someplace else. Maybe living so close to Edward was a mistake, but he helped me. No one else taught me anything. I've never been without him, Maggie. Don't make me leave."

She was silent for a moment. I knew her dilemma had more complications than the surface details we were discussing. Maggie and I had different makers. The children of different makers avoid each other in the name of survival. If Julian came looking for me, he wouldn't have a second thought about killing Maggie.

"Please," I whispered. "We'll be out in a week."

"Oh, Leisha."

I knew she was looking down at the top of my silky head. Every dormant mothering instinct inside of her was fighting against reason, the helpless, little-girl emanation of my gift rushing through her psyche like a white wind.

"You'll keep the old man out of my sight?"

"Promise."

She sighed. "You can stay a week as long as Julian never finds out you were here. He can't find out I had anything to do with this."

"He won't. It'll be at least a month before he figures out we're not in Portland anymore. By then we'll be settled someplace else. We'll probably rent for a while, and I'll tell Julian… I'll tell him something."

Maggie nodded. "But I want you to know that I don't like this, and it isn't fair of you to ask this of me."

The room suddenly felt too soft. "I'm hungry. We need to hunt."

Instead of telling me to go hunt by myself, she reached down and picked up a lock of my hair. "You can't go anywhere looking like this. Did you bring any other clothes?"

"Not much. We left in a hurry."

"Come look in my closet. You're small, but I might have something that works."

Her abrupt change in attitude caught me off guard. I looked up at her beautiful face, but saw no malice or guile. Now that she had given in, she was letting her emotions take over. Good.

"What do you usually do with your hair?" she asked.

The question threw me. "Brush it."

Raising her eyebrows, she said, "Stay here."

She left and came back with a set of hot rollers. Then she opened the door of a walk-in closet at least the size of her bedroom. She disappeared inside and came out holding a small, red minidress with a rip in one side.

"Try this on."

I undressed immodestly in front of her. She watched me with a detached interest.

"You have a pretty body," she said. "Too fragile maybe, but some people like that."

I listened to her comments, surprised by how enjoyable I found this entire conversation, different than my talks with Edward-more personal.

"How long have you lived alone?" I asked.

She moved up to help me zip the dress. "How long? I left Philip in 1841 and sailed from France to Boston. Sometimes it feels like yesterday and sometimes it feels like forever."

Philip was her maker. I wanted to ask Maggie why she left him in the first place, but thought better of it and looked in the mirror, quite startled.

The dress fit tightly, snug all the way from my shoulders down over my hips just to the tops of my thighs. I looked different.

"Good." Maggie smiled. "Now sit down and let me do your hair."

This felt strange, like missing something I'd never had. She seemed pleased to be fussing over me. It started to make me nervous. Using her was one thing, allowing myself to become involved was another. But I didn't move, just sat there letting her touch me and put curlers in my hair.

"You might find this look easier," she said. "We can change our gifts for the moment, baby. You don't always have to stay with the same routine."

I assimilated two important facts from her words. One, the fact that she'd called me baby meant that she was completely seduced, and two, I could learn a great deal from this woman.

"You can alter your gift?"

"Sometimes," she answered. "It depends on the situation. What you do should always depend on who you're with."

"Like how?"

"I'll show you when we get downtown. I haven't seen your own routine yet, but I can guess what it is."

Odd how she was smart enough to see me for what I was and still allow herself to be influenced. Maybe she had been alone too long.

"What are you doing to my hair?"

"Hang on, and you'll see."