clever.”
“Philip, we just need to feed. I don’t think it is such a good—”
“Then I won’t learn!” he argued. “I will be too bored to try.”
She stepped toward him. “You’ll make sure the place is safe?”
He almost always got his way with her in the end. The situation with this mysterious letter writer was the only time she hadn’t given in.
“Of course,” he said. “Follow me. I have an idea, and you will never top it. My gift is better for this game.”
He led the way to Fifth Avenue and walked into Macy’s.
Reluctantly, Eleisha followed him through the menswear section, through the cosmetics department, and over into lingerie.
“What are you going to do?” she asked quietly, already alarmed.
“Go over there,” he answered, pointing to the nightgowns and slippers, “and pretend you don’t know me. I have to look like I’m alone.”
For the first time in a month, he was interested in hunting again. Maybe this would work. Maybe if Eleisha played this game with him, he could take some pleasure.
Within moments, he spotted a pretty redhead wearing a pink dress and tan sandals. Pink was a bad color on her, but otherwise, she appealed to him. She was looking at bras.
He took a black lace bra off the rack and moved up behind her.
“Pardon me,” he said, and he let his gift begin to flow.
She stiffened and then turned around, staring at him. Up close, she was quite lovely, with ivory skin and a few tiny freckles.
“I am buying a present for my sister,” he said. “Can you help me decide?”
She glanced at the bra in his hand. “You’re buying that for your sister?”
He smiled and let the power of his gift increase. “Maybe not. But I am buying a present.”
Her eyes were getting bigger as she focused on his face, as if she couldn’t believe he was real.
He picked up a cream lace bra by Vanity Fair. “This one is good too. Come with me to the dressing room,” he whispered. “We can see them in a better light.”
She followed him without a word, without a question, as if it was the most natural thing in the world to follow a complete stranger into the dressing room in the Macy’s lingerie department. He checked inside first, to make sure the corridor between the stalls was empty. To his glee, he could hear several women trying on clothes behind the doors, but no one could see him. Their veiled presence gave this part of the game more spice. Looking down at the red-haired girl, he put a finger to his lips, urging her to silence, and led her inside a stall. He closed the door.
Let Eleisha try to top this!
The girl was breathing hard and watching his face expectantly, and then suddenly Philip’s sense of fun drained away. Alone with her, he was overwhelmed by a desire to hunt in the same fashion he always had. To put one hand over her mouth, bite down savagely, and drain her until she stopped moving. He wanted to feel her fear, to feel her struggle, to see all her memories, and feel her despair in the moment she realized she could not stop him and that she was going to die.
But he could not do this.
Eleisha might come in and find the mess.
So, instead, he reached out with his thoughts and entered the girl’s mind.
“You are so tired,” he whispered. “Sleep.”
He caught her as she dropped, and he positioned her carefully on a small bench attached to the wall. He fed from her wrist this time, focusing on keeping her asleep, taking no joy in feeding at all. The blood tasted like memories of bland water to him, almost like nothing. He saw a few flickering images of a dirty kitchen, a mother smoking a cigarette, a dented Honda Civic . . . a boyfriend named Ricky.
Philip took only what he needed, and then he used his teeth to connect the holes—as Eleisha had taught him. Looking around the dressing room stall, he saw some decorative square boards painted purple and nailed at equal intervals up and down the door. Quietly, he reached out and jerked one loose,
“Philip, we just need to feed. I don’t think it is such a good—”
“Then I won’t learn!” he argued. “I will be too bored to try.”
She stepped toward him. “You’ll make sure the place is safe?”
He almost always got his way with her in the end. The situation with this mysterious letter writer was the only time she hadn’t given in.
“Of course,” he said. “Follow me. I have an idea, and you will never top it. My gift is better for this game.”
He led the way to Fifth Avenue and walked into Macy’s.
Reluctantly, Eleisha followed him through the menswear section, through the cosmetics department, and over into lingerie.
“What are you going to do?” she asked quietly, already alarmed.
“Go over there,” he answered, pointing to the nightgowns and slippers, “and pretend you don’t know me. I have to look like I’m alone.”
For the first time in a month, he was interested in hunting again. Maybe this would work. Maybe if Eleisha played this game with him, he could take some pleasure.
Within moments, he spotted a pretty redhead wearing a pink dress and tan sandals. Pink was a bad color on her, but otherwise, she appealed to him. She was looking at bras.
He took a black lace bra off the rack and moved up behind her.
“Pardon me,” he said, and he let his gift begin to flow.
She stiffened and then turned around, staring at him. Up close, she was quite lovely, with ivory skin and a few tiny freckles.
“I am buying a present for my sister,” he said. “Can you help me decide?”
She glanced at the bra in his hand. “You’re buying that for your sister?”
He smiled and let the power of his gift increase. “Maybe not. But I am buying a present.”
Her eyes were getting bigger as she focused on his face, as if she couldn’t believe he was real.
He picked up a cream lace bra by Vanity Fair. “This one is good too. Come with me to the dressing room,” he whispered. “We can see them in a better light.”
She followed him without a word, without a question, as if it was the most natural thing in the world to follow a complete stranger into the dressing room in the Macy’s lingerie department. He checked inside first, to make sure the corridor between the stalls was empty. To his glee, he could hear several women trying on clothes behind the doors, but no one could see him. Their veiled presence gave this part of the game more spice. Looking down at the red-haired girl, he put a finger to his lips, urging her to silence, and led her inside a stall. He closed the door.
Let Eleisha try to top this!
The girl was breathing hard and watching his face expectantly, and then suddenly Philip’s sense of fun drained away. Alone with her, he was overwhelmed by a desire to hunt in the same fashion he always had. To put one hand over her mouth, bite down savagely, and drain her until she stopped moving. He wanted to feel her fear, to feel her struggle, to see all her memories, and feel her despair in the moment she realized she could not stop him and that she was going to die.
But he could not do this.
Eleisha might come in and find the mess.
So, instead, he reached out with his thoughts and entered the girl’s mind.
“You are so tired,” he whispered. “Sleep.”
He caught her as she dropped, and he positioned her carefully on a small bench attached to the wall. He fed from her wrist this time, focusing on keeping her asleep, taking no joy in feeding at all. The blood tasted like memories of bland water to him, almost like nothing. He saw a few flickering images of a dirty kitchen, a mother smoking a cigarette, a dented Honda Civic . . . a boyfriend named Ricky.
Philip took only what he needed, and then he used his teeth to connect the holes—as Eleisha had taught him. Looking around the dressing room stall, he saw some decorative square boards painted purple and nailed at equal intervals up and down the door. Quietly, he reached out and jerked one loose,
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