Biting the Bride

BITTEN “Do you want to bite me? “ Sunni asked. Jacob nodded, his face contorted with suppressed desire. “But I don’t want to frighten you, or have you think ill of me.” “Who do you bite, men or women?” “Mostly women.” “How do they respond when you bite them?” His cheeks flushed and he glanced away. “It’s an enjoyable experience, if we desire to make it so. It is part of our predatory adaptation that we can make humans desire to be taken by us.” “So go ahead. Do it. I want you to do it.” She pulled him down to her. His lips grazed her neck. She felt her blood rise up to meet him. When his fangs entered her, a tremor of pleasure rolled through her body …

Books by Clare Willis

ONCE BITTEN BITING THE BRIDE NOCTURNAL (with Jacquelyn Frank, Kate Douglas, and Jess Haines)

Published by Kensington Publishing Corporation

BITING THE

BRIDE CLARE WILLIS

ZEBRA BOOKS are published by Kensington Publishing Corp. 119 West 40th Street New York, NY 10018 Copyright © 2010 by Clare Willis All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews. If you purchased this book without a cover you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the Publisher and neither the Author nor the Publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book.” All Kensington titles, imprints and distributed lines are available at special quantity discounts for bulk purchases for sales promotion, premiums, fund-raising, educational or institutional use. Special book excerpts or customized printings can also be created to fit specific needs. For details, write or phone the office of the Kensington Special Sales Manager: Kensington Publishing Corp., 119 West 40th Street, New York, NY 10018. Attn. Special Sales Department. Phone: 1-800-221-2647. Zebra and the Z logo Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM Off. ISBN-13: 978-1-420-10872-9 ISBN-10: 1-4201-0872-7 First Printing: December 2010 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1 Printed in the United States of America

CONTENTS ACKNOWLEDGMENTS Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Chapter 24 Chapter 25 Chapter 26

Chapter 27 Chapter 28 Chapter 29 Epilogue

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS Heartfelt thanks once again to Joanna MacKenzie and John Scognamiglio, my wonderful agent and editor; to Bill, Joe, and Amy for their keen eyes and fast turn-around times; and to Bob and Liz Huss for sharing their knowledge about boats and sailing.

Chapter 1 The wedding would have been the envy of any woman with a romantic heart. The outdoor setting, on a deck overlooking San Francisco Bay, was beautiful and natural but devoid of humidity, extremes of temperature, or insects. The flowers were extravagant but tasteful. The music was poignant but professional. The husband was young (relatively), handsome (ditto), employed, and in possession of all of his natural teeth. But to Sunni Marquette, who was standing at the end of a line of bridesmaids arrayed like the tail of a comet, it was a waste of time, energy, and expense. As was romantic love in general. But she had learned long ago that her worldview was often at odds with that of the general public, and her comments on marriage were usually as well received as a diagnosis of athlete’s foot. So in the interest of friendship, which she did value, she had donned a polyester satin dress in the hue of orange Jell-O and a pair of cheap pumps that were a size too big and taken her place at the comet’s tail end. The nucleus was Sunni’s college friend Lydia, who looked indeed like a big ball of gas in her fluffy round gown, constructed of thousands of short layers of tulle dotted with bugle beads. As the priest droned on about the married couple’s duty to bear children, Sunni turned slightly and allowed her eyes to drift over the crowd. She recognized a few faces, mostly people from college with whom Lydia had kept in contact but Sunni hadn’t. Seeing them made Sunni feel that thirty-two was a lot older than she had realized. The men had bald pates, shrunken shoulders, and expanded bellies. The women’s chins had gone soft. Their breasts sagged like socks filled with sand, defying the darts in their expensive dresses. Mothers clung grimly to bored young children, who squiggled like eels in their perfectly natural desire to escape. Were those liver spots on the women’s hands? Not for the first time, Sunni regretted having 20/10 vision. She squared her shoulders and stood up straight, which still left her a head shorter than the next shortest bridesmaid. She looked young for her age, which had annoyed her to no end when she was in her twenties, but now she welcomed it. Her chin-length bob was as black as ever, with not a strand of gray, and she had yet to find a wrinkle on her pale, heart-shaped face. It was rather weird, actually, considering what was happening to her friends. It made her wonder about what kind of genes she had inherited. Sunni’s DNA was a mystery, coming as it had from a mother who died when Sunni was eight and left no living relatives, and a father who was no more than a blank spot on the birth certificate. So far she hadn’t tried to unravel these mysteries, but maybe someday, when she wasn’t so busy … Busy? Be honest, Sunni thought, at least in your own head: maybe someday, when she wasn’t so chicken. The priest asked everyone to stand for the wedding prayer. She was about to return her attention to the bride and groom when she noticed, in the back row on the bride’s side, a face that seemed familiar. But not just any face. It was one she’d been seeing and losing for years: a face whose elusiveness only made it more enticing. It always disappeared whenever she got close, like a mirage. A wave of fear mixed with excitement washed through her. Sunni forgot where she was and what she was supposed to be doing. She corkscrewed her body toward the back of the church and turned the full power of her superior eyesight on the man. It was him, she was sure of it. Her guardian angel. Sunni’s frustration grew until it felt like she had swallowed a live ferret. The man she’d been wondering about for years was in the same enclosed space with her, and not a public place either, but a private ceremony, where you could only be if you knew the bride or groom. Or if you’d crashed the party. He towered over most of the other wedding guests, which was how he’d become so obvious when everyone stood up. In his tuxedo he cut an arresting figure. Everything about him was striking, from his height to his eyes, whose color she couldn’t quite identify. He had jutting Nordic cheekbones and dark hair that was a

bit too long and tousled to suit a professional man, although she sometimes saw him in restaurants or professional buildings wearing a suit and tie, always alone. He was extremely pale, as if he had tuberculosis or worked as an engineer for Google. If he was a spy he was terrible at his job, because his looks made it impossible for him to be incognito. But now here he was at the same wedding with her and she couldn’t get to him, because propriety demanded that she stay put until the ceremony was over. Their eyes met and locked. As the man stared at her his eyes narrowed to slits. His lips pressed together and he grimaced as if he was angry or in great pain. What was he thinking? Sunni gasped as the man slipped out of the crowd and headed for the exit, moving so fast his blackclad body was a blur. “‘A six-foot tall man in a tuxedo.’ There are five hundred guests here. Can you be a little more specific?” Lydia lifted her champagne glass to her lipstick-smudged mouth. It was halfway through the reception and Lydia was more than halfway drunk, but this was the first moment Sunni had found to ask her the question. Lydia’s new husband, Kyle, had his back to her while he said goodbye to a very elderly couple who were leaving early. Sunni chewed the inside of her lip. “Um, he’s very handsome.” Lydia waggled her eyebrows. “Ooh, so that’s why you want to find him. And I thought you wanted to put a restraining order on the guy. “ She linked her free arm with Kyle’s, swaying on her high heels. “They say weddings are the best places to meet eligible men.” Sunni suppressed her annoyance. “He’s very tall, broad-shouldered but thin, light-colored eyes, prominent cheekbones, messy black hair.” “How old?” Kyle asked, having rejoined the conversation. Sunni shrugged. “Hard to tell. Between thirty and forty, maybe. ” Lydia draped her arms drunkenly across Kyle’s shoulders. “Lucky for you I didn’t meet that guy first,” she said, tickling his ear. “And he was here alone?” Kyle asked, beginning what would probably be a lifelong practice of ignoring his wife.

Was he alone? Sunni felt an embarrassing stab of jealousy at the idea of her angel/stalker leaving with someone else. “I didn’t see anyone with him,” she muttered. The bride and groom looked at each other for a long moment, then they turned back to Sunni, both shrugging their shoulders. “Nope,” Lydia said, “doesn’t ring a bell.” “Sure doesn’t,” Kyle agreed. Sunni sighed with exasperation. “Okay, thanks.” She had needed to pee for the past two hours, so she found a restroom. While she was sitting on the toilet she peeled off her stockings and threw them in the garbage. She hated nylons, especially the egregious Band-Aid–colored ones, but Lydia had insisted. The too-big pumps felt more comfortable now that her feet were bare. When she came out of the stall, there was a man in the bathroom, propping himself up against one of the sinks. For a moment her heart stopped, because he was very tall and had dark hair, but when she

saw his face reflected in the mirror she recognized him: a cousin of Kyle’s from somewhere on the East Coast. She’d met him at the rehearsal dinner the night before. “Hi, um, Peter, that’s your name, right? You’re in the wrong restroom.” He turned, his big head swinging like it was too heavy for his neck. He was handsome in a forgettable sort of way, with coarse features that were probably at their best in high school. “Hey, Sunni, nice to see you,” he slurred, smiling. His mouth was wide, with cartoonish red lips. “You’re looking very beautiful tonight. Did I tell you that already?” “We haven’t spoken tonight, so no, and thank you.” Peter lurched toward her, looking as if he might fall. Sunni grabbed him, sliding her small but strong body under his arm and supporting his considerable weight. “We’re in the bathroom together,” he said. “Wanna make out?” “I’d love to, but I’ve got a cold sore that just won’t quit,” Sunni said lightly. She tried to leave the bathroom, but Peter had other ideas. He spun around and with surprising agility, given his level of inebriation, pushed her against the wall. Sunni’s back bounced off a towel dispenser. The breath flew out of her body, replaced with fiery pain between her shoulder blades. Peter stretched his arms out to the wall, imprisoning her between them. A sour, squishy tongue invaded her mouth, making her gag. He grabbed one of her breasts and twisted it like he was trying to take it home with him, simultaneously pressing his pelvis against her. His belt buckle ground into her lower ribs. “Peter, no!” She managed to blurt out before he trapped her mouth again. When he pushed the ugly orange dress up her thighs panic raced through her body like electricity. He groaned as he found bare skin underneath. His left hand fumbled with his belt buckle. Sunni’s vision narrowed to a pinprick. For a moment she thought she was going to pass out, which would have been the worst thing that could happen, because she knew it would only help Peter. But she didn’t pass out, and in that moment a transformation occurred inside her body. When she opened her eyes, everything was incredibly bright, as if someone had turned on klieg lights. She could see microscopic dust balls on the white tile floor and streaks of window cleaner on the mirrors that had previously been invisible. Although she was moving normally, Peter seemed to be operating at a turtle’s pace as he tugged at his zipper. Sunni had never taken a self-defense class in her life. She had never thought what she would do if someone tried to rape her. But somehow she knew instinctively how to react. She grabbed his neck with both hands and kneed him in the groin. As he doubled over in pain she punched upward into his Adam’s apple. A single, choked cry squeezed out of his throat before he hit the floor, where he balled up like a pill bug, gasping for air. Sunni took a deep breath and looked for the exit. That was when she saw him. He had been standing by the door, watching her. She thought she detected a slight smile on his face before he turned away, his hand reaching for the doorknob. She had no idea how she got across the bathroom that fast, but before he turned the knob she had grabbed him and dragged him back into the bathroom. “Not so fast, mister. You’ve got some explaining to do.” Sunni clutched the lapels of the man’s jacket, at first to keep him in place, but a moment later she was using him for support. The adrenaline washed out of her body, leaving her knees incapable of holding her upright. Her grip loosened and she started to sink to the floor. The man held her, pressing her tight against his chest. He smelled wonderful, like a pine forest after a snowfall. She had just begun to realize that close contact with him was unaccountably pleasurable when he propped her up against a sink and stepped briskly away.

“I see you are well, so I’ll be going …” He headed for the door. “No!” Sunni shouted. The man paused. “Who are you?” she asked. “My name is Jacob Eddington.” He spoke in a formal, clipped tone, with a slight accent that was not quite British, like a Kennedy who’d gone to school at Eton. “No, I mean who are you? Why have you been following me?” He looked at her over his shoulder. His eyes, under fluorescent bathroom lights, were slate-colored, almost gray, and his skin was so pale it seemed transparent. “I believe you mistake me for someone else, madam.” “The hell I do! You saved me from a mugger, two years ago in front of Glide Memorial Church.” He shook his head. “No, I don’t think so …” “And what were you doing here?” She pointed an accusatory finger at his chest. “You came to save me, didn’t you?” “As you see, I didn’t save you at all,” he said stiffly. “So there goes your theory. ” She moved close again, inches from his face, studying it. He appeared deeply uncomfortable, as if looking at her caused him physical pain. “I’ve seen you, over and over again, for years. Tell me why and I’ll let you go.” The semblance of a smile tugged again at the corners of his mouth. “You’ll let me go?” “That’s what I said.” The smile disappeared. The man’s eyes began to glow with a cool silvery light. The iris expanded until it covered the orb. Was she hallucinating? Had Peter given her a concussion? She tried to move, but she was frozen, unable to break their gaze. “You never saw me today. I was never here.” His voice was imperious, and so low in pitch she felt it in her solar plexus. Suddenly it all seemed humorous, and the spell was broken. “I see you.” She waved her fingers in his face. He sighed with exasperation. Whatever he’d been trying had failed. Sunni felt liquid dripping down her lip. She turned and looked in the mirror. Her lower lip was bleeding where it had collided with Peter’s teeth. She staunched it with her finger and then she turned back to the man. But he was gone. In an instant he had disappeared completely. There was no sound of the door opening, no tapping of shoes on tile floors. It was as if he was never there. She raced into the hallway, colliding with a woman in a paisley dress dragging a small, weeping boy dressed in a suit. “I’m not a lady!” the boy wailed. “I can’t go in there.” Sunni grabbed the woman by the arm. “Did you see a man leave the ladies’ room just now?”

The woman eyed her with suspicion. “No, I didn’t see anyone except you.” “Damn it,” Sunni said. Still watching Sunni, the woman opened the door and pushed her son in ahead of her. Sunni heard the boy’s dress shoes clacking across the floor. “Hey, Mommy,” the little boy called out, “there’s a man in here!”

Chapter 2 The scent of blood was driving him mad. He closed his eyes and breathed it in: a thick, salty, mineral tang filled the airplane, emanating from the hundreds of bodies surrounding him. It smelled like the ocean, heated to 98.6 degrees. It was the substance of life itself, the one thing he couldn’t have. It was the bitterest irony imaginable: He could have all the blood he wanted, but he could never make himself live again. Unless … The compact laptop computer on his tray table displayed a photo from an article in ARTnews magazine. He turned his attention back to the attractive young woman in the photo, Sunni Marquette, standing in her eponymous San Francisco art gallery. He had enlarged the picture until Sunni’s distinctive emerald eyes and heart-shaped face had pixilated beyond recognition, but not before he assured himself that he was right. He had been looking for her for years. Now he just had to get to her before another vampire did. He wondered if the Council knew about her, if she was protected. If so, that would make his job more difficult, although not impossible. He had killed vampires before. He smiled and fingered his impeccable tie and the collar of his hand-sewn, Egyptian cotton shirt. Yes, he had killed before, and would again. That was why he needed Sunni Marquette. The Council had numbers and he was alone in the world. Alone, and he was tired of it. The blood smell insinuated itself into his consciousness again. This time he focused on one particular scent—the mousy, middle-aged woman in the seat next to him. He had already spoken with her, and he could feel her tender body thrumming with anticipation that he might turn to her again. She put down her glass, checked her watch, and then sighed very quietly. “Does it really matter what time it is?” he murmured. She winced, as if she’d been caught doing something naughty. He thought she’d probably never done anything naughty in her life, but there was a first time for everything. After all, she’d never met Richard Lazarus before. “The concept of time is so odd when you’re in an airplane, isn’t it? My watch is on New York time, which is 2:00 A.M., and it’s 11:00 P.M. in San Francisco, but what time is it here?” She nodded as if responding to something he’d said. “You’re right, it doesn’t matter. I don’t feel tired at all, you know.” She sipped her drink, and then shook the ice cubes sadly, looking for more liquor. “Are you tired, Richard?” He shook his head. She giggled. “I feel like I’ve told you all there is to know about me.” Yes, he knew everything about Vera Grant: the eighty-hour a week job; the boss to whom she was practically married, except that he already had a wife; singing in the choir at Altamount Methodist; the condo she wished she could sell but owed more on the mortgage than the place was worth; and her two cats, Rusty and Clayton. She was a very talkative lady. “And I know practically nothing about you! Just that you’re a widower, and you live in London. Oh, I’ve hogged the conversation.” Her hand flew to her mouth, as if she could put back the words that had already been spoken. “Not at all, I have found our little talk fascinating.” Richard pressed the call button. The flight attendant arrived in less than twenty seconds.

“I love first-class,” Vera said. “The lady needs another gimlet,” Richard said. He reached across Vera’s lap to pick up the glass. “Oh, no, Richard, I’m sure I’ve had enough.” She put her hand on his. “I can’t even remember how many I’ve had.” “The night is still young,” Richard said. “At least where we’re going it is.” In fact he wished she wouldn’t drink, but it would make things go so much more smoothly. She giggled and nodded. “Okay, maybe a little one.” “You, sir?” The flight attendant looked at Richard. He shook his head. “Nothing for me.” Vera frowned. “You haven’t had a single drink. You’re going to make me look like a lush.” “I haven’t had a drink in a very long time,” he said. “But that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t enjoy yourself. “ He allowed a hint of lasciviousness to slip into his smile, and he sensed Vera’s mouth going dry, heard her heart beat a little faster. “I have enjoyed myself, very much,” she replied. “And I have enjoyed you also,” Richard lifted a lock of Vera’s hair and coiled it around his finger. “You are such a lovely woman, Vera. You have the most beautiful hair. Black like a raven’s wing, so black it seems to have blue in it. I love this color. ” He didn’t care for the stench that assaulted his delicate nose, but he had learned to endure it. Many women dyed their hair with petrochemicals these days. The flight attendant returned with another drink. Vera sipped with evident enjoyment. She had never had a gimlet before. It had been Richard’s suggestion. “You know, Vera, I can think of a way we could enjoy each other’s company even more.” He gently, tentatively, touched her thigh. Vera’s hand shook. She placed the drink on her tray table just before it sloshed onto the floor. “Oh, Richard, I don’t know.” He lifted his hand. “I have offended you. Please accept my apology. ” “No, no, I didn’t mean it like that.” Her short fingers inched up his leg like five caterpillars until she found his hand. “It’s just, well, it sounds trite, but I’ve never been that kind of a girl. We just met.” “You are right, we just met.” His other hand slid along the arm of her silk blouse, stopping at her collar. He reached underneath her pearl necklace and stroked her throat. He could feel her heart, now pounding wildly. “But there is a connection between us, Vera, I felt it as soon as I sat down. Didn’t you feel it?” “Yes, I did.” Her gaze flicked away, but quickly returned. The hope in her eyes was almost comical. “I’m going to be in San Francisco for four days. Maybe we could have dinner, or something. ” “Maybe. But we’re here now, aren’t we?” He caressed her cheek, feeling how the skin was thinning near her eyes. So delicate, these humans,

so temporal. Vera grabbed his hand and pressed it into her lap. He could feel her heartbeat in the veins in her thighs. “Shall we go somewhere?” she said in a husky voice. “No need,” he whispered. He turned off the overhead lights, plunging their seats into darkness, and then he spread a blanket over her lap. “Now, take off your stockings.” Vera giggled again. “I just love your English accent. It’s like a BBC newscaster is talking dirty to me.” She did as he commanded, pulling up her skirt and rolling her stockings down her legs. “I’m so glad you’re wearing a skirt,” Richard said as his fingers slid through her hair and lightly scratched her scalp. “I hate it when women wear pants. A woman should be a woman, as you are, Vera. ” Vera reached up with both hands and cupped Richard’s cheeks, her lips puckered for a kiss. But then she drew back. “Your skin … It’s so cold.” “I’m sorry, I should have warned you. I have a condition—my blood does not circulate well. It makes me cold in my extremities. Is this a turn-off, as the Americans say?” “No, not at all.” He parted her lips and kissed her deeply in the French fashion. It was not his favorite part of the interaction, but he had learned long ago that humans expected it, and he liked to think that he left them happy. “I’m going to kiss you down there. Would you like that?” Richard asked. She didn’t say anything, but he could feel her answer in her heartbeat, in the rapid rise of her temperature. He neatly folded himself into the generous foot space that the airline provided for its firstclass customers and disappeared under the blanket. He gently spread her legs. Her hips rose up to meet him. Richard knew when Vera had moved into that other place; he could feel it in the blood coursing through the veins in her silky thighs. He could hear it in her thoughts, or lack thereof. If someone spoke to her now she would not respond, could not respond. With the exquisite sensation of anticipation that an erection brings, he felt his fangs extend. He licked them with his soft tongue, probed their needle-sharp points. Vera was a lovely woman. How could human men have treated her so unkindly, left her alone for so long? Were they intimidated simply because she was intelligent and successful? Couldn’t they see that inside her suit she was all woman, just waiting to give herself to any man who had the guts to walk up to her and ask? Ah well, their loss was his gain. If Vera had been traveling with a husband he would not be here now, between her thighs, seconds away from piercing the femoral vein that pulsed hotly against him and drinking until Vera’s delicate heart fluttered hopelessly like a sparrow in a hurricane. Life was so much easier for Richard now that women were independent. When the plane landed at San Francisco International Airport Richard was one of the first people to disembark. He left his seatmate curled under a blanket, her face turned toward the window, while a flight attendant made his way over to wake her up. Sometimes watching the aftermath of a kill was interesting: loved ones wailing and screaming, officious policemen stamping around, pretending at competence. But he knew this one would be neat. The flight attendant would quietly call an ambulance and the paramedics would bundle Vera up and carry her away. It would be hours, or even days from now, before anyone

noticed that Vera had been exsanguinated. If they figured it out at all. Looking out the taxi window at the foggy, steel-gray depths of a seasonably cold June day, Richard was content. He imagined the paramedics covering her with a sheet, but not before they noticed the little Mona Lisa smile on Vera’s chalk-white face, and wondered what she had been thinking about right before she died. By eight o’clock the toasts had been made, the cake had been eaten, and the bouquet tossed, so Sunni felt she could make her escape. She left the rest of the guests whirling like Turkish dervishes to nineties cover tunes and repaired to the elegance of the Redwood Room at the Clift Hotel. Sunni’s booth faced the monumental wooden bar, rumored to have been carved during the gold rush days from the trunk of a single Sequoia tree. Unmerciful techno pop music hacked at her eardrums, but thanks to California’s no smoking ordinance, the air at least was clear. Sunni always appreciated it when a law touted community benefit over individual freedom. Unless her freedom was in jeopardy, but she’d quit smoking when she was sixteen. Her bridesmaid’s dress was in a shopping bag on the floor, and she’d changed into a comfortable going-out outfit: jeans, black silk blouse, and a short, close-fitting red leather jacket. On her size five feet were a pair of Prada pumps with four-inch heels. She always wore heels to compensate for her short stature, and she stretched her modest budget to buy the good ones—Prada, Louboutin, Blahnik. The cardboard monstrosities Lydia called shoes were in the garbage can outside the reception hall. The dress would join its sisters at Thrift Town on Valencia Street, where perhaps it might find a second life as a prom dress or a Halloween costume. Her best friend Isabel entered the bar, craning her head as she looked for Sunni. Quite a few of the patrons stared as she wove around the tables, and not only because her neon green animal print dress could have doubled as a hazard sign. Isabel’s arm crutches seemed to make people think they had license to watch her like a show on cable TV. Isabel’s crocodile-skin Birkin backpack landed in the center of the table, perilously close to a lit candle. Sunni moved it to a safer spot. “How was the wedding?” Isabel asked, leaning her crutches against a chair. “Beautiful, touching, and heartfelt,” Sunni said. “What’s wrong?” Isabel gave her the same suspicious look as the woman in the bathroom. “Nothing’s wrong.” Isabel waved a hand in dismissal. “I’ve known you forever, Sunni. I can tell when something’s bothering you, and it wasn’t just that you hate weddings. Spill it.” Forever was an exaggeration, but it didn’t feel like much of one. Sunni had been fourteen when she met Isabel, on her first day at the Ashwood Psychiatric Institute in San Rafael, across the Golden Gate Bridge from San Francisco. When a nurse in surgical scrubs showed Sunni to her room, Isabel was already there, sitting on one of the iron hospital beds, reading Tiger Beat magazine. Sunni had tossed her fraying duffel bag onto the other bed and sat down. “What’s your name?” Isabel asked. She gave Sunni a big smile. Her pink lip gloss was askew, her blond hair was messy, and there was a pair of weird crutches leaning against the wall. Sunni wondered what Isabel’s diagnosis was, whether they put people with the same illnesses together or spread them around. “Sunni.” “Cute name. Mine’s Isabel.”

“Nicetomeechya,” Sunni mumbled. She tore a cuticle off and savored the tarnished penny taste of blood. “I’m fourteen, how old are you?” “Same.” “What are you in for, Sunni?” “What are you in for, nosy? ” “Depression.” “Oh.” Sunni narrowed her eyes and peered at the blond girl. She might be crippled, but her hair and skin were very glossy, and her clothes looked expensive. The girl was rich, and Sunni was ready to hate her. “Then why are you smiling like an idiot?” Isabel shrugged. “I don’t know. Just being polite, I guess.” But Isabel didn’t withdraw or turn away, as most people did when Sunni antagonized them, she just kept looking at her with an open, inviting expression. For some reason, perhaps because she had just been admitted to a psych hospital and didn’t have much to protect anymore, she decided to tell Isabel the truth. “They say I’m depressed, but that’s not really it. I’m not like other people,” she said. “I have these weird abilities. But they keep getting me into trouble.” Isabel nodded as if she was familiar with this problem, as if Sunni had said she was bulimic or had a drug problem. “What do your parents say? ” “I don’t have any parents.” To Sunni’s surprise, Isabel reached across the suitcases and grabbed Sunni’s hand. “That must be so hard for you,” she whispered. At that point the girl who had prided herself since the age of eight on having a heart of stone, had started to cry. Sunni looked up at the bar. “Let’s get a drink first. I need it.” A waiter approached, his eyes fixed on Sunni. He was a handsome young white guy with short black hair, gold hoop earrings, and a tattoo on his neck that looked like a hand strangling him. From a distance he had looked thirty. Close up he appeared closer to twenty. “That’s a righteous tat,” he said. “Did you have it done in the city?” Sunni saw a flash of gold in his tongue when he smiled. Sunni reached a finger to the rose tattoo just under her left collarbone. Many times she’d picked up the phone to call a dermatologist and have the tattoo removed, but had never been able to go through with it. So it remained, an ambivalent memento of turbulent times, and of people, and things now lost. She pulled her blouse to cover it. “I don’t really remember where I got it,” she lied. He chuckled. “Hell, I don’t remember getting half of mine.” “Can we just get a drink, buddy?” Sunni said abruptly.

The waiter lifted his hands in a gesture of surrender. “Sorry. Didn’t realize you were shy about it.” “I’m shy, believe me.” Isabel snorted with laughter. “What can I get you, ma’am?” he asked Isabel. “A glass of Hess chardonnay. ” He turned silently to Sunni. “I’ll have a margarita, lots of salt,” Sunni said. “Certainly. I’ll just need to see some ID.” He smiled apologetically. “Oh, really? From whom?” Isabel said. “From you both,” he replied, but he was still looking at Sunni. “I’m sorry, ladies, it’s my job. My boss is right over there behind the bar. Otherwise it would be totally cool, you know. ” “Will it be totally cool when you figure out that I’m thirty-two?” Sunni said as she pulled out her wallet. She gave the waiter exactly five seconds to look at her ID before she snatched it back. Isabel took longer to get hers out, but she let him stare at it for as long as he wanted. “I’ll get your drinks.” He smiled and walked away. Isabel turned to Sunni, a quizzical eyebrow raised. “What? “ Sunni asked. She inclined her head toward the waiter, who was watching their table while the bartender worked the blender. “You still get these young guys hitting on you. How do you do that?” Sunni rolled her eyes. “He was hardly hitting on me.” “Until he saw your license he was. ” Sunni squinted at her friend. “You want teenage boys hitting on you, Izzy? ” “I’d like anybody hitting on me, Sunni.” Her eyelids flickered. “Seems like men think that if you have a disability you don’t have a vagina.” Sunni looked at the table, chastened. She tried to recall the last time Isabel had been out with a man. She remembered their prom night all too well, but surely Isabel had been out with someone since then? Maybe not. Sunni rarely thought about Isabel’s multiple sclerosis, but it was probably the first thing a potential date would consider. “It’s just because I look so young,” Sunni grumbled. “You should be happy. When you’re fifty you’ll look like you’re thirty.” “Humph,” Sunni snorted. “And when I’m a hundred I’ll look like I’m eighty. What good will that do me?” The waiter silently set their drinks on the table. Isabel rolled the first sip of wine around her mouth like the connoisseur she was. “Okay, now tell me what’s wrong,” she said. “I saw him at the wedding. This drunk guy tried to attack me in the bathroom and suddenly there he

was.” Sunni took a big swig of her margarita. “My guardian angel.” Isabel’s eyes widened. “Someone tried to attack you? Are you okay? ” “Fine.” “Did he save you again?” “Actually, no, I took care of the guy myself. Kneed him in the balls and then punched him in the neck.” She smiled at the memory. “You didn’t,” Isabel gasped. “I did. It was so weird. I got this burst of adrenaline, and then everything was moving really slowly, well, I was moving normally but everything else slowed down. It was so easy to take the guy down. It felt like I was made to do it. ” “And your guardian angel? What was he doing?” “Nothing. Just watching. ” “He didn’t step in?” Sunni shook her head. “No, but when it was over he tried to leave, so I grabbed him.” “You actually had your hands on him? He’s a real, flesh and blood person?” Isabel asked. Sunni’s jaw dropped. “Izzy! Did you think I made him up?” Isabel looked guilty. “Not that you made him up, exactly, but that maybe you were exaggerating a little.” Sunni thought about it. Had she been that extravagant in talking about the man? She thought she’d been entirely straightforward. She saw him a few times a year, and he seemed to be watching her. He’d saved her from a mugger once. He was extraordinarily handsome, and extremely tall. What had she exaggerated? “Anyway,” Sunni said, a little huffily. “He said his name was Jacob Eddington.” “He told you his name? So you have something to go on!” Anger boiled in Sunni’s gut, filling her body with a tension that had no outlet. “No, I don’t. I’ve already looked him up, Googled him, what have you. Jacob Eddington doesn’t exist, at least not in California.” Isabel watched a rowdy group of men in suits toast each other loudly. “Did you follow up on some of the ones in other states?” Sunni pursed her lips. “Yes, Izzy, I called Iowa, Nevada, and Rhode Island. As you can imagine, no one said they’d spent the last ten years following me around San Francisco.” Isabel sipped her wine, her eyes wide with amazement. “How did it end?” “He tried to hypnotize me.” Isabel choked, sending a spray of wine flying onto the table. “He did not!” Sunni nodded. “That’s what I think it was. But it didn’t work.” “Well, at least you know he means you no harm. Maybe you just have to take a religious-type attitude

toward this. Just accept that he’s here for you, watching over you.” Isabel checked her watch. “I have to go, Sunni. I’m meeting Daddy for dinner at the Ritz. We’re wining and dining some clients from Japan.” In the ten years since her mother died Isabel had slowly become Dennis LaForge’s surrogate wife, eventually performing all the spousal duties except conjugal ones. She lived with him, picked up his drycleaning, entertained the clients of his real estate development company, and attended his charity galas. It was a peculiar relationship, and probably one of the reasons Isabel was still single. The LaForges had changed Sunni’s life. After her discharge from the Ashwood Institute, they moved her into their Russian Hill mansion and became her foster parents. They helped her to go to college, and when she decided she wanted to open an art gallery Dennis bankrolled it and became her first and best customer. She would always be grateful to them. It was weird to see your almost-sister essentially marry your almost-father, but they were both adults and it was their choice, so Sunni stayed out of it. “Why don’t you come to the gallery tomorrow, and bring Dennis?” Sunni asked as Isabel slid her arms into her crutches. “A piece came in that I think he’d be interested in. We can have dim sum afterward at the Golden Dragon. ” “What’s the piece?” “A Qing dynasty porcelain vase with a garniture of Louis XV bronze mounts.” “English, please,” Isabel said. “A vase made in China in about 1750, brought to France and decorated with bronze handles in the shape of lions’ heads.” Isabel frowned. “Doesn’t he already have a bunch of vases?” “Yeah, he has a bunch of Impressionist paintings too, but does he stop buying them?” Isabel laughed. “At least I like the Impressionists.” “When you inherit you can sell everything you don’t like.” “He’ll probably give it all to a museum for the tax write-off before he dies. Are you coming, Sunni?” Sunni shook her head. “I’m going to have another drink.” “Suit yourself. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Isabel maneuvered slowly through an obstacle course of tables and chairs. Sunni wondered, not for the first time, if public establishments had any idea how difficult they made it for people with mobility issues. Would it be so hard to put tables in a straight line? She beckoned for the waiter with all the piercings and ordered another margarita. Normally she wasn’t much of a drinker, but her encounter with Jacob Eddington had left her agitated. When the waiter returned with her drink he leaned toward her ear. “The gentleman over there would like to buy you a drink.” He indicated the table of rowdy men. Sunni would have assumed they were stockbrokers, except with the stock market in the toilet it had been a while since she’d seen any of those types celebrating. “Those frat boys?” Sunni asked. The waiter shook his head. “Past them. At the bar.” Sunni looked again. A man in jeans and a black leather jacket lifted two fingers over his whiskey glass. His blond hair was fluffy with product. She couldn’t really tell if he was handsome, but she was feeling that

familiar restless, diffuse anger, directed at everyone and no one. She wasn’t going to sleep tonight. She lifted her glass and gave the man a smile. He picked up his own drink and made his way over.

Chapter 3 The Sea Watch Bar was one of the oldest in the city. It was dark, dank, and smelled of stale beer. The low ceiling was papered with dollar bills and the bar itself was pockmarked and cigarette-burned. At one time the Sea Watch had actually been on the waterfront. The bar was still in the same location, but a hundred and fifty years of landfill had created six blocks of land between it and the bay. It was populated with old men, die-hard drinkers, who said little and glared at strangers. It was Jacob’s favorite bar, because it reminded him of the Fox and Hound in Providence, a pub that stood in the same location for two hundred years, until it was razed for a freeway overpass in the 1960s. He came here late at night, when she was safely asleep, and returned before she woke up. On this night he had followed her from her friend’s wedding to her favorite bar, where she picked up a human man and brought him to her sailboat, presumably for sex. Jacob pushed away the uncomfortable feelings this brought to mind. She could do whatever she wanted, what did he care? He wasn’t her husband. It was her business if she wanted to bed wimpy little human men with coiffed hair. The wimp wasn’t a vampire, that was all that had to concern him. Jacob swirled the Scotch and then smacked the glass down hard. It did concern him; it concerned him too much. He had handled the wedding very badly. He should never have let her get close enough to speak to him. But when that human man tried to violate her … a flush of anger came over him just thinking about it. He had lost his composure and gotten far too close to her. And then, instead of just eliminating the threat and leaving, he had stuck around to watch Sunni fight the man. Flush with pride, as if he’d trained her himself, he’d stood back and observed until it was too late. She’d put her hands on him, for God’s sake. If the Council knew they’d reassign him. He had to get a grip on himself. “Another Scotch?” The bartender wasn’t addressing Jacob. He knew Jacob only drank one, although he paid enough for five. The inquiry was directed at a very pretty young woman in a cashmere sweater and high-heeled boots who was sitting alone at the end of the bar. She looked entirely out of place, but perfectly content. “Yeah, thanks.” The woman was watching the glass fishing weights that hung in nets behind the bartender’s head. From the way she was staring at them Jacob knew she was drunk. The fishing weights had a way of pulsating when you were drunk, like those lava lamps everybody loved in the 1970s. “Thank you.” The woman turned to Jacob, startling him with the intensity of her gaze. Her eyes were blue and glassy. “How do you date someone for five years without them knowing you at all?” she asked Jacob. “How does that happen?” “I wouldn’t know,” Jacob said. “Last call, love,” the bartender said gently. “It’s two o’clock.” “Last call, gents,” he called to the two old men huddled at the other end of the bar. They nodded and quaffed their beers. The woman tossed back her drink and signaled for a final round. The bartender pressed his lips together in disapproval, but poured her another drink. “How’re you getting back to wherever you’re going?”

The woman straightened up and brushed her long brown hair off her face. “What do you mean? I’m fine to drive.” “I’m afraid I can’t let you do that, love. You were three sheets to the wind when you walked in here and you’ve had three more whiskeys since you sat down. I can call you a cab. ” “He’ll take me home.” Swaying on her bar stool, she waved toward Jacob. Then her confidence crumbled. Her mouth drew down at the corners and her lips quivered. “Will you?” Jacob hesitated. Normally he avoided unnecessary contact with humans, but tonight he didn’t feel quite like himself. “Yes, I’ll accompany you, if you wish it.” “All righty, then,” the bartender said drily. Sunni’s thirty-foot ketch, the Wild Rose, bobbed in its berth at Yerba Buena Yacht Harbor like a puppy excited to see its master. Sunni thought of the boat more as a pet than a conveyance or a living space. The Rose behaved differently every time she took her out. She demanded constant care and attention. She made all kinds of noises. When Sunni was sailing her she didn’t feel alone, even though she often was. Sunni jumped lightly from the pier onto the deck. Her companion paused for a moment, looking nervous. “So this is your boat, huh?” the man, whose name was Alex Petrie, asked. “How long have you been sailing?” “Since I was a teenager,” Sunni replied, as she wiped down the vinyl seats with a rag. “Your parents taught you?” As the smell of engine oil and salt air filled her nostrils, Sunni thought of the moment when she’d first seen the Wild Rose. It was her sixteenth birthday, and she’d been living with the LaForges for two years. Gloria LaForge had been unfailingly kind to Sunni, but it was obvious that she would never think of Sunni as a daughter. Isabel was Gloria’s raison d’être, and between the girl’s depression and her multiple sclerosis, there was no time in Gloria’s schedule or place in her heart for anyone else. Dennis, on the other hand, was open and accepting in a way Sunni had never encountered before, even from her own mother. But he was terribly busy. Between working, travelling, conferences, charity functions, and board meetings his daily schedule held enough events to keep three men running. Sunni yearned for time alone with Dennis, and she found it on the azure waters of San Francisco Bay. Her foster father owned a boat and loved to sail, but Isabel and her mother didn’t. Navigating solid ground was enough of a challenge for Isabel, and Gloria didn’t want to leave her daughter. So Sunni asked to accompany Dennis on his next Sunday outing. Within six months she had learned her way around a boat and become Dennis’s indispensable first mate. It was out on the bay that Dennis found out that the vixens at the Aldridge Academy were hazing Sunni, that she was failing algebra and acing chemistry, that she had a crush on a junior named Dexter Elkins, and that she had always wanted to learn to play the guitar. It was where Sunni learned that Dennis’s true love, besides his family, was art, and where she learned, by reading his magazines and catalogues, to love it herself. So on Sunni’s sixteenth birthday, instead of handing her the keys to a car, as he had with Isabel six months earlier, Dennis blindfolded her and drove her to Yerba Buena Yacht Harbor, where he presented her with her own sailboat. Sunni looked at Alex Petrie on the pier and considered her response to his question. She could tell him the story of how she learned to sail, but she realized that Alex didn’t really want to know. He was probably just stalling for time because he was nervous about getting on the boat without looking awkward.

“Don’t worry, I’m a very good sailor,” Sunni assured him, but she wondered if she’d been too impulsive, allowing him to buy her a drink. Then Alex jumped lightly into the boat. “Wow, it’s cold tonight.” He was hugging himself, rubbing his arms even though he had on a heavy leather jacket. “Let’s go down below,” she said. The fog was so thick there was little to see besides the neighboring boats. The light poles of the baseball stadium drifted in and out of view like ghostly beanstalks waiting for Jack to climb. “We’re not going out on the bay?” Alex asked, in what sounded like an intentionally ironic tone. She shrugged. “I go out at night a lot. But not tonight, it’s too foggy.” “Maybe some other time,” Alex said. Sunni denied herself a sarcastic comeback. He followed her down into the small, Spartan cabin. It was like a hobbit house, every miniature item tucked into its own little cubbyhole. Sunni loved the kind of planning that fit an entire house worth of conveniences into a closet-sized space. She turned on the propane heater and took two Pyramid Ales out of the refrigerator. As Sunni handed him the beer, Alex’s cell phone rang. Even in the dim light she could see his face flush pink as he fumbled to turn it off. He had offered to take her to his place and she had refused, not just because she loved her boat, but also because there would be too many clues there. What if the closets were empty, and there were only three glasses in the cupboard? Then she would know it was a pied-aterre, not a real home, and she really didn’t want to know anything about Alex beyond the obvious—he was healthy, young, and handsome. She wanted oblivion, not connection. Alex scanned the tiny cabin for a place to hang his jacket. As she took it he smiled at her, in the way that men who know they’re attractive smile—cocky, flashing a lot of tooth. “Why don’t you take off yours? It’s getting pretty warm in here. “ He held her beer as she took off her own leather jacket and hung them both on a hook in the wall. “Your blouse is beautiful,” he murmured. “I love silk.” Since he was standing behind her, Sunni allowed herself to roll her eyes. She considered whether they should sit in the galley, finish their beers, and have some preliminary conversation, or if she should just take Alex into the tiny berth, with its soft bed and down comforter, and get down to what they’d come for. Sunni didn’t pick up men very often, but when she did she always found this part very awkward. She wasn’t good at pretending that she cared what the guy did for a living or what teams he liked, what kind of car he drove or who he’d voted for in the last election. The pretense that there would be something after the sex was exhausting, so she was happy when she found a man who was drunk or confident enough to just dispense with it. Alex made the decision when he slid into the bench seat behind the table and put down his beer. “So, I never asked what you do for a living, Sunni,” he said. His eyes drifted over her outfit. “Let me guess. You’re a …” She sat down next to him and put her hand over his mouth. “Don’t guess.” They were so close now that Sunni could smell the shaving cream he’d recently scraped off his face.

He kissed her palm, then leaned in and kissed her on the lips, lightly at first and then more hungrily. He was trying to turn toward her and get his arms around her body but the table was jabbing them in the ribs. “I have a bed right over there,” she whispered. He followed her into the dark, cozy womb of the berth and they both stretched out on the comforter. The rocking sensation was like being in a cradle, and the old wooden hull’s soft creaks sounded like an ancient lullaby. Sunni felt sleepy. She had to concentrate to keep her mind on the task at hand. It had been a long time since Sunni had made love, and she was curious to know how she would react. She felt a slight stirring, especially as Alex expertly probed her mouth with his tongue, looping and circling like a stunt plane, but for the most part she felt calm, even distant from the procedure. Then, as she sometimes did when she was alone, she filled her mind with Jacob. She had more to work with in her fantasy now that she’d seen him up close: she knew the cleft in his chin and the particular slate gray of his eyes, the slope of his jaw and the fullness of his lips. As she unbuttoned Alex’s shirt she imagined it was Jacob’s chest she was stroking, his tongue that was filling her mouth. She saw his eyes fill with passion as he pressed her down on the bed, heard him groan with desire as he put a knee between her thighs and roughly pushed them apart … “Is this all right?” Alex asked politely, his fingers on the top button of her blouse. Sunni sighed. She put both of Alex’s hands on her collar and ripped the delicate fabric down the center, revealing a lacy black bra. She grabbed Alex’s shoulders and with all the strength in her small frame, flipped him so that he was lying underneath her. “You’re a wild one, aren’t you?” Alex chuckled. “Shut up,” she said, and reached for his belt. “Are you ready now, Jacob?” the woman asked, swaying on her heels like tall grass in a high wind. “Sure, now’s fine.” He walked over. Her head slowly craned upward. “You’re a tall one, aren’t you?” Jacob pulled a worn leather wallet out of the back pocket of his jeans. “How much is it, Owen?” he asked the bartender. “Twenty-eight dollars. ” The woman shook her head. “You don’t have to pay for me,” she said. Jacob pushed his cap back and smiled at her. “It’s my pleasure.” Her eyes widened and a slow smile crept onto her lips. She was really seeing him now for the first time, and he felt the heat of her interest like the sun coming up in the morning. “You have beautiful eyes. What color are they?” The bartender snorted, then turned it into a cough. “Blue?” Jacob tossed two twenties on the counter. “Keep the change.” “I don’t think so. Azure? Indigo? Slate?” She moved closer, peering at him. Her breath could strip wallpaper. “Are you a painter?” Jacob asked.

“Interior designer.” Outside, the woman stumbled on the uneven pavement. Jacob grabbed her by the waist, but once her balance was reestablished he released her. “May I have your keys, please?” he asked. “Oh, yeah, they’re in here somewhere.” She fished in her purse and handed him a set of keys, attached to a key ring from Brown University. Jacob examined the familiar insignia. “Did you go to this school?” he asked. “Me? No, it’s my boyfriend’s …” she paused. “My ex-boyfriend’s car.” He flipped the keys in his hand. “I see.” “You went to Brown?” The truth was that his father helped to establish Brown University, using the proceeds from slave trading to finance it, but that statement would raise more questions than it would answer. He shook his head. “I used to own a farm in Providence.” “A farmer, that’s cool,” she slurred. Jacob opened the BMW’s passenger door and helped her in, then he slid into the driver’s seat. He had to adjust it—he was taller than the ex-boyfriend. “Where do you live?” “Haight and Masonic.” Jacob nodded. “I’ll drive you over and walk back. It’s only a couple of miles.” “Okay.” She paused, and then spoke again, a bit more hesitantly. “Or we could go to your place.” He turned to look at her. “You don’t need to do that, Susan,” he said. “How do you know my name?” she asked. “You told me.” “Oh.” She nodded, unsure. “You’re not yourself. I will take you back home and you can get some rest. You’ll feel better in the morning.” She pulled him toward her. Her lips were soft, as was her tongue, and sweet-tasting, despite being steeped in alcohol. Jacob often went months between feedings, and he was always surprised at how soft they all were, how utterly appealing, and yet ultimately unsatisfying. “You should know, Susan, I’m not like other men,” he said. “Are you gay?” “You mean do I prefer men for sex?” “No, I was asking if you’re happy,” she said drily. “You are teasing me.”

“Or you’re teasing me.” “I don’t mean to.” He smoothed her hair off her cheek. She gripped his arms as if she were afraid he would run away, which was, in fact, a real possibility. He was already regretting this encounter. “Okay, so what do you mean, you’re not like other guys?” He looked out the window at the dark parking lot. “There are things that I need to do when I’m with a woman …” She made a phht sound. “Trust me, Jacob, there’s nothing you could want that would surprise me.” He looked back and raised his eyebrows. “Oh, really?” “That didn’t come out exactly how I meant it.” She paused, looking embarrassed. “I just meant that I would really like you to …” “Stop talking.” Jacob kissed her, pressing her against his chest so hard he heard her bones creak. He started to back off, but she clung to him with the desperation of a drowning woman. The kiss deepened, their tongues entwined. He smelled the leather of the car seats, the briny scent of the bay, and the thick, overwhelming scent of blood. She pressed her fingers into his shoulder blades, drawing him toward her, arching her body so that her neck was presented to him like a present to open. When his fangs entered her she screamed with pleasure. He felt her whole body shudder from her shoulders to her toes. “Don’t stop,” she begged, but she didn’t know what she was asking for. He took just enough, then gently disentangled himself from her slack limbs. He turned her face so that she was looking into his eyes, and he concentrated on creating the mental channel between himself and the human that would make her susceptible to suggestion. “When you wake up tomorrow, you will remember going to the Sea Watch and drinking. You won’t remember how you got back home.” Unlike with Sunni, the glamouring worked easily on Susan. She nodded slowly, her eyes round as saucers, and then slipped into a comfortable slumber as he navigated the quiet streets to her house. The awkwardness began as soon as the shudders of Sunni’s hard-won orgasm subsided. She lifted Alex Petrie’s hand out from between her legs, only to have him toss his arm over her stomach and pull her into a close embrace. “That was fantastic,” he murmured into her hair. Fantastic? Sunni squeezed her eyes shut. When she opened them he was still there, his lips pressed against her jaw. She escaped his arm and slid out of bed. “Yeah, it was great,” she muttered. “Just need to go to the head.” “The head?” “That’s what they call it on a boat.” Sunni closed the door behind her and peered into the tiny circular mirror she’d glued to the wall. Her lipstick was smeared and raccoon rings of mascara circled her eyes. She splashed water on her face

and brushed her hair and then sat on the toilet with the seat closed, picking at a hangnail. “Stupid, stupid, stupid,” she muttered. It wasn’t just the choice of having sex with Alex Petrie that she was angry about. That was the least of her problems. What had been chasing around in her mind ever since she left the wedding was the encounter with Jacob Eddington. She had certainly never admitted it out loud, to Isabel or anyone else, in fact she hadn’t even acknowledged it in her mind until tonight, but she had been harboring a fantasy about Jacob for over two years, ever since he saved her from being mugged. That night she’d been working late, plowing through résumés on Craigslist, looking for a replacement for the receptionist she’d just fired. Sunni had come in at ten and found the gallery empty, the door unlocked and the alarm off. At ten fifteen Linda returned from an impromptu coffee break to find that her boss already had her termination letter typed up and her personal items packed in a box. When Linda complained Sunni dragged her by the arm to a painting on the wall. It was tiny, two inches by three. “Do you see that?” Sunni shrieked. “That painting, which you could fit in your pocket, is worth seventy thousand dollars!” The apology Linda proffered fell on deaf ears. Sunni posted an ad that morning and by nine that night she had forty résumés in her inbox. She culled out some likely candidates, placed a few phone calls and set up interviews for the next day. At ten o’clock she realized she hadn’t eaten dinner, so she locked up the gallery and bought a slice of pizza at the Blondie’s near the cable car turnaround. Juggling pizza, paperwork, and her purse, she didn’t notice the man until he was right in front of her. As was the muzzle of the pistol he was pointing. “Give me your purse,” he said. Sunni knew that in situations like this the best thing to do was hand over the purse. She tried to obey, but her hands were full and she was taking too long. The mugger shoved her hard. The pizza flew into the air and landed on the sidewalk, followed by Sunni. The man bent over and grabbed the strap of her purse. That was when Jacob Eddington appeared. Sunni figured afterward that she had hallucinated this part, but in her memory Jacob appeared from overhead, as if he’d been flying like Superman, looking for crime to avert. He knocked the man aside, sending him flying like a bowling pin, and then he cradled Sunni in his arms, wiping the cheese off her face and smoothing her hair. Sunni had the ridiculous thought that she was glad she’d been mugged, because anything that brought a man like this into her life was worth it. He had the deepest, most soulful eyes she’d ever seen, and she wanted to look into them forever. When his hand cupped her cheek the pleasure of his touch was so intense she felt tears spring to her eyes. “Don’t cry,” he’d whispered. “It’s all over now.” He’d helped her to her feet and handed over the purse and the sheaf of papers. They’d stood awkwardly looking at each other for a long moment, and as she gazed at the face of her savior, Sunni had a strange feeling of déjà vu. “Do I know you? “ she asked. He shook his head. He was very tall, and had dark, unruly hair that touched his shoulders. Sunni felt she needed to say something, anything, to make the man stay, but her brain stubbornly refused to cooperate. “Well, if you’re all right, I’ll be going,” he said.

“Please don’t go,” was the brilliant line Sunni spouted. He smiled, and she realized then why people say that the heart is where love resides in the body, because her chest ached in a way it never had before. And then he was gone. For days afterward she walked home past the pizza parlor, looking everywhere for the elusive man, always thinking that he was just around the corner. And she did see him. The first time was several weeks later. As she was passing through Union Square at lunchtime, swinging a shopping bag from Bloomingdales, she saw him on the corner, waiting to cross Geary Street. She’d immediately reversed course and headed toward him, only to lose him in the crowd as the light turned green. He appeared every once in awhile, always at a distance, and by the time she reached the spot where she’d seen him he was gone. She and Isabel had talked about it, and they both agreed that the man must not have seen her any of those times, and that when he did finally notice her he was going to come straight over and introduce himself. Then the relationship that should have started with the mugging would finally begin. She had harbored that fantasy until today, at the wedding, when she came face-to-face with the mystery man and everything had gone entirely and completely wrong. She closed the door to the head and walked through the gently rocking boat to the berth. Alex was lying on his back with his mouth open, snoring. She shook his shoulder. When he opened his eyes she smiled apologetically. “I’ve got an emergency I need to attend to,” she said. “Oh no,” Alex sat up, rubbing his eyes. “Is there anything I can do? ” “It’s not that bad,” Sunni said, feeling guilty. “We just need to leave now.”

Chapter 4 As Richard ambled through the quiet lobby of the Mandarin Oriental Hotel, he paused to admire the collection of rare orchids on display in the atrium. At two o’clock in the morning the hotel was operating on a skeleton crew, just one drowsy bellhop and a receptionist surfing the Internet. Neither of them raised their heads as he walked to the revolving door. He felt a brief second of panic as the glass cage trapped him, which was relieved when the doors slid around and disgorged him on the other side. After turning up his overcoat collar and slipping on a pair of deerskin gloves, he strolled along Powell Street. Now that all the restaurants were closed for the night the briny scent of the bay hung heavy in the air. Richard’s nose twitched with distaste. Many years ago, at the start of his vampire life, he had been trapped for weeks on the open ocean in a sailing ship with a broken mast. Luckily the cargo was human, so he didn’t starve, as did almost everyone else on board. But it had been a terrifying experience, and he didn’t care to be reminded of it. He turned the corner and paused in front of Sunni Marquette’s shop. Her name was etched into the gleaming plate glass window. He wiped away a smudge with his soft leather glove. Silently he named some of the artists inside: Giacometti, Matisse, Picasso, and Renoir. Richard’s nostrils quivered as he breathed in his second favorite scent in the world—money. There was a lot of it invested in that gallery, although he wasn’t sure yet what was the source. But if he played his cards right perhaps he’d have the money as well as the woman. That would be a lovely lagniappe, as New Orleans people put it. He was feeling very pleased with himself. Very pleased indeed, and also a bit peckish. He looked up and down the street, assessing his options. He could go to a bar, a nightclub, perhaps a house of prostitution. Or he could simply walk into the park across the street and wait for a shadowy figure to approach, offering drugs, sex, or intending to mug him. Then he could take what he wanted and leave the husk where it fell. A glaring neon sign caught his eye, advertising a club called Emerald City. He eyed the mammoth doorman and the line of slender young boys and girls in skimpy clothing waiting to have their IDs checked. He wouldn’t fit in at all, he surmised, which would make it all the more interesting. He strode swiftly up the street, bypassed the queue and went directly to the doorman. A few of the more adventurous boys grumbled, but when he turned around every eye was downcast. “Sorry, we’re full right now,” the doorman said. “You’ll have to wait until somebody comes out.” Richard pinned the man with his gaze and watched his fleshy face grow slack. “You would like to invite me to go in right away. ” “Please go in right away.” The doorman swept the curtain aside for Richard to step in. He removed his gloves and checked his coat in the cloakroom before proceeding into the dark cavern. The humans, with their inferior eyesight, couldn’t tell that the Emerald Club was a stark concrete warehouse, the walls punctuated with velvet curtains that covered more concrete. A very good sound system circulated music like air throughout the room. Richard paused to locate an advantageous spot to watch the goings-on. He spied a lone stool on the short side of the L of the bar where he could put his chair to the wall. Unfortunately a college fraternity type was sitting on Richard’s stool, with two friends standing nearby, all drinking bottles of beer. Richard slipped unobtrusively behind them, and then waited for a moment, all of his attention focused on the seated gentleman. In a few seconds the man turned to his friends. “Dudes, check out the honeys on the dance floor. Three of them, and they’re dancing with each other. Let’s go check it out.”

The bigger one, as he lovingly nuzzled his beer, said, “Aw, man, I bet they’re dykes.” The first man, now standing, answered, “No way, they’re too hot to be dykes. Let’s go before someone else bogarts them.” They all drained their beers and headed for the dance floor. Richard commandeered the now vacant stool. The bartender came over immediately, leaning close so that he could hear the order. “Would you kindly pour me a Stoli martini with two olives?” The bartender deftly mixed the drink, spinning the bottle once for effect, then slid the glass over. Richard nodded politely, positioned the glass squarely on its napkin and looked around. The smells were overwhelming. He had never been in a place where people bathed so much as in modern America, but still they exuded a million strong aromas. Especially in clubs like this, which were full of the desperate smell of the chase. Cigarette smoke, sweat, deodorant, hot breath, perfume, greasy hair, cologne, intestinal gasses, blood. A room like this reminded him of Bangkok, where he had spent time both in the 1860s and 1970s. In Bangkok people lived on the streets in the humid atmosphere, cooking, bathing, defecating, praying. The only smells from Bangkok that were missing in this nightclub were dried fish and incense. He had to concentrate to separate one odor from another in this overheated human soup, but soon he was able to zero in on what he was looking for. Over in the corner near the dance floor, but not on it, were two single women. Both were in their late twenties or early thirties, a bit too old for the Emerald Club. He could tell everything about them from their expressions and their posture. They stood facing out but shoulder to shoulder, indicating that they were available but protecting each other, egging each other on. The one on the right came here a lot. She was looking for the elusive Mr. Right in all the wrong places. Richard honed in on the one on the left, the reticent one, the one who didn’t believe in second chances. Her girlfriend had put her up to this, lent her a sexy red dress, encouraged her to apply extra makeup and put up her hair. He could tell she wasn’t comfortable with herself this way. She looked awkward but attractive, her brown eyes large and round, her naturally curly hair escaping its tightly coiled arrangement. Under the spaghetti straps of the dress her shoulders glowed, as pink and soft as a newborn piglet. He put the drink to his lips and let a little liquid rest on his tongue. He tasted the oil and salt and Italian sunshine in the olive, and then the sharp rustic tang of the vodka. The Italians take an inedible, bitter fruit and make the delicious versatile olive, while the Russians pour chilled lighter fluid down their throats without benefit of mixer. So many different cultures, so many different approaches to life. He turned his attention back to the woman in the short dress and rehearsed the impending scenario in his mind. When he approached her she would be surprised, pleased that someone so attractive would choose her, but wary of his intentions. Maybe he would buy her a drink, maybe dance with her to a slow song. He would spread his palms on her back, sense the undulation of her hips. Through his fingertips he would feel every vulnerability that a delicate woman contains, each knob of her spine held in place by tiny sinews, so easily broken, the rivers of blood flowing north and south from the heart, entering all the little tributaries where her hopes reside—the hands, the eyes, the nose, the mouth. He would lean down, speak soothingly into her ear, his lips just touching her hair. His words would form gossamer chains, holding her in place with the force of her own dreams. She would surrender up all that she was and ever would be on the strength of a whisper. She would trust him, although she had no reason to do so. It was the nature of women. Except for Sunni Marquette. Even though he continued to watch the one in the red dress, Sunni filled his mind. He had known when he first saw her, all those years ago, that she was different. It was in the tilt of her chin, how she held her shoulders at right angles to her neck, the way she could meet anyone’s eyes without flinching. It wasn’t that she could never be won over, that she was unassailable. But she would have to choose him, not the

other way around. Perhaps she could be had, but she could not be taken. There was a spark in her that was unquenchable, even if she was too naïve to realize it. It was that spark that had drawn Richard to her, as a moth to a candle, and like the heedless fire that could either preserve or destroy life, Sunni could save him, by warming his chilled heart. Or she could draw him into the flame of daylight, where he, a creature of shadows, could not survive. It was not like him to entertain such negative thoughts, and he literally pinched himself to stop them, taking the soft pad of flesh between his thumb and forefinger and piercing it with a fingernail. Yes, Sunni Marquette might be dangerous, but to other, less experienced vampires, not to Richard Lazarus. He looked back at the lady in red. He could see her heart beating, causing the soft flesh of her chest to quiver. The woman gave him a tentative smile. His fangs descended, snapping into place like switchblades as he moved in for the kill. He left the lady in red in one of the bathroom stalls while her friend searched for her on the dance floor. After retrieving his coat and gloves and handsomely tipping the coat check girl, he strolled back toward the hotel. He had almost reached the lobby door when a black limousine appeared in his peripheral vision. He remembered seeing it parked across the street when he left the hotel. He cursed himself that he hadn’t thought to check inside it. Very sloppy, that was. The car screeched to a halt in front of him. The door opened and two vampires in dark suits jumped out. Richard nodded to one of them, a handsome Italian of about thirty years, with curly black hair and a sartorial flair, evidenced tonight in a hot pink dress shirt and emerald tie, with a gold cross lying on top of it. “Hello, Enzo.” He turned to the other vampire. “And you must be new. What is your name?” The yeoman had been young when he was turned, no more than twenty. He had longish blond hair and delicate facial features, but his biceps were the size of Christmas hams. He turned to Enzo for direction. “Don’t look at him,” Richard snapped, “you’re a vampire, for heaven’s sake. Show a little spine. What is your name?” “Patrick.” “Lovely. Would you like to come to work with me instead of the Council, Patrick? The pay is better and I’ll let you kill all the humans you like. What do you say?” Patrick looked at his partner again. Enzo twisted his handsome mouth in frustration. “Scipio would like to talk to you,” he said in a thick Italian accent, gesturing toward the car. Richard laughed, one quick bark. “Scipio, here to see me? What an honor! I assume you followed me from Europe?” “Will you get in?” Enzo asked, barely polite. “Or what?” Richard took one step closer to Enzo. To his credit, Patrick didn’t back away. But then again, he probably didn’t know Richard’s reputation. Enzo, on the other hand, faded toward the car door. “Oh, for the gods’ sake, would you stop this pissing match and get in the car?” A pale patrician face surrounded by loose gray curls poked out of the car. “Scipio!” Richard said. “If I’d known it was you I’d have come in immediately!” Richard offered a gloved hand to Scipio. After a slight pause, Scipio grasped Richard’s forearm in the

Roman way. “Always the stickler for tradition, aren’t you? It’s quite charming, really.” He settled himself comfortably on the leather seat next to his nemesis. The two goons shared the opposite seat, their loglike legs spread wide. Why did Scipio persist in hiring these numbskulled musclemen for the protection unit? Had he forgotten that once one becomes a vampire, muscle size is as unimportant as whether one is right-or left-handed? Richard glanced at the old Roman, and then quickly looked away. He hated looking at the film on the fellow’s eyes. It made him feel ill. What aberration had occurred during the conversion process that Scipio had been left with such a human malformation? Richard would question whether he was even a vampire if Scipio hadn’t been alive when Richard was vampire-born, and aged not a day in the two hundred plus years since. “What are you doing here, Richard?” Richard crossed his legs. “I have business in the city. Why are you here?” “The Council warned you not to travel.” He blew an exasperated puff of air through his nostrils. “I do not recognize the Council’s jurisdiction over me.” “That does not mean we don’t have it.” Scipio’s tone had hardened. Enzo and Patrick leaned closer, their hands on their knees. The driver, who had been given no directions, was circling Union Square aimlessly. “Do you mean to arrest me, Scipio?” “Not unless you do something to warrant it.” “Then I think our interview is over. ” They passed the Mandarin Oriental for the second time. “You can let me out here,” Richard said. He rapped on the glass divider and the driver pulled to the curb. “It’s been a pleasure, gentlemen. I hope you enjoy your sojourn in San Francisco as much as I shall enjoy mine.” He got out and gently closed the car door behind him. The sun was rising, a pale yellow wafer sharing the western sky with a waxing gibbous moon that had forgotten to go to bed. Jacob stretched and yawned, although he hadn’t been asleep. At first he had considered it a blessing when he learned that only young vampires were affected by the sun and required a daily hibernation, that eventually he would be able to function twenty-four hours a day, like a water mill or a cotton gin. It had turned out to be something else; not a curse, exactly, but a burden. He rarely slept, night or day, now that he was over two hundred and fifty years old, and when he did it was due to overstimulation, not exhaustion. He was lying on the couch in his apartment, with a book open in his lap, waiting for Sunni to wake up and go to work. She hadn’t spent the night in the boat; in fact she and the male had stayed barely two hours, a fact that Jacob was ashamed to feel pleased about. Even though the sofa was the longest one he could find, his ankles dangled over the arm. The apartment made Jacob feel like he was in a fish bowl, endlessly circling, looking for a small dark place to rest. He had a mattress in a closet for when it really

became too much to endure. He hated the place, but it had a fine view of Sunni’s fifteenth-floor condo across the street, and it was busy enough that he could come and go relatively unseen. Someday perhaps he’d be free to go back to his small, cozy farm in Providence, but only when Sunni was safe, and that wouldn’t happen until she was in the grave, preferably of natural causes. How long that might take was the object of some debate among the members of the Council. So few of her kind had ever been created that there was very little understanding of how long their life spans might be. A vampire made in the Dark Ages remembered a dhampir who had lived four hundred years. Another knew a princess in seventeenth-century France who lived to be two hundred, though she was beheaded, and therefore useless statistically. He looked at the sickle-shaped moon, its lower curve obscured by a puffy cloud. He wondered if anyone these days remembered what a sickle was. He had swung one for years on his farm. He also remembered the half-size one that his son had used, working happily alongside Jacob as if farming was a game his father had invented solely to keep him amused. He heaved a deep sigh and tossed the book onto the coffee table. It did no good to reminisce this way. It just put him in a foul mood, and heaven knew a melancholy humor was his usual state these days, although he wished it were not so. He walked into the entry hall, where one of the only signs of habitation was a large bowl of yellow lilies on a side table. He had them delivered once a week, even though they made him miserable. Lilies made him think of his long-lost wife, Jane, but recently they’d been bringing Sunni to mind as well. She also loved flowers and often hauled huge bunches of them to her home or the gallery. He welcomed thoughts of his wife, the pain and regret of losing her palpable but muted, the ache of an old scar rather than a fresh wound. But thinking of Sunni this way, it was entirely unacceptable. “Sorry, Jane,” he muttered as he grabbed the flowers. He took them out into the hall to dump down the garbage chute. Just before he turned the corner, he heard someone approaching his door. He slipped into the alcove of another apartment, cloaked his appearance so that no human could see him, and waited to see who would appear. The footsteps moved closer. Jacob stepped out of the shadow and uncloaked. The visitor was not human, so vampire trickery would not shield him. A man stood on his doorstep, short of stature but broad in his chest. His curly, gray hair was cut into blunt bangs across his forehead, a style that had gone out of fashion millennia ago. “Scipio?” Jacob said incredulously. “What are you doing here? You never leave Italy. ” A small laugh emanated from his chest, the laugh of a man who’d experienced a great many of life’s comedies and tragedies. “Good to see you, too. How are you, centurion?” Jacob threw his arm around the smaller man’s shoulders. “I’m fine, Scipio, but I never fought in Caesar’s army, have you forgotten?” Jacob was delighted to see his old friend. It had been years since he’d had a friendly conversation with another vampire. “You were born in 1750, in Providence, Rhode Island, many miles and many years distant from the Roman Empire.” Scipio squinted at Jacob. His eyes were the color of the sky at high noon, but his corneas were like tattered lace curtains drawn across the view. His eyesight had been damaged when he was human, and although he had perfect vision now, the scars remained. “I have not forgotten anything, although some things I wish I had. I use the term for any commander of armed forces: forgive me for this, it becomes difficult to keep all the vernacular in order.” “Please, come inside and take a refreshment. Are you alone?” Jacob glanced down the hall. Scipio nodded. “I am.”

He took Scipio inside and seated him on the couch. The Roman declined all alcoholic beverages but accepted a glass of cold water. Jacob sat next to him and stretched his long arm across the back of the couch. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your call, Scipio?” The Roman turned the water glass in his hand, presumably admiring the clarity. “Ah, I wish it were good tidings, Jacob, but it is not. I am here on behalf of the Council.” “Have I done something wrong?” he asked warily. For years he’d worried that the Council might decide that he was “too close” to his case, and transfer him to some dull, impersonal task, like guarding blood banks. Was it possible they were aware of his error at the wedding? “We did not come for you. We came here for Richard Lazarus. ” This was worse than everything he had feared. Cold sweat beaded under Jacob’s arms. He tugged on his beard, a habit so old his wife used to tease him about it. Except he no longer had a beard, and his fingers slid off his smooth chin. So many years had passed that he had allowed himself to believe that perhaps it would never happen, but the moment he had been dreading had arrived. “Lazarus is in San Francisco? What is he doing here?” Scipio sipped the water before he answered. “We don’t know yet. So far all he’s done is kill two humans and check into the Mandarin Oriental hotel.” Jacob swallowed hard, looking out the window at the sea of lights, each one representing one or more beating human hearts. So many, but only one he cared about. “Does Lazarus know about my assignment? Is that why he’s here?” “We never found out. “ Scipio pulled at the collar of his white shirt as if it was strangling him. Clothing styles might change with the times, but the vampires wearing them often didn’t. It was the rare vampire who didn’t prefer the clothes of their human era, even if their era included corsets or powdered wigs as tall as fire hydrants. If Scipio hadn’t been trying to blend in he would have been wearing a toga. “He must not be allowed to get to her, Jacob. “ “Don’t worry, I won’t let him.” Scipio placed a hand on Jacob’s shoulder. “I worry that you have gotten too close to her. ” “Too close? I’ve only spoken to her once since she was eight years old, and that was an accident. It won’t happen again.” “If he gets close to her, if it looks like she will join him, she will have to be eliminated.” “No!” Jacob leaped to his feet. “That’s not going to happen. Even if he makes contact with her, she’ll see him for the evil, malignant creature he is.” Scipio’s gray eyebrows drew together. The concern in his eyes was obvious, even covered with that strange lacework. “Can I trust you to do this job, Jacob, whatever it may demand of you? ” Jacob snapped to attention, standing tall and throwing his shoulders back. “I am a yeoman, Scipio, I know my duty. ” The old vampire’s smile didn’t touch his eyes. “I hope so, my friend. I hope so.” He pressed a small card into Jacob’s hand. “Here’s the number of my telefonino. Call me if you find out anything.”

Chapter 5 Union Square was filled with people who seemed to be in no hurry. Sunday shoppers loaded with bags gawked at the mannequins in the windows of Macy’s and Nieman Marcus, tourists waited in the wrong places for the cable car as it made its noisy, clanging progress up Powell Street, and homeless people stood on the corners with their hands or paper cups extended. Sunni weaved impatiently through them all to get to her gallery. Tourists rarely passed through the gleaming glass doors of the Marquette Gallery—Fine Art and Antiques, unless they were very rich or very confident. Everything about the place, from the blond wood walls sparsely punctuated with art, to the spiral iron staircase that looked vaguely like prison bars, was designed to intimidate the gawker and the dilettante. Not that Sunni had anything against those people. They just had greasy fingers and an overwhelming urge to touch everything they saw. Carl, Sunni’s assistant, was part of the ambience. He was a pale young man with shoulder-length hair that was as black as Clairol could make it. He favored shirts with ruffled collars, dark, Victorian-style suits, and thick eye makeup. He spoke with a fake British accent, acquired during a year in Cambridge as a Rhodes scholar. “Carl, did the Giacometti sculpture come in yesterday … what the hell did you do to your ears?” Carl’s black-painted fingertips flew from the computer keyboard to his earlobes, where rings the size of Lifesavers had been inserted into the lobes, which were red and swollen. “I had ear stretchers put in. Do you like them?” “Do I like them? What part of ‘what the hell did you do to your ears?’ did you not hear?” Sunni came closer and delicately put her pinkie finger through the ring in one of his lobes. “Every two months they put bigger rings in. You can make your earlobes this big.” Carl made a C with his hand. “That’s just gross.” Sunni shuddered. “Listen, I’m fine with the makeup, the tattoos, the fingernail polish, the outfits, but you cannot make your earlobes the size of softballs and expect to work here. You’ll alienate the customers.” “Ping-Pong ball?” Carl asked hopefully. “Gumball. If that. ” Her assistant sighed wistfully. The electronic doorbell rang. Sunni turned around and automatically moved toward the door, as she always greeted every guest personally, but when she saw the man she stopped moving. He was tall and elegant, wearing a three-piece suit with a red bow tie. He looked European, and wealthy. All of these attributes were not unusual in people visiting the Marquette Gallery, but this man had something special, a presence, that was so powerful it seemed to fill the room. It took her several seconds to recover her composure enough to continue across the floor. “Good morning,” Sunni said. “I’m Sunni Marquette. Is there anything in particular I can help you with?” “I’m Richard Lazarus. Such a pleasure to meet you.” The accent was British, the voice one of the most pleasant she’d ever heard, creamy and soothing as a cup of hot chocolate. Sunni tried not to stare at the man, but failed. He managed to look both entirely up-to-date and as if he’d time-traveled out of another

era. Even his suit—an impeccably cut herringbone tweed with narrow lapels—looked stylish now, but could just as easily have been worn in the 1950s or even the 1930s. Likewise his dark hair, which was combed back from his forehead and gelled in place, Cary Grant–style. He was probably in his forties, but he would be handsome in twenty years, or thirty. He was a man you could look at forever. “I’ve just flown in from London, especially to come here.” As he shook her hand she breathed in deeply. He smelled wonderful, although she couldn’t possibly have described or defined the fragrance. “Oh, really? I’m flattered, I must say.” And confused, though she didn’t say that. “London has such fine galleries.” “Yes, but none are yours, I believe?” His smile caused Sunni’s stomach to tighten. She could feel her cheeks turning pink. “That’s true. What in particular are you looking for, Mr. Lazarus?” He paused before answering, as if considering several possibilities. “I’m enamored of the baroque decorative arts. I have a country house in the Cotswolds that I’ve been furnishing.” Sunni thought of the porcelain vase that was sitting in the viewing room waiting for Dennis LaForge. She hadn’t exactly promised it to him, had she? And, as Izzy said last night, Dennis already had plenty of vases. “I have a lovely Qing dynasty vase with Louis XV bronze mounts. It’s in the back. Would you like to see it?” “I certainly would. ” “Wonderful.” She led him toward the back room. “Can Carl bring you a beverage while you’re viewing the piece?” “Tea, please.” “Very good.” Sunni gestured at Carl. “In a pot, with milk and sugar,” she whispered as they passed Carl’s desk. The vase was in a private viewing room, positioned in an alcove lined with black velvet. Sunni flipped a switch that turned on a spotlight and handed Lazarus a pair of white cotton gloves. “I bought it last year from the Duc de Montparnasse, at his chateau in the Loire Valley, along with an ormolu desk and some fireplace inserts, but I had to let him keep it until his divorce was finalized. It just arrived.” “May I?” Lazarus asked. He was holding his gloved hands out in a way that felt to Sunni like he was asking to touch her, not the vase. But that was silly. She nodded, and he carefully lifted the vase, turning it to examine its base. The doorbell rang again. Sunni ignored it, knowing that Carl would deal with whoever was there. But in another moment she heard Dennis LaForge’s voice boom through the gallery. “Sunni, we’re here! Where’s that vase you bought for me?” Sunni cringed. Lazarus smiled. “You didn’t tell me I had competition.”

“I’m so sorry, these are friends of mine. If you’ll excuse me for just a minute, I’ll go talk to them. Feel free to look at the vase for as long as you like.” Sunni raced into the gallery, where Isabel and Dennis LaForge were standing in front of Carl’s desk. Dennis was as big as Sunni was small—broad-shouldered and barrel-chested, with springy, untamable black hair turning to gray, hands the size of baseball mitts, and a nose like a squashed cupcake. The nose was earned during an unsuccessful career as a boxer in his twenties, before he discovered his true talent—buying, developing, and selling real estate. “Hi, Sunni, Isabel says you have a little something from France that I might like?” He smiled, his green eyes sparkling. “Well, I, um, there’s a slight problem, Dennis.” “You broke it?” Dennis laughed at his own joke. “No, that’s not it. I have another customer interested in it.” Richard Lazarus emerged from the back room and dropped the cotton gloves on Carl’s desk. He approached the group, his eyes fixed on Isabel. “This is Richard Lazarus,” Sunni said. “He’s just in from London, interested in baroque decorative art. This is Isabel LaForge, and her father, Dennis LaForge.” Isabel leaned her crutch against her hip and took Richard’s hand. As he gazed into her eyes for what seemed an unreasonably long time, Isabel’s face underwent a transformation. Her blue eyes grew wide and dreamy, and her mouth puckered, as if in expectation of a kiss. Sunni felt an unexpected stab of jealousy. I saw him first, she thought. “Nice, nice to meet you,” Isabel stammered. Richard released Isabel, but not before making sure she had a firm hold on her crutches. He reached a palm out to Dennis. “I believe I’ve heard the name before. Are you associated with LaForge Realty and Development, by any chance?” “That’s my company,” Dennis said, a little warily. “Your reputation precedes you, sir. ” Dennis looked at Richard with considerably more interest. “I’m afraid you catch me at a disadvantage. What did you say your name was?” Richard inclined his head. “Richard Lazarus, sir.” “Are you in the business, Richard?” “I’m a partner in the Harrington Capital Group in London. We invested in an office park in New-port, Connecticut, that your company developed. Very nice piece of work it was.” Dennis smiled broadly, now that Richard’s star was properly placed in the firmament. “Harrington Group, yes, indeed. Pleasure to meet you.” Richard turned to Isabel, who was blushing like a twelve-year-old meeting her favorite American Idol. “Are you in the business, Isabel?”

“I help Daddy out when I can,” Isabel stammered. “Which I’m sure is very often,” Richard said. “I just took a look at the Qing vase, Mr. LaForge. I think it will make a fine addition to your collection.” “Oh, but if you’re interested I certainly don’t need …” Dennis demurred. Richard held up a hand. “I won’t hear of it. It’s yours, please enjoy it. But I wonder if you would do me the honor of joining me for supper tonight. I hear Gary Danko is one of the best restaurants in the city.” Dennis shook his head. “Sorry, Richard, I’m booked up for tonight.” “What about you ladies?” Sunni turned so that she could look at Isabel without Richard seeing her face. She gesticulated with her eyebrows, trying to silently ask her friend what they should do. She quickly realized they were going to need to talk. “I’ve got an engagement,” Sunni said, “but I’ll see if I can break it. I’ll get back to you later this afternoon.” “Yes, me too,” Isabel said, more reluctantly. “Could you leave your number with Carl?” “Certainly,” Richard said. He turned to Dennis. “Do you have any ongoing projects here in the city? I’d love to take a look.” “As a matter of fact we’re doing a renovation just down on Market Street. It’s interesting, because it’s a historic landmark, but I got a variance to build a fifteen-story building behind the façade …” Dennis paused. “What are you doing right now? Would you like to see it?” “I’d be delighted.” Richard turned to Sunni and Isabel. “Would you like to accompany us?” “Of course,” Isabel answered, but Sunni shook her head. “I’ve got work to do here. Izzy, let’s meet at the Golden Dragon later. Say one thirty? ” The borderline between downtown and Chinatown was delineated by the Dragon Gate: three arches, two for pedestrians and one for cars, topped by jade-tiled roofs. Like almost anything in Chinatown, the observant eye was rewarded with views of small dragons and gilded fish tails on the roofs, which eluded those without an eye for detail. Sunni knew the animals were there, as she knew the underside of the roofs were hung with red paper lanterns, but she didn’t look up to see any of these things as she passed through. If Union Square was crowded, Chinatown was overflowing, packed to almost immovability with people and merchandise that spilled out of the shops and onto the sidewalks. Many of the stores sold tourist schlock, but mixed among them were the butchers, fishmongers, tea shops, apothecaries, variety stores, and bakeries that catered to the inhabitants of the district. Sunni worked her way through two blocks of teeming urban commerce to arrive at a green-tiled entryway guarded by a ceramic dragon. A sign on the building read GOLDEN DRAGON RESTAURANT, ESTABLISHED 1927. She opened the door into a cavernous banquet hall, brightly lit with numerous crystal chandeliers. The walls were covered with flocked red velvet wallpaper. Dozens of tables surrounded a burbling stone fountain. The patrons were a mix of tourists and local Asian families. A hostess in a floor-length red brocade cheongsam dress hurried up to her. She was pretty, with high cheekbones, shiny black hair pulled into a neat bun and red lipstick on her shapely mouth.

“Sunni!” “Hi, Delia.” Sunni embraced her friend. “You’re busy today. ” Sunni had met Delia about five years earlier when she was looking for a restaurant to cater a reception for a young artist from Beijing. She sat down for a meal with Delia and her father, Sherman Wong, and felt as if she’d found some long lost relatives. Delia was about ten years older than Sunni, and Sherman was far, far older than that. They seemed unlikely companions for Sunni, but the bond they formed that day had lasted and deepened. It turned out they had many things in common, from Sherman’s love of post-Impressionist painting to Delia’s penchant for shoe shopping. She loved watching them together— their easy camaraderie, their competence at running the restaurant. Even when they fought, which was often, they quickly made up and never seemed to hold a grudge. Delia had a boyfriend, but he was an attorney whose work hours were almost as long as Delia’s, so her primary relationships seemed to be with Sherman and the restaurant. “Oh, always busy on a Sunday,” Delia replied. “Just one, or are you meeting someone?” “Isabel’s coming in a minute.” “Okay. I’ll find you a good table.” “Let me see them,” Sunni said, pointing at her friend’s feet. Delia smiled and lifted her skirt. “Jimmy Choo. Nice,” Sunni nodded in approval at Delia’s gold gladiator sandals. Delia showed her to a table near the fountain. A dozen waiters and waitresses wove through the restaurant pushing portable steam tables stacked with bamboo steamers. At each table they whipped the lids off the steamers and offered various dim sum. The diners pointed to the ones they wanted, and their tables were soon filled with the delicious snack-sized morsels. “Daddy’s in the kitchen,” Delia said. “I’ll tell him you’re here.” She waved and went back to work. Isabel appeared, looking flushed, glassy-eyed, and happier than Sunni had seen her in years. Not that Isabel had seemed miserable in the past. She was just quiet and self-contained and didn’t express a great deal of emotion about anything. This suited Sunni, who had experienced enough drama in her early childhood to last a lifetime, but she realized now that perhaps it had been selfish of her to wish for nothing more for Isabel than tranquility. A waiter came by and Sunni ordered jasmine tea for both of them. Then they selected pork bao, shu mai, and several other dim sum from the carts. Within minutes their plates were piled high and they had to wave the waiters away. Isabel sipped her tea and then dabbed her lip. “Ouch, that’s hot.” “So, what did Dennis think of Richard Lazarus?” Sunni asked, ferrying a shrimp dumpling to her mouth with chopsticks. “He said he seemed like a savvy businessman.” Isabel added a little ice water to her teacup, splashing a bit on the tablecloth. “No, I mean what did he say about our going out to dinner with him?” “He said that was none of his business.” “Did he say that, or did you?”

Isabel winked. “I’m not sure.” Sunni swirled her tea in the cup, wondering what the leaves in the bottom had to say about her fortune. “What was he thinking, asking us both out? Are we supposed to think this is romantic?” Isabel used a fork to spear a dumpling. Her hands were too shaky for chopsticks. “Maybe it’s like The Bachelor, and he’s going to give one of us a rose at the end of the dinner.” “I didn’t think you watched that show. You don’t have a romantic bone in your body.” “I don’t watch the show, I was just trying to make an analogy.” Isabel put down her fork, looking uncomfortable. “Listen, Sunni, you met him first, and I saw the way you were looking at him. I think you should go to dinner with him.” Sunni laughed. “I was going to say the same thing, Izzy. And I must say, I think you were looking at him a little more intensely than I was.” “Was not.” “Were too.” The glazed, happy expression returned as Isabel played absently with a strand of her blond hair. “But, he’s such an interesting man. He plays polo, has a co-op in New York, a town house in London, a country estate in Chichester, or was it Coventry?” “Okay, okay, he’s a catch. So what shall we do?” Sunni asked. Isabel smiled mischievously. “I think we should both go out to dinner tonight and see who gets the rose!” A man in a white cook’s jacket appeared at their table, a wide smile on his face. Sherman Wong was obviously old: his back was hunched and his long hair and beard were as white as Santa’s, but his face was remarkably unwrinkled. With his round face and button eyes he looked like a baby wearing a wig and false beard. Sherman had once casually mentioned being in the 1906 earthquake. Sunni knew he had to be joking or confused, but his actual age was a mystery even Delia couldn’t solve. She stood up and hugged him. Sherman was exactly the same height as Sunni, perhaps the only man she’d ever met who was. She heard him sniff loudly. He leaned back and peered at her, looking perplexed. “Where have you been, Sunni?” he asked. “At work, like usual,” she answered. “Did you meet someone?” Sunni caught Isabel’s eyes. Isabel raised her eyebrows. Sunni just shrugged. “I meet people all the time, Sherman.” Sherman stroked his long beard, narrowing his eyes at her. “No, I think maybe you’ve met someone special. You have that look.” “What look?” Sunni asked.

“Flushed?” Isabel suggested, with a sly glance at Sunni. “Overheated?” “If I do it’s just because it’s hot in here.” Sunni crooked a finger into the collar of her blouse. “You should get air-conditioning, Sherman.” “This is San Francisco. We have natural air-conditioning, it’s called fog.” Sherman smiled, but he hadn’t stopped staring at Sunni. “So what’s his name?” Sunni waved a dismissive hand at the old man. “I told you I didn’t meet anyone.” She sat back down and redeployed her chopsticks. Sherman shook his finger at Sunni. “I’ve told you and Delia before, it’s better for you if you stay single.” “Why’s that, Sherman?” Isabel asked as Sunni shook her head in frustration. Delia sped by, leading a couple of diners to a table. Sunni could tell they were tourists from their outfits: shorts, cameras around the neck, and newly purchased fleece jackets emblazoned with the Golden Gate Bridge. Tourists came to San Francisco in June expecting the weather to be balmy. They were always sorely disappointed. Sherman watched Delia’s retreating back with a smile that was tinged with concern. “Because you’re career women, that’s why. It’s not possible for a woman to do both, that’s what I tell my daughter. You have to concentrate on the restaurant, I tell her, or it will fail. The same for your gallery, Sunni.” He turned to Isabel. “But you, my dear, you should get married. Did you like the man you two met this morning? ” “Hold on, hold on, time out!” Sunni stabbed the air in front of the old chef with her chopsticks. “So now Isabel can get married but I can’t?” “You don’t want to get married, Sunni,” Isabel said gently. “You always say that. ” She turned her chopsticks on her friend. “No, I don’t, but that’s not the point.” A waitress passed by, pushing a steam table. Sherman stopped her and pulled a bamboo basket off her cart. He deposited it on the women’s table, removing the lid with a flourish. “You like the food today? You must try the …” He said an unintelligible word in Chinese and pointed at the dish he’d chosen, a mass of something that resembled boiled cartilage. “We only have it on Sundays.” “You’re changing the subject, Sherman,” Sunni snapped. Sherman laughed as he backed away from their table. “I’ve lived with women for a very long time, Sunni. I know when to bow out.”

Chapter 6 Jacob watched a small boy, about five years of age, squeal with delight as he entered the revolving door at the entrance to the Mandarin Oriental Hotel. His indulgent parents stood by as he followed it around and around. After waiting for several revolutions Jacob finally stepped in with the boy. In a few seconds he was in the quiet, orchid-filled lobby, with its soaring ceiling and thick Oriental carpets. He sat down on one of the plush sofas. He was prepared to wait for as long as it took, but it was only half an hour before Richard Lazarus appeared. Of course he hadn’t changed at all since Jacob had seen him last. He was still just as handsome, just as dapper, every bit of him as sharp and hard as a diamond. Richard paused just as he reached the bottom of the stairs. His head lifted as if he was sniffing the air. Jacob knew he was aware of the presence of another vampire in the room. It took Richard another second to locate Jacob and when he recognized him he visibly relaxed, strolling over with an insouciant smile. Jacob stood up before Richard reached him. “Why, Jacob Eddington, what a surprise to see you here.” Richard held out a hand, which Jacob ignored. “Leave now, Richard, and I’ll let you live.” He smiled just enough to show his fangs. Richard sat down, lifting the fabric of each trouser leg at the knee so that it wouldn’t wrinkle. He had always been fastidious. “How long has it been, Jacob? Twenty-three, twenty-four years? What have you been doing with your time?” “If you’re not gone by tomorrow morning it will go ill for you.” Jacob had said what he came to say and he started to walk away. Richard grabbed him by the wrist and stood up in a fluid motion. “You dare to threaten me?” Jacob pulled out of Richard’s grasp. The air sparked with the tension of their anger. The human occupants of the room intuitively sensed danger, and Jacob noted that several people were watching them with growing alarm. He forcibly calmed himself and let his fangs retract inside his gums. Nothing was going to happen, not in this place. Richard took a step back and straightened his already perfectly knotted tie. “Jacob, my friend, you didn’t think this out very carefully, did you?” Jacob said nothing. The other vampire was correct, but what was there to think out? “You’re looking very well, by the way,” Richard said, a devil’s grin plastered to his face. “Fuck you,” Jacob replied. He didn’t care for the vulgarity of modern language, but he had to admit that sometimes it was the only way to truly express one’s emotions. “We have fought before, and we are equally matched. You know this,” Richard said calmly. “If you choose to confront me one of us will die, probably you, since I’ll wager you haven’t been honing your skills in the last two decades as I have been.” Richard reached out and flicked an imaginary speck of dust from Jacob’s shoulder. “And when that happens, who will take care of Sunni?” Desperation seized Jacob’s body like an iron vise as he absorbed the import of Richard’s words. His fangs descended and his fists clenched. His entire body was seized with an overwhelming desire to kill Richard Lazarus. Richard bowed at the waist. “It was a pleasure seeing you, Jacob. I’m sure we will meet again soon.”

The interior of Restaurant Gary Danko was what Sunni imagined it might be like inside a womb—dark, warm, and red. The staff moved in slow undulations, as if they were propelling themselves through liquid. The walls were covered with velvety fabric that muted the sounds of voices and clicking silverware. The few windows were also covered in velvet drapery, so the visual effect could be controlled. A maître d’ in a charcoal gray suit led her to a corner table where Isabel and Richard were already seated next to each other on one of two banquettes. When she arrived Richard stood up, a little awkwardly, as he was hemmed in by the table, and gave a slight bow. He didn’t reach for her hand. Sunni realized immediately that the outfit she’d chosen—black wool trouser suit and a green silk blouse —while appropriate for a business dinner, was woefully casual in this situation. Isabel’s blond hair was arranged in an up-do, with soft curls that drifted down her neck, and her black silk cocktail dress showcased her ample cleavage. A diamond pendant that Sunni had never seen before hung in the cleft between her breasts. There was a competition going on, and Isabel was in it to win. Sunni slid onto the banquette on the other side of the table, across from Richard Lazarus. He was wearing one of the nicest suits she’d ever seen—blue pin stripe, cut narrow in the waist and shoulders— worn with a cotton shirt that shone like satin. When he smiled at her she felt the same uncomfortable flush come over her that she’d experienced in the gallery. The maître d’ shook out her linen napkin and placed it in her lap, then handed her a padded leather menu the size of a doormat. Disconcerted, she opened her menu so that she could look at something besides him. “So happy you could join us,” Richard said. What was that accent of his? Supposedly he was from London, and he did have an accent, but it was different, a bit sharper in the consonants, than a standard British accent. It reminded her of the way Jacob Eddington spoke. Was it possible the two men were from the same place? “I’ve never been to this restaurant, but I’ve heard great things about it.” Sunni glanced at Isabel’s chest. “That’s a beautiful necklace, Isabel. Is it new?” Sunni asked. “This old thing? I’ve had it forever,” Isabel said, touching it. Richard’s eyes settled on Isabel’s chest for the briefest of moments and then skittered away. “Lovely, very lovely,” he said. Sunni couldn’t tell whether he was speaking of the necklace or the bosom underneath it, but she still experienced a twinge of jealousy. Their waiter, a handsome older man with dark, wavy hair, approached to offer them a cocktail. Richard inquired after the man’s origins, and when he said he was Italian, they engaged in a brief burst of conversation in his native language. Sunni ordered a martini, the strongest drink she could think of. Richard ordered a bottle of twenty-year-old cabernet sauvignon for the table. Next the waiter brought an amuse-bouche: brie and crab soup served in a shot glass. Richard didn’t touch his, and when the sommelier brought the wine over he indicated that Isabel should approve it. She tasted it and pronounced it delicious. Sunni ignored the crab soup, but gulped her martini. To cover her nervousness, she began firing questions. “So Richard, where are you from?” Richard fingered the diamond tack in his scarlet silk tie. “Originally from Providence, Rhode Island, but I have lived in England for many years.” “Ah, that explains your accent,” Sunni said. And perhaps its similarity to Jacob Eddington’s, she thought. “And I’m curious about your art collecting. Do you specialize in baroque, or are you more

eclectic in your tastes?” “I have always loved beautiful things,” Richard smiled pointedly at Isabel. “In my youth I began with Renaissance art. I managed to get my hands on one or two Rembrandts when they were more reasonably priced. They’re still the pride of my collection.” “What do you mean, ‘in your youth’? You’re still young, Richard.” Isabel said, batting her false eyelashes. Richard laughed. “You do me honor, my lady. ” Sunni felt the jealous twinge again, and issued herself a quick, silent rebuke. Three waiters brought their appetizers and placed them on the table simultaneously. The food was beautiful, arrayed in artful patterns or stacked vertically into delicate edible towers. Isabel attacked her lobster risotto. When Richard ignored his foie gra terrine Sunni found it too strange not to comment on. “Is there something wrong with your food, Richard? You haven’t eaten a thing.” Isabel cast a concerned glance at his plate. “You could order something else. They’re very accommodating here.” Richard took a sip of wine before he answered, swirling it around in his mouth as if to prove that there was something at the restaurant he was enjoying. “I’m just not very hungry tonight, that’s all. It must be the jet lag.” He leaned toward Sunni. “But that’s enough about me. Let’s talk about you. Isabel tells me that she’s known you since you were both girls. Fourteen, did you say, my dear?” He directed the last question to Isabel and she nodded. “Yup,” Sunni replied, “we met in high school.” “BFF’s,” Isabel said. “What is this term?” Richard asked. “Best Friends Forever. ” “I see. How charming.” He turned back to Sunni. “High school, you say? I thought you met in a psychiatric institute.” Sunni’s spoon dropped into her bowl of red pumpkin soup, scattering the fennel, bacon, and apple balanced on its creamy surface. She stared at Isabel, aghast. This was one of their most closely guarded secrets, a pact held for sixteen years. How could she have told Richard in the five minutes they’d been waiting for her? Isabel returned her inquisitive stare with a blank smile, as if she didn’t know anything was amiss. “I’m surprised you told him that, Isabel,” Sunni said pointedly. “Told him what?” Isabel sipped her wine. What was her game? “About us being at Ashwood together. ” Isabel seemed confused. “I didn’t tell him that.” She turned to Richard. “I didn’t tell you that, did I?” “How else would I have known?” He waved a hand in dismissal. “But please forgive me, I didn’t realize

this was a tender subject. Let’s speak of other things, shall we?” Richard leaned toward Sunni. “I’ve met the estimable Dennis LaForge already. But I’m curious about your parents, Sunni. They must be most unusual people to have created such an interesting specimen as yourself.” For most people this was a benign, even boring, question. For Sunni it was fraught with difficulties. “The LaForges are the closest thing to parents I’ve had.” “You don’t know who your biological parents were?” Now he was getting a little pushy. “My mother died when I was eight. I never knew my father. ” Richard tut-tutted in sympathy. “My condolences. I am no stranger to loss myself. Death, it seems, is always waiting in the wings where I’m concerned.” His sad smile encompassed Isabel. “And you, my dear, lost your dear mother not so very long ago.” He raised his glass in the air. “I propose a toast: To all those we have loved and lost, and to those we have found again. ” Sunni’s glass was already clinking against the others when the strangeness of his toast impressed itself upon her. Whom had he found again? She was about to ask Richard what he meant when her attention was diverted by the maître d’ passing their table, leading a diner who appeared to be alone. Sunni’s spoon would have fallen into her soup again if she’d been holding it, because the person being led was Jacob Eddington. He, like Sunni, was dressed a trifle too casually for the restaurant, but he looked comfortable and his clothes suited him. His leather jacket was rugged and just scuffed enough to look lived-in. Underneath it he wore a black turtleneck sweater, his dark curls spilling over the collar in back. Sunni held her breath while her heart pounded painfully against her rib cage. She had no idea what to do. And then the most surprising thing happened. “Richard Lazarus, is that you?” Jacob said, stopping in front of their table. The maître d’ waited, a patient half smile on his lips, the giant menu balanced in the crook of his arm. Sunni’s head swiveled from Jacob to Richard and back again. Even though her mind advised against it, some more primal part of her was busy taking stock of the two men, comparing their relative attributes. They were both far more than conventionally handsome. Jacob was taller and more slender, while Richard was broader in the chest and shoulders, but both had stunning physiques. There was something wild about Jacob; maybe it was his hair, which looked like he’d just climbed off a motorcycle, maybe it was his stormy blue eyes, but perhaps it was just the leather jacket versus Richard’s Savile Row suit. Richard’s beauty was more restrained, but no less compelling. Everything from the perfect symmetry of the knot in his tie to the shiny signet ring on his manicured pinkie finger said that he was in control—of his money, of his image, of his emotions. And of other people, if Isabel’s adoring gaze was any indication. Sunni was attracted to them both, but was also wary of her feelings. In the case of Richard, she didn’t want to be in competition with Isabel, and her encounters with Jacob Eddington had left her with more questions than answers about who he was and why she kept seeing him around. All in all, both men had left her feeling confused and vulnerable, and those were feelings Sunni hated. She looked down at her soup bowl and took deep, calming breaths. They’re just guys, she told herself soothingly. Don’t let them

rattle you. “Jacob, fancy seeing you here. I had no idea you were in San Francisco.” Richard licked his lips. His nostrils flared as he took a deep breath. Some strong emotion was going through him but Sunni couldn’t tell what it was. After that indecisive moment he smiled and stood up graciously. The two men clasped hands across the table. “I did hear that you might be in the city, but running into

you is an unexpected …” Jacob glanced at Sunni and smiled. “… pleasure.” “The pleasure is mine, I assure you,” Richard said. Sunni got the distinct feeling that the supercilious politeness was masking something much darker. She glanced at Isabel, who returned her gaze with wide eyes. “Jacob Eddington?” she mouthed. Sunni nodded. “Shit,” Isabel whispered. “My sentiments exactly,” Sunni muttered. “Are you by yourself, Jacob? Why don’t you join us for dinner?” He looked back at the women. “Ladies, do you mind?” “Not at all,” Isabel said hurriedly. “We have an extra seat. We’d be delighted.” Jacob gracefully slipped off his leather jacket, handed it to the maître d’, and took his seat next to Sunni, exuding that fresh and delightful odor. Sunni felt as if a leprechaun, a fairy, or a green alien had just landed at her table, his presence was that unbelievable. He was smiling at her, but his dark blue eyes revealed no trace of recognition. Richard swept his arm toward Sunni. “May I present Miss Sunni Marquette?” Jacob’s hand was cool, his shake firm but not aggressive. He looked into her eyes boldly, a tiny smile lifting the corners of his shapely mouth. She felt her own mouth go dry as she stared into his eyes, and she was glad she was sitting down, as her knees were a little shaky. She felt a tiny stab of disappointment when he turned away from her to clasp Isabel’s hand. She stared at the strong line of his jaw as he spoke to Isabel and dared to hope that this was the beginning of something special. They stood on the sidewalk, waiting for a taxi that the maître d’ had summoned at Richard’s request. The restaurant was only three blocks from the bay, and a foghorn blasted at regular intervals as a thick, wet mist crept up the hill from its birthplace outside the Golden Gate Bridge. Isabel stood at Richard’s side, balancing on her crutches while the wind tugged at her upswept hair. Sunni was standing next to Jacob. He appeared nonchalant, but Sunni noticed that a muscle was twitching in his jaw and he was bouncing on the balls of his feet. She had learned almost nothing about him during the course of the meal, except that he lived somewhere in San Francisco and that he had some sort of business relationship with Richard that went back quite a few years and had begun in Rhode Island. The valet approached, shoulders hunched and hands in his pockets against the cold wind. “Can I get your car for you, or are you taking a cab as well?” He looked from Jacob to Sunni expectantly. Sunni felt herself blush as Jacob coughed quietly into his hand. “Um, we’re not all going to the same place,” Sunni said. “The night is still young,” Richard said. “There’s a wonderful jazz quartet at the Brazil Room downtown. Can I entice anyone to join me?” His smile beamed equally on Sunni and Isabel, but studiously avoided Jacob. The cab pulled up to the curb. Sunni glanced at Jacob. His facial expression never changed, but something in his eyes told her to stay put. “I’m awfully tired. Why don’t you two go?” Sunni said, taking a step backward and putting her hand on Isabel’s coat sleeve.

“Is this okay?” Isabel whispered as Sunni helped her into the cab. “It’s fine, I’ll call you later,” Sunni whispered back. “You have fun!” she said more loudly. Richard climbed into the cab and it whisked them away. She turned around, half expecting Jacob to have disappeared into thin air like he did at the wedding, but he hadn’t moved. “So, what do we do now?” Sunni asked, and immediately regretted the question. She felt an unwelcome heat rise up in her body as she remembered all the times she had fantasized about Jacob making love to her. Just two days ago she’d used his image to get off when the twerp she’d picked up in the bar, Alex Petrie, had failed to arouse her sufficiently. She’d already given Jacob Eddington the edge in this new relationship. Luckily, Jacob was fixated on Richard and the taxi and seemed to have no idea what was going through Sunni’s mind. His jaw twitched. “We go to the Brazil Room,” he said briskly.

Chapter 7 They climbed into a cab a few minutes after Isabel and Richard. Jacob had to shift his long legs sideways, which turned him slightly toward Sunni. Even in the dim light Jacob’s features were easily discernible. His pale skin gave off a faint glow, like some luminescent fish from the bottom of the sea. Or perhaps it was just Sunni’s excellent eyesight, since people, as a general rule, didn’t glow. The cabbie requested their destination and Jacob provided it. Sunni sighed deeply and leaned her head back against the seat. The taxi smelled of old leather, Chinese food, and the piney woods and fresh snow odor she now associated with Jacob. Jacob Eddington and I are on a date. She turned the idea around in her mind, testing it out. For all intents and purposes it looked like a date. They were in a cab together, going to a nightclub. There was some kind of tension between them, perhaps sexual attraction, although Jacob was certainly not making his intentions clear. But maybe tonight would clarify the situation. Sunni decided she was going to try to let her guard down and see where the evening took them. “Let’s talk about Richard Lazarus.” Jacob rubbed his hands together as if they were cold, although the cab driver was blasting the heat to keep the windshield clear. Sunni’s heart sank. “Of course,” she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm, “let’s talk about Richard Lazarus. Because we certainly wouldn’t want to talk about ourselves.” “He is very dangerous.” “Dangerous to whom?” “To you.” Jacob turned to her, his mouth firm, eyes unblinking. “I need to take you away from San Francisco tonight.” “Is that a proposition?” Sunni was aiming for a light tone, but she didn’t think she was able to disguise the excitement and confusion she was feeling. He shook his head dismissively. “Obviously not. This is about your safety, nothing else.” “I see.” Disappointment was followed quickly by anger. “Shall we tell the cab to take us to the airport right away?” “Yes, that would be advisable.” Jacob leaned toward the cab driver. She laughed, although it wasn’t remotely funny, but when he tapped the driver’s shoulder she pulled his hand down. “Never mind,” she said to the driver, who shrugged and kept driving. “What is your game?” she hissed at Jacob. “It’s not a game, I assure you. Richard Lazarus came here for you.” “Yes, to buy art from me.” The cab driver took a corner hard and Sunni had to grab the door handle to keep from sliding into Jacob’s lap. He raised one eyebrow. “And you believed him?” “Why shouldn’t I believe him?”

“You haven’t noticed anything unusual about him?” “You’re the unusual one, buddy. Speaking of which, let’s talk about you for a while.” He nodded. “All right. ” “Why have you been following me?” His head tilted as he watched her. “You think well of yourself, don’t you?” “I know you have. I’ve seen you around …” her shoulders slumped as she realized that anything she could say could be refuted in a completely commonsense way. “I live at Fourth and Howard. I believe you do too, in the building across the street.” She nodded reluctantly. “I too, have seen you around. I know your name: I know where you live and where you work. And yes, I did protect you from a mugger in front of Glide Memorial two years past. But I just happened to be passing by. It’s a small world, as they say.” “And the wedding?” “I am an acquaintance of the groom. ” She squeezed her temples and closed her eyes. She hadn’t even known how much of a fantasy she’d built around this man until the impact of her burst bubble hit her like a stick of dynamite. He touched her chin, turning her so that she had to look at him. “Listen to me. I work for an organization that watches people, dangerous people, like Richard Lazarus.” “You’re with the CIA?” He shrugged. “Sort of. Our organization knows that Lazarus has identified you as a target, and they instructed me to …” he rubbed his chin briskly, “to encourage you to leave town. ” The driver slammed down hard on the brakes. Sunni was thrown out of her seat and started to fly toward the windshield. Jacob grabbed her out of the air and pulled her down, cradling her in his lap. His lips pressed against her hair and she felt his breath coming a little fast. She leaned her head back and they were nose to nose. Even his breath smelled like fresh snow. For a single, crazy moment she thought he was going to kiss her. She gazed into his fathomless eyes and knew that she would let him, that she would respond with all the wildness that was building up in her chest and all through her body. She swallowed hard, her heart pounding. She felt herself lifted up and placed firmly but gently back onto the seat. “We’re here,” he said. Jacob held Sunni against his chest and breathed deeply, pulling the sweet scent of her hair into his lungs. Desire clouded his reason as the delicate span of her rib cage expanded and contracted under his hands. Her heart was beating hard, and he felt heat rising from her skin, proving that she was moved by his proximity. Was she excited or frightened? The two emotions produced the same physiological response in humans. But this woman didn’t know what he was or what he was capable of. To her he was merely another human, and he had seen from the attack in the bathroom that Sunni Marquette was not easily cowed by humans. So that could mean only one thing. It wasn’t fear she was experiencing. He leaned back so that he could see her face. Her green eyes were open wide, the pupils dilated, and

her glossy lips parted slightly to reveal pearly white teeth. She wanted him to kiss her, that was obvious. He moved closer, until their lips were inches apart. Suddenly he felt a pain as sharp as the lash of a whip, but the agony was in his heart, not his body. The desire he felt for Sunni tumbled him two hundred years into the past, out of a cab in modern-day San Francisco and into a candlelit drawing room in Providence, Rhode Island. It was the height of summer, and the windows were open to catch any breeze, but the air was still heavy and close, perfumed with the scents of beer, bacon, human sweat, and the clove-studded oranges the ladies carried to counteract more objectionable odors. He was sitting in a cane back chair in his father’s house, listening to the tinkling, slightly out-of-tune notes of the heat-swollen pianoforte. The woman playing was Jane Adderly, the love of his life. They had been courting for three months, and just the night before she had given him cause to believe that his suit might meet with success. His lips still tingled with the memory of her kiss. She finished the tune with a flourish, and everyone clapped politely. Jane was a fine player but not a virtuoso. The crowd began to swirl as everyone stood up and moved in different directions. He tried to go to Jane but she was surrounded by admirers, so he hung back, waiting for his chance to speak to her undisturbed. As he watched her, and listened to her infectious laugh, he felt hot breath on the back of his neck. Someone was standing uncomfortably close. There was only one other person in the room tall enough to match him, so he knew without looking who it was. “She is a fine-looking woman, is she not?” Richard Westerbridge said quietly. Anger flamed in his chest, but Jacob controlled himself. This was not the time or the place to confront the man. “I believe she is spoken for,” Jacob said, making his voice smooth and even. He glanced at Richard but saw that he, too, was turned toward Jane. The men stood shoulder to shoulder rather than face each other. “Is she now?” Richard chuckled. “By you, Jacob?” “Yes, by me. Does that surprise you?” Jacob’s control was gone, his voice had become ragged. “Yes, it surprises me, but I am delighted.” “Delighted? Why?” Richard leaned close again. Jacob felt moisture on his cheek from the young man’s breath. “Because it will make the conquest all the sweeter when I take her from you.”

Jacob came back to the present with a shake of his head. He could not let the past repeat itself. Sunni Marquette was already in danger from Richard Lazarus, he could not endanger her further by loving her. He closed his eyes so that he couldn’t see the lovely woman lying in his arms, with her lips so tantalizingly parted. He took a deep breath, steeled himself, and pushed her gently but firmly away. Mercifully, the taxi arrived at that moment at the nightclub and Jacob was able to escape from their enforced proximity. Sunni sensed, as they waited at the entrance to the Brazil Room, that Jacob was studiously avoiding looking in her direction. Fine, she thought, two can play at that game. She stared straight ahead, at a dragon tattoo that coiled around the shoulder blade of a young woman in a strapless dress standing in front of her. When they reached the head of the line the doorman, of course, checked Sunni’s ID. Jacob paid the twenty-dollar entry fee for each of them, waving Sunni off when she reached for her wallet.

Stepping through a velvet curtain into the nightclub felt like entering a time warp to the 1960s. Smoke curled around the bopping heads of patrons of every age and race, dressed in suits and cocktail dresses, sipping cocktails out of heavy glasses. A jazz trio in shirtsleeves and porkpie hats played a riff that to Sunni was the melodic version of a dog chasing its tail. “Do you like jazz?” she yelled over the din of the music. He bent down and put his mouth against her ear. “You don’t have to yell, I can hear you very well,” he said. Then he straightened up and took a step away from her. “And I believe you can hear me.” It was true. His voice sounded as if they were alone in an empty room. He took her elbow and guided her to a stool at the bar. The bartender, a bald man with linebacker shoulders, placed a Brazil Room coaster in front of each of them. He poured her gin and tonic and Jacob’s whiskey in a few economical movements, but Sunni was ready with her wallet when he was done. “You’re not paying for everything,” she said decisively. Jacob nodded, an amused expression on his face. Sunni took a slug of her drink and then looked around the room for Richard and Isabel. They were seated at a round table near the band, their chairs and shoulders touching. She watched them in silence for a few minutes. At one point Richard leaned over and said something into Isabel’s ear. She laughed happily, swatting him on the shoulder as if they were in high school. “He doesn’t seem very dangerous,” Sunni said. “He also doesn’t seem very interested in me.” “His methods are not always obvious.” Jacob turned his gaze from Richard to Sunni. “You’re going to have to trust me, Sunni. You’ve got to leave San Francisco. It’s dangerous for you here.” “I’m not going anywhere, Jacob, and by the way, you’re starting to freak me out. You, not him. You said it’s coincidence that we’ve seen each other over the years, that you’re not watching out for me, but then you say I have to trust you and leave San Francisco with you.” His eyelids flickered. “The ‘with me’ part was perhaps a mistake. You should leave by yourself.” “Whatever. I’m not going anywhere. Except home.” She hopped off the bar stool. Jacob stood up but she stopped him with a hand on his chest. “Don’t follow me.” “All right.” He grabbed a coaster and made a signing gesture at the bartender. When the bartender handed him a pen he scrawled a phone number down. “Call me if you need me,” he said. Sunni paused, looking at Jacob, stunned by the contrast between her hopes for the night and how it had actually turned out. Then she tucked the coaster in her purse, turned on her heel and left. “Are you all right?” Carl cleared a space on Sunni’s cluttered desk and put down a cinnamon roll and a grande caramel macchiato. “Yes, why?” Sunni popped open the lid and sucked the foam off the coffee. “You were working on that same bill of sale when I left.” She pushed herself away from the computer. “Just a little bit distracted, I guess.” Carl perched on the edge of Sunni’s desk. Today he was wearing a T-shirt that was lacy with bleach holes, under a 1960s suit jacket with lapels no wider than a ruler. The holes in his ears were still red and swollen. “By that man who came in on Sunday? He’s dreamy. He looks like Sean Connery in the James

Bond movies, but he talks like Ian McKellan. Did you go out with him?” “Is it any of your business?” Sunni snapped. Then she sighed and rubbed her forehead. “I’m sorry, Carl. I didn’t mean it like that.” The phone rang. Carl bounced up from the desk. “No worries. I’ll just go answer that, shall I?” A moment later he poked his head around the partition that separated her desk from the rest of the gallery. “It’s Isabel,” he said. Sunni lifted the phone and said hello. “Sunni, I don’t know how to say this, so I’ll just spit it out, okay?” “Okay.” “Richard asked me out again.” Sunni took a cautious sip of her drink before she answered. “How do you feel about that?” “Great, but how do you feel about it? ” That was a very good question. She felt so many things that it was impossible to put them into words, even if she wanted Isabel to know all of it, which she didn’t. The real issue right now was whether to tell Isabel what Jacob had said, that Richard was dangerous. Isabel would immediately think that Sunni was jealous, which she was, and would probably not believe her, which was reasonable. Isabel deserved romance, she deserved to be happy, and it was too soon to burst anyone’s bubble. Until Sunni got more information, it was probably better to keep her own counsel. “I’m fine with it, Izzy. We said that we’d see who got the rose. I guess it was you.” “Speaking of roses, what happened with Jacob?”

He’s in the CIA. We followed you to the Brazil Room, and he told me that I had to get out of town, because Richard is dangerous and he’s targeted me. “He gave me his phone number.” “That’s great! Do you like him?” Another great question. Sunni scraped the icing off her cinnamon roll and took a bite. She had gotten very little sleep the night before as her tormented mind sifted through the disparate and often conflicting tidbits of information she’d gotten from Jacob. She wanted to believe him, because that meant she could trust him, but some of the things he had said were absurd, such as the idea that she needed to leave town immediately because of Richard. Other statements, such as his claim that he hadn’t been following her, were logical, but in her heart she didn’t believe him. He had been following her, she was sure of it, she just didn’t know why. However, Isabel hadn’t asked whether she trusted him. “Yes, I like him.” “Are you going to call him? We could double date. After all, they know each other already.” Isabel sounded as bubbly as a freshly poured 7-Up. “Yeah, I’ll call him, soon. When are you going on your date?” “Tonight. Will you come over and help me find something to wear?”

“Yeah, sure. Listen, I’ve got a client here, I’ve got to go,” Sunni lied. “Okay, come over at seven,” Isabel said. After she hung up Sunni spent a long minute with her eyes closed, trying to massage away an impending doozy of a headache. Then she straightened up, washed down the rest of the cinnamon roll with a few swigs of sweet coffee, and turned her attention back to the computer. She had just managed to lose herself in the minutiae of art valuations when the phone rang again. She grabbed the receiver and pressed the intercom. “Carl, I’m trying to concentrate here, just hold my calls for now,” she snapped. “Okay, but it’s Richard Lazarus.” She sighed heavily. “Put him through.” “Good morning, Sunni. I hope I’m not disturbing you.” What a lovely voice he had, Sunni thought. How could someone as evil as Jacob portrayed him have a voice that soothing? “No, not at all. What can I do for you, Richard? Are you still looking for pieces for your collection?” “Of course, but that’s not why I’m calling. It’s a beautiful day and I’m wondering what you’re doing for lunch.” So he wanted to date both Sunni and Isabel, it appeared. Sunni let the seconds tick past as she considered her answer. She liked Richard. She was angry with Jacob, and hurt by what seemed like his rejection of her. She didn’t believe a word of what he had said about Richard. “Sure, I’m free for lunch,” she said. “Is one o’clock okay?” At 12:58 a Lincoln Town Car with tinted windows pulled into the no-parking zone in front of the gallery. Sunni excused herself from the visitor she’d been talking to and scurried to the back to grab her purse. Then she waved to Carl and walked out to the street. Immediately the passenger door opened and Richard emerged. He was wearing what probably passed for casual clothes in his wardrobe: woolen trousers, a button down shirt with a sweater vest over it, and one of the those Irish Donegal tweed caps worn by men on PBS mystery shows. He took Sunni’s elbow, helping her across the sidewalk and into the car like a Boy Scout aiding an old lady. The driver glanced at her in the rearview mirror and nodded silently. Richard followed her into the car and gave her a radiant smile. “So, Sunni, this has turned into a lovely day, don’t you think? I thought maybe we could have a picnic.” A picnic? That didn’t seem like Richard’s style. A picnic was the sort of date offered by a “poor but creative” man, who then took you to Shakespeare in the park, the museum on free-Wednesday, bowling on two-for-one Tuesday. Sunni had dated men like that, and none of them remotely resembled Richard. But she smiled and nodded. “A picnic would be lovely. ” The chauffeur drove them all the way up Market Street, from the flat Financial District through the hilly Castro Street neighborhood, flying its distinctive rainbow flags and even farther up, to Twin Peaks, where half of the city could be seen below them. They cut over Seventeenth Street, down through the Haight Ashbury district, where the 1960s hippies had been replaced on the historic sidewalks by thugs and homeless teenagers with mean-looking dogs. The head shops and pizza parlors of Haight Street gave way to the green swaths of Golden Gate Park.

The park had seen better days, probably in the nineteenth century. Its current skeleton crew of gardeners was barely able to keep the jungle at bay in most areas, but it retained a lush beauty that still brought the nature-starved citizens of San Francisco flocking in droves. They passed the Conservatory of Flowers, a beaux arts marvel of architecture that looked like an upside-down ship made of frosted glass. The car turned left at the lawn bowling courts, where elderly ladies and gentlemen dressed in white shorts rolled balls over the manicured grass, and drove toward the ocean. The park ended at Highway One, and on the other side of the road were Ocean Beach and the Pacific Ocean. Marking each corner of the park at that end was an old windmill. One of them had been restored and one was a complete wreck. As the driver approached the restored one Richard asked Sunni to close her eyes. The car parked, Richard slipped out one door and opened the other one for her. As she emerged from the car Sunni couldn’t suppress a gasp of astonishment. On the green lawn in front of the windmill, flanked by hundreds of red, purple, and white impatiens, was a gazebo that had been newly erected for the occasion of their picnic. Inside was a table covered with a white cloth, laid with china and crystal for two. A uniformed waiter stood behind one chair, holding a bottle of champagne. “Richard, I don’t know what to say. This is beautiful.” Sunni was whispering, although she didn’t know why. “I’m glad you like it.” Richard held out an arm and Sunni slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow. He escorted her to the gazebo, where the waiter handed each of them a glass of champagne. Richard lifted his in a toast. “To new beginnings,” he said. Sunni blushed and looked away, unable to counter the boldness in his gaze. They sat on opposite sides of the table and the waiter began serving. The dishes appeared in gourmet profusion: imported cheeses, caviar, melon wrapped in prosciutto, grilled and marinated vegetables, and perfect strawberries dipped in chocolate. “How did you know these are all my favorite foods?” Sunni asked, topping a tiny triangular piece of toast with a dab of caviar. Richard turned his champagne flute this way and that, causing the bubbles to float to the top and pop. “You are a woman of refined and delicate tastes,” he said. “So I simply extrapolated from that.” Two hours later Sunni was lying on her back on a plaid blanket, staring at the shifting patterns of light formed by the branches of the towering eucalyptus tree above her. Richard sat somewhat stiffly at her side with his legs straight out. He had frowned slightly when Sunni found the blanket, but he had followed her gamely. The hulls from the chocolate strawberries lay in a pile next to Sunni’s hand. The waiter was quietly packing the remains of lunch into the back of a van parked unobtrusively across the street. Sunni was feeling comfortably full and just a bit tipsy. Wisps of fog were starting to drift in from the ocean, bearing the smell of brine. The wind blew Sunni’s black hair over her eyes. Richard leaned over to tuck the hair gently behind her ear. “Your hair is beautiful,” Richard murmured. “Black as a raven’s wing. It’s rare to see this color occur naturally.” Their faces were very close together. Sunni looked at Richard’s extraordinarily pale complexion. Normally a person with skin of that hue would have freckles, sunburn, or broken capillaries, but Richard was like a marble statue. Impulsively she reached up and touched his cheek. His skin was cold to the touch, but soft and smooth as silk.

Richard must have interpreted her touch as an invitation, because he kissed her. As soon as his soft, cold lips touched hers Sunni felt that something was very, very wrong. She pulled back as abruptly as if she’d been stung by a bee. He sat up straight, contemplating Sunni. He didn’t look angry, just confounded and a bit disappointed, as if she was a jigsaw puzzle that he’d worked on for days, only to find one piece missing. “You didn’t want me to kiss you?” he asked. Sunni lurched to her feet and smoothed her hair. “No, it’s not that, well, it’s just, I feel …” She shook her head. “I don’t know what I feel.” And she didn’t. The sensation she’d experienced when his lips touched hers was a powerful one, and it had come from deep inside her, but she couldn’t readily identify it. Was it guilt because of Isabel? Guilt because of Jacob? Or something that had to do with Richard himself? She picked up the strawberry hulls and tossed them into the bushes. Richard folded the plaid blanket into a neat square. “I guess I just wasn’t ready for that,” Sunni said. “That’s all right,” he replied with a small smile. “I have all the time in the world.”

Chapter 8 Isabel gave a high-pitched wail of despair. “I don’t have anything to wear!” Given that they were standing in the middle of Isabel’s walk-in closet, which contained what seemed like acres of clothing—folded on shelves, hanging on rods and even packed in shopping bags still wrapped in tissue paper—Sunni had to laugh. Isabel glared at her. “I’m sorry, Izzy. It’s just that you have so many clothes here. There must be something that you really like.” “Nothing’s good enough. I want to look elegant, classy, and beautiful.” Isabel’s lower lip trembled. “I want to look like someone else.” Isabel had long ago realized that people were going to stare at her, so she had decided to give them something to look at. She favored the designer Lilly Pulitzer’s Palm Beach collections, so most of her clothes looked like the hallucinations of an acid-dropping 1950s housewife. Sunni wouldn’t wear any of them unless she lived in the center of a highway, but she appreciated the bright insouciance that her friend projected. Now it appeared that Richard Lazarus was causing Isabel to question her own fashion sense. Sunni sighed. “What do you want me to do, sweetie?” “Find me something!” “Well, where are you going?” Sunni stepped into the vast cavern of Isabel’s closet. “The symphony.” “Okay, so you need a nice dress.” After ten minutes of digging Sunni pulled out a Diane Von Furstenberg dress made of stretchy jersey. It was purple, but eggplant purple, not Barney the Dinosaur purple. “How about this?” she asked. “Is that sexy enough?” Isabel asked. Sunni was stuck between a rock and a hard place. She didn’t want Isabel to look sexy for Richard Lazarus, but she’d been helping Isabel for sixteen years, and she wasn’t about to stop now. “It’s classy, elegant, and beautiful, Izzy. Adjust the neckline a little bit and it’ll be sexy, too.” “Okay, if you say so.” “Put it on. I’ll find you some shoes.” Sunni chose a pair of black suede pumps with sensible short heels and brought them over. “What about these?” Isabel was standing in front of a tri-paneled mirror. Having put her arm crutches to the side, she was having difficulty maintaining her balance while wiggling into the tight sheath of stretchyjersey. She finally managed to get the dress on, but it was stuck in her panties in the back. Sunni put her hand on her

friend’s shoulder as she pulled the skirt free and straightened it all around. Leaning on Sunni’s arm, Isabel slipped on the shoes Sunni had brought her. Isabel sniffed. “Those aren’t sexy at all.” “Yeah, I guess,” Sunni admitted. “But you don’t want to trip.” “I guess you’re right. I’m not as stable as I used to be.” Isabel looked up from her feet and caught Sunni’s eye in the mirror. She gave Sunni a big smile. “What? “ Sunni asked. “Remember prom night?” Sunni would never forget it. The humiliation of prom night had cemented her friendship with Isabel forever. They had stood in front of the same mirror for hours that night, putting on makeup and arranging their hair. Dennis had given them both five hundred dollars for dresses, but Isabel had already begun her penchant for psychedelic clothing, so she was wearing a 1960s vintage gown purchased for eighteen dollars at Buffalo Exchange on Haight Street. It displayed a swirling purple and black pattern that caused vertigo if stared at for too long. Sunni had spent her entire allotment, plus one hundred dollars of Isabel’s, on a sleeveless red silk Armani cocktail dress with a plunging neckline and fishtail hem. Her date that night was her boyfriend of one year, Ted Inman, a devilishly sexy boy who was both a member of the Chess Club and a star on the varsity basketball team. Sunni was terribly in love with him and had decided that she was going to give up her virginity to him that night. She was feeling especially warm toward Ted because he had risked his reputation to secure a date for Isabel, who had been treated alternately as a pariah, a best friend, or a maiden aunt by the boys in the class. Ted had convinced another boy on the basketball team, an extremely good-looking and popular kid named Chase Sweeney, to invite Isabel to the prom. Chase had recently broken up with his girlfriend and was available, but according to Ted it had taken some effort to convince him that his reputation could survive taking the crippled girl to the prom. The boys had arrived in a limousine, bearing corsages, and whisked the girls off to dinner at the Hyatt Regency hotel. Isabel and Chase seemed to get along even better than Sunni had hoped, laughing, flirting, and teasing each other by the end of the meal. They all snuck into the women’s lounge and smoked some pot before continuing upstairs to the ballroom where the prom was being held. Swirling lights and pounding hip-hop music greeted them at the door. “Do you want to dance?” Chase asked Isabel. Sunni bit her lip. Isabel didn’t dance. She had told Ted to inform Chase of this fact beforehand so he wouldn’t embarrass her by asking. A flicker passed over Isabel’s face, and then she smiled at her date. “Sure, I’d love to.” Sunni and Ted followed them onto the dance floor. Isabel bobbed around on her crutches while Chase danced in circles around her. After a few songs Isabel looked so happy that Sunni allowed herself to turn away and pay attention to Ted. He swept her up into his arms and they kissed their way through a slow song. When another fast tune started up they broke apart and started dancing again, Sunni feeling looselimbed and limp as spaghetti from her make-out session. She looked up at her boyfriend and saw that he was laughing at something. She smiled in response and turned to see what was so funny. Chase Sweeney was dancing behind Isabel, aping her awkward movements in a broad caricature that had caught the attention of most of their nearby classmates, who were snickering behind their hands.

Sunni grabbed Ted by the arm. “Stop him right now,” she hissed. “What? They’re just having fun.” “That is not fun. That’s evil. Go over there and tell him to stop.” Ted pulled his arm out of Sunni’s grasp. A dark look passed over his face. “Let it go, Sunni.” “Fuck you. That’s my best friend.” Sunni stalked over to Chase and pulled on the back of his tuxedo. He turned around and gave Sunni a devilish grin, which she countered with a steely stare. Isabel swung around, looking as happy as a lark, and Chase’s evil grin expanded. He started to dance, and Sunni knew exactly what he was going to do next. So she punched him, aiming high because he had a good foot of height on her.

The night had ended with Sunni and Isabel sharing a twelve-scoop ice-cream sundae at the Toy Boat Dessert Café. Sunni had broken up with Ted the next day and never looked back. As she gazed at all the angles of her friend in the three-way mirror, and at the ugly shoes she’d chosen so that she wouldn’t look lovely for her date with Richard, Sunni felt a wave of shame that caused her cheeks to turn flaming red. Her friendship with Isabel was far more important than any man. Her competition with Isabel over Richard Lazarus was over. While Isabel took a shower Sunni went downstairs to talk to Dennis. Although there was an elevator that had been put in when Isabel received her diagnosis, Sunni preferred the elaborate curved staircase. Walking down it, sliding her hand along the rail, always made her feel like Scarlett O’Hara. When she reached the foyer she heard music from the living room. Someone was playing the trumpet, enthusiastically and rather badly. She quietly opened the door and crossed the cavernous room to the fireplace, where Dennis LaForge was perched on a stool with a music stand in front of him and a pen behind his ear. After a few chords he stopped and made some notes. Only then did he look up at Sunni, but he gave her a generous smile. “Sunni, how are you?” His voice boomed across the short space between them. Dennis LaForge loved jazz: he played it, wrote it, and listened to it nonstop. He had used his money and influence to make friends with many of the top musicians in the country, and every year he hosted a free jazz festival in Golden Gate Park that was attended by thousands. The only thing his money hadn’t been able to buy him was musical ability. “Writing a new song?” Sunni asked. He dropped the pen on the music stand. “Just noodling, polishing up a few tunes.” Sunni didn’t ask to hear them. She had no musical ability, but she knew bad when she heard it. “Take a seat, I haven’t seen you in a while. We miss you around here.” “You saw me yesterday. ” “That was in a professional capacity. I mean you haven’t been hanging out here like you used to.” Sunni sat in one of the upholstered wing chairs that flanked the fireplace. “Is Isabel all ready for her date tonight?” Dennis asked. He placed the trumpet in its case. “Getting there. You know how women are.”

He chuckled as he sat down. “I sure do. Gloria and I were late to everything. She always looked beautiful, though.” “Yes, she did. “ Sunni straightened the arm cover on her chair. “What do you think of Richard? ” He paused so long that she looked up to see if he had heard her. He was looking at her rose tattoo, probably thinking about when she and Isabel were teenagers. He had been very upset when Sunni got the tattoo. She was seventeen and had forged his signature on the release form. When she asked him about the incident a few years later he said that he had been concerned that having such a constant reminder of her past might be painful to her. This has been a revelation to Sunni. All that time she’d thought he was angry that she had defied him and instead he was worried about her feelings. She realized then that she had a lot to learn about being an adult. “What do you think of him?” Dennis’s tone was sharp. Sunni chewed her lip. “I like him,” she said honestly. “He’s very charming.” “Hmm,” Dennis said. He seemed to be about to say more, but at that moment Isabel appeared in the doorway. A wall-washer aimed at a Renoir pen and ink drawing bathed her in soft yellow light. “You look beautiful,” Sunni said. It was true. The wrap dress emphasized her impressive cleavage while disguising with clever draping her ample hips and stomach. Isabel had put on a lot of makeup, but done it very artfully. A straightening iron applied to her blond curls had created a sleek curtain of hair that gave off a subtle sheen, like yellow satin. She was wearing the shoes Sunni had picked out. “When’s he coming?” Dennis asked. Isabel glanced at the antique crystal clock on the mantelpiece. “Any minute now.” Sunni stood up. “Well, you’re all ready, so I guess I’ll be going now.” Dennis shook his head. “Why don’t you stay and keep the old man company? There’s a Giants game on. We can order some Thai food.” “I don’t want to be the third wheel when Richard gets here.” “Nonsense,” Dennis said. “You’ll be the fourth wheel. Four is a very good number of wheels.” Isabel gave Sunni a tiny, tight smile. “I think Sunni’s right, Daddy. It’s probably better if she leaves. I’m going to head back upstairs. Call me when Richard gets here.” Sunni kissed Dennis on the cheek. “I’ll see you soon, Dennis. We’ll go sailing next week, how about that?” Richard gazed through the taxi window at the LaForge home and silently nodded his approval. He had spent too much time in England and France to call the place a mansion, but it was a very respectable home, beaux arts in style, with a comforting repetition of windows and Corinthian columns that brought to mind the Petit Trianon in Versailles. He would have had more respect for Mr. LaForge if he lived in the strikingly modern construction of concrete and glass that occupied a nearby lot, because that would have meant that he was willing to tear down a perfectly lovely and no doubt expensive home in order to build his own vision of domestic paradise, but if the man wanted to respect tradition who was he to complain? Richard paid the cab fare and stepped out into the cool night. Wisps of fog danced in the air, but it was clear enough to see the view the LaForge House commanded—180 degrees, from the Golden Gate Bridge to downtown San Francisco. He was aware of the astronomical real estate prices in San

Bridge to downtown San Francisco. He was aware of the astronomical real estate prices in San Francisco and could easily imagine that the house was worth upward of thirty million dollars. Exactly what one would expect for a man of Dennis LaForge’s status. He buzzed the intercom and was rewarded by the slow release of the sentry gate. A curved driveway ambled through lush foliage to arrive at a rather unprepossessing front door. A minion escorted Richard through the marble foyer and into the living room where Isabel’s father was playing the trumpet with gauche enthusiasm. Richard straightened his tie and held his hand out to Dennis. “Pleasure to see you again, Dennis. You’re quite the Renaissance man, aren’t you?” “It’s a hobby I enjoy.” Dennis’s grip was powerful, for a human. “Please sit down. Can I offer you a drink?” Richard shook his head. “I’m afraid I don’t have time. The symphony starts at eight.” Dennis propped his instrument on a stand and sat across from Richard. “Okay then. Isabel will be down any minute, so I’ll get right to the point. Isabel’s fortune is very well protected in the event of a divorce. Iron-clad, actually.” Richard laughed. “That’s rather presumptuous, isn’t it?” Dennis leaned forward, one large hand on each knee, and stared at Richard. His eyes were very pale, but quite forceful. “I have a bad feeling about you. And I always trust my feelings.” “Then why are you letting me go out with your daughter?” He waved a hand. “Isabel still has that adolescent rebellious thing, where if I told her not to date you she’d find you even more compelling. So, I’m just warning you, if you’re thinking about her money you’re out of luck.” Richard glanced at his watch, letting the firelight play on the diamonds surrounding the face. “I am quite wealthy in my own right, Dennis. ” “I’m aware. I checked you out, of course.” Richard felt his lip twitch with annoyance. Technology was the bane of his existence, really. He missed the days when a person could disappear as easily as walking out a door, and establish oneself in the next town over with a cock-and-bull story that no one would ever be able to verify. “Your paper trail ends rather abruptly, about ten years back. It almost looks as if you’d changed identities at that point. I haven’t figured it all out yet, but if you stick around, I’m sure I will. Do you take my point?” He smiled at Richard. At that point the vampire felt his patience evaporate like a puff of smoke in a strong breeze. He considered draining the old curmudgeon right then and there, but decided that would be overkill. No pun intended. Instead he concentrated on Dennis’s green eyes, forcing the man’s considerable will to bow to him. “You like me very much, Dennis,” he said calmly. Dennis nodded slowly, his glazed eyes never leaving Richard’s face. “You respect me, and you think I would be a wonderful husband for your daughter, should it come to that.” “A wonderful husband,” Dennis repeated.

Richard’s concentration was broken by the sound of heels and crutches on the wooden floor. In a moment Isabel swung into view, looking lovely in a deep purple dress. Richard wondered if Sunni had picked it out for her. “Oh, Richard, I didn’t know you were here. Daddy, why didn’t you call me? You were supposed to.” Isabel paused and gazed at her father in confusion. “Daddy?” Dennis looked up at his daughter. At first he appeared to be asleep with his eyes open, but in a moment his consciousness was restored. He sprung out of the chair and smacked Richard heartily on the back. “Just having a little chat with my good friend Richard, my dear!” Richard stood up and buttoned his jacket. “Yes, just having a little chat. We should go now, Isabel. We don’t want to be late for the symphony.”

Chapter 9 It took Sunni a long time to fall asleep that night. She came back to her condo, ate a bowl of Cheerios for dinner and flipped through the TV channels with her remote. Several times she picked up her phone to call Isabel, and then thought better of it. Later she tried to get some work done, taking advantage of the time difference to talk to some clients in Japan, but she wasn’t on her game. She kept wondering if Isabel was home yet, if she was having a good time, where they had gone, what they were eating. She didn’t know why she was so obsessed. She was interested in Richard, yes, but she had been attracted to men before, and this was not the same. What she felt for Richard was more akin to the excitement she felt when she stumbled on an antique that other people didn’t know was valuable. It was the thrill of finding something unique and wanting to learn more about it. At around midnight she felt tired enough to try to go to sleep, so she sloughed her clothes off onto the floor and climbed into her comfortable bed. Sometime later Sunni heard sounds in her bedroom. She was sure she hadn’t been asleep but when she checked the clock it was 3:42 A.M. At first she wasn’t frightened by the noise. It sounded like air blowing out of her heater. But she didn’t turn on the heat in June. She kept her eyes closed while she tried to locate the source. It wasn’t coming from the window, which was on the other side of the room and closed against the early summer fog. When she finally identified the small but distinctive noise she thought she must still be dreaming. Someone was sitting in her bedroom, reading a book. She opened her eyes. The room was completely dark and she couldn’t see a thing. The pounding of her heart drowned out the quiet susurration of pages being turned. As fear made its slow burning journey from her chest to her limbs the room lightened, as if the window shades were being lifted. She saw her slipper chair in the corner of the room near the closet, and a man sitting in it, one leg crossed over the other, nonchalantly swinging a foot clad in a gleaming leather oxford. “Good evening,” Richard said with a smile. “I hope I’m not disturbing you.” “What are you doing here?” Sunni choked out the words. He held up the book he’d been reading so that she could see. It was the pink leather journal her mother had given her when she turned seven. Sunni had kept it through all her foster placements, hidden in the nooks and crannies of the various houses she was cycled through. Mostly it contained a litany of misery: foster parents hitting her, other kids stealing her few possessions, not fitting in at any of the schools she attended. When she moved to the LaForge house she had pretty much stopped writing. It had been locked in a drawer in her desk, the key in her nightstand. “I’ve been so curious about you, you know. I hoped that this little book would give me some answers. But I must admit, I found it as cryptic as you are in person. You’re not used to sharing yourself with others, are you, Sunni?” She sat up, pulling her quilt over her chest to cover the skimpy tank top she was wearing. The heavy thudding of her heart filled her ears. Jacob must have been right. Something awful was about to happen. This man was going to kill her, kidnap her, rape her, or do something she couldn’t even contemplate. She thought about her encounter with Peter at the wedding and wondered if she’d be able to fight Richard off. Right now she wasn’t feeling capable of anything. Richard stood up gracefully and crossed over to the bed. Sunni gasped and shrunk against the headboard. “I have upset you. I am sorry. I don’t mean you any harm.” He took a glass of water from her nightstand and offered it to her. “Here, have a drink.”

He stood next to her while she sipped, like a parent who’d been called to the bedside of a child having a bad dream. After he replaced the glass on the table he sat back down in the slipper chair, lifting the knee of each pants leg so that it wouldn’t wrinkle. “There, that’s better. In the restaurant we were talking about your parents, who they are, or were, I suppose. You knew your mother until you were eight, as you said at the restaurant. But nothing about your father?” “Why do you want to know about my past? What do you want from me?” “It’s not about what I want, it’s about what you want, and what I can give you.” He tapped the journal with one finger. “You always knew you were different, yes? That was one thing I was able to glean from your journal. Only unlike most adolescent girls, you actually are different. It was what sent you to the mental asylum …” He shook his head. “That’s not what they’re called now, are they? No matter. What did you first notice about yourself? Are you a particularly swift runner, for example?” Her fear began to be replaced by other emotions. She was angry that he had stolen her journal and amazed that he had done so without tripping her burglar alarm or even waking her up. She was still frightened, but also had the sense that finally someone had come into her life who might answer some of the questions she had had for as long as she could remember about her own identity. As strange as Richard was, there was something familiar about him, something almost comforting. Sunni cast her mind back, to before her mother died. She remembered playing kickball one day with a few of the neighborhood kids. She was playing outfield. The ball was kicked into the street and she went after it. A car was coming, fast and heedless. A little girl screamed. Everything slowed down. Sunni crossed in front of the car, grabbed the ball out of the air and stood clutching it while the car whizzed past, its wheels inches from her sneakers. After the car passed the children stood staring at her in disbelief. When she walked back onto the sidewalk one of them touched her, as if checking to see if she was a ghost. The little girl who had screamed refused to play with her ever again. “Yes, I suppose I am.” “Can you see in the dark?” Richard asked. He gestured with both hands at the darkness in which they were both enveloped. “Obviously yes, but not always, or you wouldn’t have that lamp there. Are you exceptionally strong? Are your reflexes quicker than that of humans? ” Sunni’s jaw dropped. Not only was he speaking of her physical anomalies as if such things were commonplace, but he was referring to humans as if they were a different species. What did he think he was? “Now we’re getting somewhere.” Before Sunni could blink he was sitting next to her on the bed. She hadn’t seen him move at all. He put one finger out and ran it over the surface of her nightstand, and then examined his finger. “Not much of a housekeeper though, are you? No matter, that’s what we have maids for. Do you know what you are, Sunni?” She shook her head, her heart thudding so hard she was sure he could hear it. “You should be proud. Your kind is very rare, because it is illegal to make them. So, like any scarce commodity, you are very valuable to those of my kind. There are many people who would like to get their hands on you, Sunni.” Sunni clutched her blanket, her hands trembling. “What am I?”

“You are a dhampir. The offspring of a human and a vampire.” Richard eyed her with approval. Sunni closed her eyes. She took a breath and opened them again, taking in the familiar objects all around her. This wasn’t a dream. How could such a strange encounter be happening in this familiar place? How could such beings as Richard Lazarus exist? And yet she’d always known she was different. She had tried to push it to the back of her mind, to ignore it, but it always came back. She had tried to find out the truth from her mother, but whenever she asked Rose withdrew further—into silence, into drugs, into the black hole of depression Sunni was sure she had created when she was born. “How did it happen, how did I become this way?” Richard smiled. “The usual way. Surely I don’t need to explain that to you?” “No, I meant,” she rubbed her forehead. “I don’t know what I mean anymore.” “I’ve never understood why humans find these revelations so shocking. After all, they’ve been bandying these myths around for a thousand years, where do they think they come from?” “So you’re a vampire?” she whispered. “Of course.” “But,” she paused, sifting through a cacophony of thoughts. “I’ve seen you during the day.” He chuckled. “Yes, you have. Sunlight only affects the young. By the time you’re my age it’s just a nuisance.” His gaze fell on her neck and he licked his lips very delicately. “But the part about drinking blood, that is true.” She shuddered, but didn’t move away. This must have been what Jacob was talking about, this special nature of hers. But in Jacob’s version Richard was dangerous, he had “targeted” her, although for what she wasn’t sure. But now here was Richard himself, sitting on her bed like a girlfriend at a sleepover, freely offering information that Jacob had been loath to provide. If he was a threat why wasn’t he acting like one? Breathing shallowly, Sunni stroked the quilt that lay over her lap. It was an antique, soft and velvety from countless launderings, hand stitched by a loving woman to keep a family member warm. Although she’d bought it at an estate sale, Sunni liked to imagine that her own mother had made it for her. It conjured up a childhood of stability and protection that Sunni could only dream about. “So why am I so valuable to vampires? ” “Because you are one of the only things that can kill us.” He pinned her with his gaze. “What has Jacob Eddington told you about me, Sunni?” Her first impulse was to protect Jacob. “Nothing,” she said. Richard clicked his tongue. “Nonsense. He told you that I meant you harm, didn’t he? That you needed to escape from me?” Sunni didn’t nod, but she could tell that Richard knew what she was thinking. “It’s him you need to escape from, my dear. Do you know why he’s been watching you all these years?” “You know about that?” “I didn’t, but when I saw him at the restaurant I figured it out. He works for an organization that keeps track of people like you.”

“He said they keep track of people like you.” “Well, that is true, too. They are afraid of me, and of you, for that matter. He is watching you to make sure that you don’t learn to use your powers, because if you do you might use it against them.” He ran one hand lightly down her arm, causing her to shiver. “If that happens he has orders to kill you.” “You’re lying.” He gripped her arm, just hard enough to make her wince. “Look into my eyes.” She did. They were dark, fathomless, revealing nothing. “Trust, so hard to come by. Why should you trust me? He has protected you all these years, or so you think. But isn’t that part of what jailors do, keep their prisoners from harm?” She couldn’t argue with his impeccable logic, not now, in the dark, when she felt so vulnerable and he seemed to know so much about her. “I guess so.” “Tell me about your mother, Sunni. ” Sunni’s hand crept to her chest, inadvertently drawing his eye to her rose tattoo, with its thorny vine and three tear-shaped drops of blood. “Her name was Rose?” Richard asked. “Good guess,” Sunni muttered. “What was your first clue?” “What kind of a mother was she?” His gentle voice invited her to confide in him. “Sometimes wonderful, sometimes a nightmare.” Sunni was surprised to find herself answering him so candidly. Maybe this was how Isabel gave away the information about the Ashwood Institute. “She had drug problems, depression. But I felt like she was the only person who ever understood me.” “How did she die? ” “She had left me alone one Saturday, probably to go score. At that time we were living in Redfield, a little town in Marin County. There was a yard, surrounded by a picket fence, and I was playing under a tree. A black limousine drove up, with two men in it.” A tear dripped out of Sunni’s eye. “Let me guess what happened next,” Richard said. “You liked these men. You felt at home with them. They knew all about you, knew your name and your mother’s name. When they asked you to get in the car you said yes.” “That’s right. But my mother arrived then. She fought them.” Tears flowed freely down Sunni’s face now. “It was horrible. I’d never seen anyone fight like they did. For years I was sure I imagined it. One of them had a rope and he started to strangle her …” Richard nodded. “But then someone else arrived, right?” She stared at him in surprise. “How do you know that?” He ignored her question. “This other man saved you from the two men, pulled you out of the car?” “Yes. How can you possibly know these things?” “I was that man. ” Shock rendered her incapable of speech, so she simply stared at him.

“Do you want to know who the men in the car were? They were vampires, Sunni, working for the Council, the organization Jacob Eddington belongs to. You’re contraband, and they came to take you away.” “If they wanted me so badly, why didn’t they try again later?” Richard shrugged eloquently. “Your mother was dead, your father gone. As long as you thought you were merely human you were no threat. So they just kept an eye on you.” His hand snaked out and smoothed her hair behind her ear, then dropped down to cup her chin. He turned her face to look at him. “Come to London with me, Sunni. I believe we could be very happy together. ” Her breathing sounded strangely loud in the quiet, night-wrapped room. At first the proposition made perfect sense. Richard and she were kindred beings: they shared not just a personal history, but also a cultural and biological history that went back thousands of years. Richard could teach her about herself, he could show her how to love and accept everything she was. She turned so that her chin would be released from his grip. All these things might be true about Richard, but if they were, they were also true of Jacob. As strange as he had been acting toward her, she was not going to give up on him yet. She might feel a strange affinity for Richard, but what she felt for Jacob ran much deeper. “I’m sorry. That’s not going to happen.” She felt the change that came over Richard as a certain heaviness in the air, as if a thunderstorm was coming. His eyes, already a deep brown, became so dark that they appeared to have no pupils and the lamplight glinted off them like they were made of polished granite. Instead of sitting next to her he suddenly seemed to be looming over her, and the expression on his face was that of a hawk who had just sighted a rabbit. “You dare defy me?” He wasn’t shouting, but his normally pleasant voice now had an edge that could cut glass. Sunni’s voice failed her. She clutched the soft quilt and pulled it up to her shoulders. Richard grabbed her chin again and yanked her head up and to the side, exposing the tender expanse of her neck. He bared his teeth, grimacing like an angry dog, exposing long white fangs that almost pierced his lower lip. “I could kill you so easily, drink your blood, and take your strength into my body. ” A whimper escaped from her throat. He dragged his fangs along her neck, pressing just hard enough to break the skin, and then licked the blood that he had released. Sunni squeezed her eyes shut. She was not a religious person, but she began to pray silently. A moment later she felt his weight lift off the bed. She opened her eyes to see him buttoning his suit jacket. The anger was gone. He was back to being cool, composed, and utterly selfpossessed. “But I will not kill you. That would defeat my purpose. I shall simply have to move on to Plan B.” He shot his cuffs and checked the fastenings on his gold cuff links. “Plan B?” Her heart was starting to beat more slowly, reassured by his distance from her. He gave a small snort of annoyance. “Do you not understand this colloquialism?”

“I understand it. What is your Plan B?” “You’ll find out in good time. But now, my dear, you are tired. We’ve talked enough. You should sleep.” “But I still need to know …” There was a rustle and a rush of air, and Richard was gone. It was only a few minutes later, when the room grew cold, that Sunni realized he had left the window open.

Chapter 10 When Sunni woke up on Wednesday morning, after tossing and turning for hours and then finally sleeping a bit once dawn broke, she sat up in bed and scanned the room for evidence that the previous night wasn’t a dream. Everything looked exactly as it had when she went to bed, from the glass of water on her nightstand to the trail of clothes she’d dropped on the floor. The key to her desk drawer was in the nightstand, right where it always was. She jumped out of bed and went over to her desk. The journal was in the locked drawer, buried under three years’ worth of tax forms and credit card statements. She put her head down on her arms and breathed slowly and evenly, trying to think rationally. Richard and Jacob were vampires. Just that statement was enough to send her back to the Ashwood Institute. And yet she didn’t feel crazy when she contemplated it. The myth of vampires had been around as long as human civilization. Why shouldn’t the myth be based in fact? If it was true, it actually made her feel less crazy, because the cognitive dissonance she’d been feeling all her life was based on something real. She straightened up and looked at her desk. What else had she learned? Both of them were old, old enough that the sun didn’t bother them anymore. They drank human blood. Did they kill people? Richard hadn’t answered that one. Was Richard dangerous to her? The jury was still out on that one as well. But if he was, was he also dangerous to Isabel? She grabbed her cell phone and hit one of her speed dial numbers. “LaForge residence.” It was Earl, the house manager. “Hi, Earl, it’s Sunni. Can I speak to Isabel?” “She’s still asleep. She came in quite late last night. Can I give her a message?” Sunni heaved a sigh of relief. “It’s nothing urgent. Just tell her to call me later. ” She padded into the kitchen and made coffee, then settled on the couch in the living room with her laptop and a steaming cup. After pondering the spelling for a moment, she Googled dampire. “Do you mean dhampir?” the helpful engineers at Goggle suggested, and Sunni clicked on the word. A Wikipedia entry came up first, followed by a site called Monsterpedia. She surfed over to the Wikipedia Web site and read the entry.

A dhampir in Balkan folklore and in vampire fiction is the offspring of a vampire and a human. Dhampirs are powerful creatures, equipped with a vampire’s powers but none of the weaknesses. A dhampir is believed to be unusually adept at killing vampires. “Great,” Sunni muttered. “Now I’m a fictional character. Maybe they’ll make a movie about me.” She sipped her coffee, staring out the window at the concrete expanse of the Moscone Convention Center, thinking about Rose and their short time together. If Rose knew what Sunni’s father was, she never told Sunni about it. But how could she? Would Sunni, at age seven or eight, have understood what her mother was trying to tell her? Of course not, it would only have made Sunni feel crazier than she already did. It must have been a horrible burden for her mother to bear. Maybe it was what drove her to use drugs. Sunni shook her head roughly and slapped her laptop closed. What was she doing, thinking about Richard’s statements as if they were facts? It was madness to even consider it. And yet it was the only thing that had ever made sense in all the years she’d been trying to figure it out.

She took her coffee over to the window and looked across the street. There was an office building directly across from her, with workers racing around like hamsters on a wheel, oblivious to spectators. On each side of that was a new condo building. If Jacob had been telling her the truth, he lived in one of those two buildings. She ran to her bedroom and dressed in the simplest outfit she could find: jeans and a T-shirt, with a fleece jacket on top. For once she eschewed high heels in favor of sneakers, so she had to roll her pants up at the ankles. Then she pulled the Brazil Room coaster out of her purse and dialed the number scrawled on it. Jacob’s living room gave the impression that someone had just moved in, or was in the process of moving out. The creamy white walls bore no decoration. A black leather sofa stood at a right angle to the window that overlooked Sunni’s building. There was no TV, no table or chairs in the dining alcove. The tile counters in the galley kitchen were empty and gleaming. There was a coffee table in front of the sofa, piled high with thick, serious-looking hardcover books. Sunni moved so that she could read some of the titles. They were all history: The subjects included the American presidents, slavery, colonialism, and the monarchy in England. “Are you writing a thesis?” Sunni asked. “Just trying to figure some things out,” he answered. “Please sit down. Would you like a drink?” Sunni sat on the sofa. “I’d love some coffee.” He shook his head. “I’m afraid I don’t drink coffee. I could run downstairs to the café …” “No, don’t worry. What do you have?” “Whiskey. ” “It’s nine o’clock in the morning.” He shrugged. “I wasn’t expecting company.” “Never mind.” Sunni eyed him, towering over her, all six feet several inches of him. His body seemed to thrum with tension. “Why don’t you sit down as well? You’re making me nervous.” There was nowhere else to sit but the couch. He dropped down next to her, letting his long legs slide under the coffee table. Sunni tried not to let herself be distracted by his scent, by the ropy muscles in his arms, by his gleaming jaw. Especially not by his eyes, which in this light were blue-gray, lighter by several shades than the last time she’d been close to him. “Richard Lazarus came to see me last night,” she began. He jumped off the couch as if he’d been stung. “That’s impossible,” he shouted. She held up both hands. “Calm down, Jacob. He was very pleasant, I assure you.” Jacob paced over to the window and looked down. “He was in your apartment?” “Yes. He just appeared in my bedroom. I have no idea how he got in.” Jacob clutched his forehead. “God help me.” In an instant he crossed the room, grabbed Sunni’s hand and turned her to face him. His eyes transformed, glowing from within as if he’d turned a light on inside his head. The blue irises seemed to pulsate and expand. “Hear me now, and obey. You will follow me now. You will not question my orders.” For a moment Sunni felt as if the world had shrunk to nothing but Jacob’s voice and eyes. She felt

compelled to do exactly as he said. But then she blinked hard, and like waking up from a dream, she was released from whatever spell he’d been trying to work on her. “Like hell I will,” she said. “What are you trying to do to me anyway? Do you think you can hypnotize people?” “I can hypnotize people, although we don’t call it that. We call it glamouring,” Jacob said, “But it doesn’t appear to work on you.” He shook off his exasperation. “But really, Sunni, if Richard has been in your apartment, there’s not a moment to lose. We must leave San Francisco right away.” He tugged on her hand, impelling her toward the front door. Sunni pulled back, hard, so that Jacob had to face her. Her head barely reached his chin, but she lifted her face and glared at him. “No! I’m not going anywhere. I came here to get some answers.” She stopped. The feel of his hand in hers was melting her resolve. “Or maybe to hear your side of the story.” “My side of the story?” His eyebrows drew together and a muscle in his jaw twitched. “What did he tell you about me?” “He told me that you have been watching me, but not in a good way. Not in the way I thought. And he told me some things about myself. ” Jacob ran a hand up his forehead and through his hair, leaving the dark curls even messier than before. His eyes drifted down to her lips, and his expression softened. “Are you all right?” he asked. She looked away, unnerved by his display of compassion. “As all right as someone can be who’s just been informed that they’re a half vampire, and a hot commodity on the vampire weapons market.” “Just a minute.” Jacob disappeared into the kitchen. In a moment he was back with two glasses of whiskey. He handed her one and gestured that she should sit down. She sat back and took a sip, letting the liquid burn a trail down her throat. After a few sips she did feel a little calmer. Maybe drinking in the morning wasn’t such a bad idea. “Richard said that you’re part of a secret vampire organization that’s been watching me because I’m, um, dangerous. He said that your organization killed my mother. “ She thought about adding that Richard had said that he had saved her, and tried to save her mother, but at the last moment decided to withhold the information. She still wasn’t sure who to trust. “Bastard.” The whiskey sloshed as he slammed the glass onto the coffee table. “Aren’t you going to tell me that you didn’t kill my mother?” He turned to her, his eyes blazing. “Would it do any good? Would you believe me? ” “I don’t know who to believe yet. But I know you and Richard hate each other.” “That’s very astute of you.” “Why don’t you tell me why?”

Chapter 11 Jacob paused. For a moment he simply let himself drink in the fact of Sunni’s proximity. His acute senses took in everything about her at once, from the pearly ovals of her fingernails to the way her black hair curved into points just below her cheekbones. For so long he’d watched her from a distance, and imagined her close-up, for so long she’d filled his thoughts, that to have her near enough to touch was a dream come true. But it had come with a price that might be too much for either of them to pay. Sunni looked nothing like Jacob’s wife. Jane had been tall and heavy-limbed, with untamable blond curls and a generous laugh that came from deep in her belly. She was strong enough to churn butter and wash sheets in a bucket and butcher and dress any animal on the farm. Sunni looked like a strong breeze could knock her over. They were as different as night and day, and yet Jacob felt things for Sunni that he had only ever felt for his wife. How could it be, that in the long span of history that encompassed Jacob and Richard’s lives, that Richard would covet the same two women as Jacob? Was this God’s idea of a joke, or just Richard’s? Jacob closed his eyes and let the pain that two centuries had barely assuaged wash over him. He let himself think again of what Richard had done to him and his family.

June 1775 Jacob followed the rut that his mule, Maisy, was cutting in the rich loamy earth. They had ploughed together so many times that they could have done it in their sleep, and the rows the plough made were as straight as the horizon. The day had been blistering, so Jacob had waited until sunset to come out to the field. The sky was beautiful, filled with scudding clouds stained salmon pink, but he gave it barely a glance. The routine of his work allowed Jacob ample time to “fuss,” as Jane liked to call it. Yes, he was a worrier, he admitted it, but this time he had something to worry about. As loath as she was to admit it, Jane was ill. A mysterious malady had come upon her, and her normally rosy countenance was pale and drawn, the shadows under her eyes deep and black. She grew tired easily and had to sit down, and when she did her eyes grew blank, staring at something that only she could see, like a door had opened in the firmament. Jacob knew that expression. He had lost his mother and two of his four children, and all of their eyes had taken on that far-away look just before they died. Jacob was frantic that the same fate should not befall his beloved wife. The doctor had visited twice, but had only served to make Jane feel worse, with his leeching and mercury. Jacob tried to get her to eat rich foods, to gain back her weight and strength, but she took only a bite and then pushed the plate away. During the day she appeared to regain a bit of her health and strength, and the color came back to her cheeks, but in the morning when she awoke she looked paler still, more wasted. Sleep seemed to give her no succor. The plough ran into a rock, pulling the mule up short. Jacob took out his spade and began digging around the obstacle, loosening it so that he could remove it. Maisy dropped her head and tore off a mouthful of crabgrass. “You’ll break the plough with that kind of carelessness,” a voice called out. A man was approaching, riding one of Jacob’s father’s mares. The wild grasses he was riding through reached the horse’s knee. The man’s tricorn hat was angled down over his eyes, so Jacob didn’t recognize Richard Westerbridge until he was twenty feet away. When the mare was ten feet

away Jacob straightened up. He hacked some phlegm and spat in Richard’s direction. “And now you are an expert in farming, as well as shipping, rum production, and the slave trade? Your years away appear to have made you a jack-of-all-trades. No wonder my father prizes your expertise so highly. ” The setting sun was behind Richard, so Jacob cupped a palm over his eyes to look at him. He certainly was a fine figure of a man, whatever his faults. He had spent ten years on the Continent without appearing to age a minute, a quality he attributed to a French salve he had brought back in ample supply. It contained, among its many ingredients, whale blubber and lavender oil, and the ladies of Providence had been buying it by the gross. Even Jane had been using it before she fell ill and stopped caring about her appearance. Richard just laughed. He swung his leg over the saddle and dropped to the ground as lightly as a cat. As he approached, Jacob felt his gorge rise. Ever since Richard returned from the Continent, Jacob had felt a strong sense of revulsion whenever the man came near him. It was not a matter of him being a slave trader. Although Jacob was an ardent abolitionist, his father was a slave trader as well, and even though he disagreed with John Eddington, he never felt physically ill in his presence. He had, however, rejected the family business, opening a hole that Richard Westerbridge had neatly filled. As John Eddington’s foreman, there was no job so distasteful that Richard wouldn’t undertake it. “What do you want, Richard?” “I came to inquire after the health of your dear wife. We are all so worried about her. “ He lifted a handful of the turned soil and let it slide through his fingers. “I believe she is improving,” he said. Richard stayed in a crouch, his hand now on the large rock that had impeded the plough. “Improving, is she?” “Yes, I believe so. ” “You’re an abominable liar. “ Richard seized the rock with both hands. Although it must have weighed fifty pounds and was deeply embedded in the earth, he lifted it as easily as pulling a carrot. Tossed over his shoulder, the boulder flew twenty yards through the air before landing with a thud. Jacob sucked in his breath. The sweat already coating his body turned icy cold. He shivered, despite the warm day. “What in the name of God are you?” he whispered. An apparition appeared before Jacob’s eyes, causing his guts to turn to liquid. The man spread his arms like the wings of an eagle. He appeared to grow five feet, his eyes turned black as onyx and his teeth sprouted the fangs of a mountain lion. Jacob blinked. When he opened his eyes Richard had returned to normal. “I have a proposition for you, Jacob. “ Richard reached into the pocket of his vest. Jacob waited, nerves aflame, but all that emerged from the brocade waistcoat was a cloisonné snuffbox. He took a pinch of snuff and snorted it off the skin between his thumb and first finger. He offered the box to Jacob, who shook his head impatiently. “Very well, then,” Richard said. “I want you to come with me. In return I will allow your wife to live.”

Jacob laughed, but it came out as a strangled hiccup. “What the devil are you talking about?” “It is I who drain your wife of her vitality. Night after night she comes to me when I call, and I drain her of her blood.” Jacob dropped to his knees in the damp earth. The mule turned her head and whinnied, alerted to his distress. He clasped his hands together and began reciting the Lord’s Prayer. “Our Father, who art in Heaven, hallowed be thy name…” Richard smacked Jacob across the face so hard that when he hit the dirt he saw his own blood fly in a three-foot arc. “Stop all that gibberish.” Jacob felt the dirt clods under his shoulder blades through his worn cotton shirt. The sharp blade of the plough pressed into his scalp. Two inches more and his skull would have been split like a melon. Richard leaned over the handle of the plough so that Jacob was looking at him upside down. “I’m only going to say this once, so listen carefully. I am going to convert you into a vampire, and you will come and work with me in Europe. Not in slave trading, I know your constitution is too delicate for that. But there are other ways you can assist me.” “Why would I ever do that?” “Because in return, I will let your wife and children live.” “To hell with you,” Jacob muttered. Richard laughed. “And with you, my friend. That part is not a choice. But you can choose to let your wife and children remain here. Or we can all go to hell together. ” Tears dripped down Jacob’s cheeks into the dry earth. “Why are you doing this, Richard? I know you loved Jane, and I am sorry, but she never returned your affections! What was I to do, ignore my feelings because of your unrequited love?” “Yes, that’s exactly what you should have done. I saw her first, after all. If you had not stepped in I believe she would have come around and learned to love me. After all, I am not so unlovable, am I?” Jacob sat up slowly. He pretended to be reaching into his pocket for a handkerchief, but instead he jumped up and rushed at Richard, screaming like a man possessed. He meant to push him into the plough blade, or strangle him with his bare hands. Richard caught him by the arm and tossed him to the ground, and then he placed his boot on the back of Jacob’s neck. “You cannot win, Jacob.” Jacob spat out the blood that had pooled in his mouth from his split lip. “No,” he grunted, “not unless I become a creature like you.” Richard laughed appreciatively. He took his boot off Jacob’s neck. “That’s right, my friend. Now you’re beginning to see the light.”

Sunni watched Jacob, who had been silent for several long minutes, lost in thought, pain etched across his face. “I wasn’t always as you see me now.” He waved a hand at the half-empty apartment. “In my human life, two hundred years ago, I had a lovely wife, and two beautiful children. I was as happy as a man can be.” “What happened?” “Richard Lazarus happened.” She gasped. “You knew him way back then?” He looked at his hands, cupped loosely in his lap. “I knew Richard Westerbridge very well. He worked for my father, took over the position that I rejected as my father’s heir.” “Westerbridge?” “Oh, please, did you think a vampire would really be named Lazarus?” He smiled scornfully. “Even God doesn’t joke like that.” There was a long pause. Finally Jacob broke the silence. “Richard is my father, in a way. He made me a vampire.” Sunni was shocked. “Is that what you wanted, to be a vampire?” Jacob’s eyes flashed with anger. “What I wanted was to stay with my wife, to see my children grow up and have children of their own, and in the fullness of years, to die quietly and be buried on my land. ” “Why did you let him take that away?” She expected him to turn his anger on her for that question, but he didn’t. Jacob unfurled his long body from the couch and took a few steps toward the window. “He began to visit my wife at night, drinking her blood and slowly draining the life force out of her. He glamoured me so that I couldn’t remember any of it. She was sick unto death when he appeared to me and offered a trade: my life for hers.” He spoke slowly and deliberately, with no affect, as if reciting words he had learned phonetically and had no idea what they meant. Sunni followed him to the window. “But why did he want you?” “Punishment. Back when Richard was human, he fell in love with Jane. He asked her to marry him and she said no. He left after that and traveled for years, working for my father in what they now call the Triangle Trade. After a suitable interval Jane and I announced our betrothal. When Richard came back, he was a vampire, but he had not forgotten or forgiven what he perceived as Jane’s betrayal.” “I can see you accepted Lazarus’s bargain. Did you ever see your wife again?” He didn’t speak, but his wounded expression answered for him. He had been alone for over two hundred years and believed he would be alone forever. “Oh, Jacob.” Closing the last bit of distance between them, she lifted her chin to look at him. “You did a good thing, really.” He grabbed her arms in a clawlike grip, pushing her away. Anger brought color to his face, dark and glowing, and his eyes burned like embers. “Who are you to absolve me? You have no idea what I am. ” She shrank away, suddenly frightened of the intensity in his gaze, of the power in his hands. Before she knew it he had lifted her off her feet and was kissing her. He held her as if she was as light as a feather, and pressed her body over him as if staunching a mortal wound. She could feel his ribs, his hip

bones, his heart beating frantically. She felt his need, raw and desperate, and she answered it with a need of her own that was every bit as powerful. No one had ever kissed her like that before, with every molecule of his ageless body reaching out to her. She felt she could never fill his gaping need, but she wanted to try. Then, as quickly as it had begun, it was over. He lifted her again and placed her gently but deliberately a foot away.

Chapter 12 “There’s no way to avoid it now,” Jacob clenched his hands behind his back, not trusting them. He wanted so badly to touch Sunni again, and he knew he must not. “He has found you and he will stop at nothing until he has you. We have to start your training now. ” “My what?” “You must develop your dhampir skills if you are to resist him.” Sunni raised one hand. “Listen, I don’t mean to be offensive, but if he’s so bad, why don’t you and this Council of yours just kill him?” “There is a proscription against killing other …” He found himself loath to say it out loud. “Vampires?” Sunni, however, seemed to be increasingly comfortable with the word. “Yes.” She shook her head with a dry chuckle. “I don’t believe this.” “I’m sure it is difficult to conceive.” “What’s the training going to do for me?” Jacob turned and looked into her wide green eyes. She had great strength, this one. He hoped it would be enough. “You will probably have to kill him at some point.” She threw her hands in the air. “Oh, come on!” Her lips quivered as exasperation melted into trepidation. She rubbed under her eyes with her knuckles. His heart lurched painfully in his chest. Without thinking, he reached out to her. Her tiny hand disappeared into his large one. Her bones felt as delicate as a bird’s wing. He didn’t want to let go. “You know you have hidden powers. You have felt them since you were small. You felt them when that man attacked you in the bathroom.” Sunni nodded. “I can teach you how to harness your powers, how to use them at will. You will be able to protect yourself, and those you love, from any harm that might come to them. You would like that, wouldn’t you?” She looked down. When she started speaking it came out slowly and thoughtfully. “It’s not that I want power for its own sake, or even to be able to kick ass with abandon, although that would be nice. What I want is to understand myself. Do you know what I mean?” “I think so.” “If you can give me that I’ll go with you and learn whatever lessons you want to teach me.” “All right. “ Jacob rubbed his hands briskly. “Go home and get some rest, you look very tired. Come back at dusk. And wear warm clothes.” After Jacob escorted Sunni to the door he picked up the phone and dialed Scipio’s cell number.

“Pronto.”Jacob heard soft classical music in the background. “Jacob?” “Yes, it’s me.” “Do you have any information on Lazarus? Has he made contact with your dhampir?” Jacob squeezed his eyes shut, contemplated the lies he was going to have to tell, and then opened them again. “No, not yet. Perhaps he’s here for some other reason.” He thought of telling Scipio about the other dhampir in San Francisco, the one the Council didn’t know about. It would take some of the pressure off Sunni, but it would cause complications that might make things even worse. No, he would save the information for a more compelling moment. “I think we both know that Sunni Marquette is the most likely reason.” “I believe I should start training the dhampir, Scipio. If she needs to battle Lazarus she must be in full command of all her skills. Right now she has no idea what she is capable of. ” He walked to the window and looked across the street into Sunni’s bedroom window. He was surprised to see her staring back at him. Her delicate, heart-shaped face bore an expression of worry and sadness. She lifted her hand to acknowledge him. “No,” Scipio shouted. “You know that is forbidden, Jacob. Dhampirs cannot be trusted to use their powers wisely.” “But this is an extreme situation, sir. We cannot leave her vulnerable.” “We shall not. You are protecting her. And if that becomes impossible, you know what has to happen.” “Yes, Scipio. I know my duty.” Jacob clicked his phone closed. He looked at Sunni for another moment and then turned away without acknowledging that he had been watching her. Jacob unlocked the passenger door of his forty-year-old Karmann Ghia convertible and ushered Sunni inside. When he keyed the ignition the engine coughed as if it was suffering from tuberculosis. For a moment it seemed like it would catch, but then it shuddered and died. “You’re all right, old girl.” He patted the dashboard and tried again, tapping the accelerator lightly. This time the engine started up. Jacob had loved cars since they were invented. He felt that humans treated them too cavalierly, using them for just a few years before putting them on the junk pile, to be replaced with a new model. Jacob’s cars were always decades older than the year he was living in, a fact which got him a lot of attention from old car buffs. These eccentrics were one of the few types of humans that Jacob could abide. They were patient, studious, detail-oriented, and had respect for history, none of which could be said about most people, especially the new Americans. Jacob was born an English citizen, but he considered himself a true American, by virtue of his participation in the Revolutionary War. The proto-American culture in which he’d grown up had had its faults, but it certainly wasn’t the lazy, self-referential, media obsessed, narcissistic society that had developed since. He glanced at Sunni, who sat with her arms clenched tight across her chest, her face turned away from him. Because of his long years of watching her, he sometimes thought he knew her. He knew her schedule, her habits, many of her likes and dislikes. But the woman sitting next to him now, he had no idea what she was thinking, no sense of who she really was. And yet she had insinuated herself into his thoughts, invaded him like a virus, so that now he was defying the Council in order to protect her.

Trapped in this small, airtight space with her, he found her scent most distracting. He rolled down the window a crack, but when the odor began to slip away he closed it again. He closed his eyes briefly and breathed it in. Her odor was akin to humans, as she shared half her biology with them, but it was different. He wondered if all dhampirs smelled like her: a spicy, intriguing, musky scent, light on the air but devilishly insinuating. All vampires had certain pheromones that were enticing to humans, but the biological system was so clever that each vampire smelled different to every human they encountered. It seemed they could calculate the human’s favorite scent and emulate it. Sunni must have begun to associate him with a unique scent, but she had never given him the impression that she was swayed by it. As he drove the familiar streets, his eyes drifted down to her feet, clad in sneakers, not those highheeled shoes she preferred. She must have realized they would be impractical for the tasks she would have to undertake. She wasn’t wearing stockings, or socks as they called them these days. The inch of skin between her jeans and her shoes was blemish-free and smooth as cream—it was the vampire blood in her. She probably never got sick, never succumbed to the myriad ailments that plagued humans. He looked a little too long at the swanlike curve of her neck rising out of her jacket and felt an uncomfortable heat rise in him. His mouth filled with saliva, his fangs dropped slightly before he caught himself and retracted them. This wouldn’t do. He stopped looking at her, turning his attention to the traffic even though it wasn’t necessary. The cars around him were moving at a snail’s pace, compared to his vampire reflexes. “Where are we going?” she asked. “To the Golden Gate Bridge. That’s where we’ll begin your training.” “What are we going to do on the bridge? ” “It’s probably better if you don’t know beforehand,” he said. Sunni hunkered down in her seat and was silent for the rest of the drive, which was unusual for her, he now realized. Richard was hungry. He sat in the lobby of the Mandarin Oriental, watching the night crew go about their lazy nocturnal duties. He was debating which one of them he was going to kill. It would be either the pretty little receptionist buying clothes she couldn’t afford from Bloomingdales.com, or the doorman—a short, muscular immigrant man whose clothes were redolent of spices that reminded him of his travels in the tropics. Yes, he’d have the doorman. He was reading the Bible, so his blood would probably be clean. And if he was lucky, the man might put up a bit of a fight and make things interesting. He walked to the bell desk under the awning out front, where the doorman was leaning on his elbow, immersed in the Old Testament. He lifted his head at Richard’s approach. “Need a taxi, sir?” Richard opened his mouth to speak but was interrupted by the arrival of a black limousine at the curb. The doorman stepped toward the car. “Just one moment, sir.” He opened the passenger door and Enzo stepped out. The yeoman’s expression turned to surprise when he saw his quarry standing at the bell desk. Richard reached into his suit pocket and slipped on his deerskin gloves. Then he stepped forward with a smile. “Good evening, Enzo. Lovely suit you have on.” It wasn’t, it was made of garish fabric and cut far too tight across the chest and shoulders, but Enzo had never had much taste.

“Scipio would like to speak to you,” Enzo said. “Of course he would. Is your stooge in there also?” “You mean Patrick? Yes, he is.” “Very good.” Richard handed the doorman a twenty-dollar bill. “It’s your lucky night,” he said. “Yes, sir,” the man answered without comprehension. Enzo held the door while Richard climbed into the limo. Scipio and Patrick were occupying the same positions they’d been in the last time they’d come for Richard. “This is getting to be a habit, isn’t it, Scipio?” Richard reached out his gloved hand, but the Roman didn’t move. “Did you want to ask me again what I’m doing in San Francisco?” “No. I’m here to tell you to leave. Go back to London tonight.” Richard sighed. “We’ve been over this before, Scipio. I don’t recognize the Council’s jurisdiction over me.” “We’re not asking. This is your last chance, Richard. “ Scipio gestured toward the two large men on the opposite seat. “No, I believe it’s Patrick’s,” Richard said quietly. Scipio snapped his fingers, and Enzo and Patrick moved forward at lightning speed. Richard reached into his pocket. His gloved hand emerged holding a length of silver chain, so thin and delicate a human child could have broken it. In a single smooth movement, born of years of practice, he coiled it around Patrick’s bare neck. Patrick squealed like a dying pig as his flesh began to smoke. The young vampire reached for the chain, but when his fingers encountered it, they burned as well, releasing a sickly sweet, charredodor. Enzo backed away as Patrick’s legs scrabbled uselessly against the seats and floor. “A little tighter and I’ll have his head off,” Richard said calmly. “We wouldn’t want that, would we?” Patrick’s screams were reduced to coughs and wheezes as the chain seared deeper into his skin. Richard sighed with pleasure, not just at Patrick’s pain, but at the other vampires’ helplessness in the face of it. “Stop it, Richard,” Scipio said. He reached out, but didn’t touch either of them. “Let the boy go.” There was a sucking sound as Richard pulled the chain from Patrick’s neck, taking bits of flesh along with it. Patrick whimpered.

“Dio,” Enzo muttered, making the sign of the Cross. Richard slipped the silver chain back into his pocket and opened the car door. “You will regret this, Lazarus,” Enzo said as he held a handkerchief to Patrick’s wound. Richard stepped out of the car and bowed to the men inside. “Patrick, here’s a lesson for you, since your bosses don’t seem to be teaching you anything. Regret is a dangerous emotion for us. We live far too long to be able to sustain it. Leave regret behind, along with your other human emotions, and you’ll make a much better vampire.”

He got out and gently closed the car door behind him. The sun had just set, leaving the sky washed pink and gray like the inside of an oyster shell. Therewas no fog, but a hard, cold wind was blowing in from the ocean. Sunni stood on the fenced-off pedestrian area of the Golden Gate Bridge, gazing at the sunset across six lanes of traffic moving at fifty-five miles an hour. Although she’d dressed in long underwear, jeans, and a down jacket, she still felt cold. “This is good,” Jacob said. He was dressed all in black: jeans, T-shirt, leather jacket, and knit cap. All of that dark fabric made his pale face all the more striking. His eyes flicked horizontally as he watched the cars, as if he was reading a book. “Your first task will be simple. Run across the bridge to the bike lane on the other side.” Sunni put her hands on her hips and stared at him. “You have got to be kidding me.” A car horn blared very close to them, making her jump. “The cars move slowly on this bridge,” Jacob said. “Good for practice.” “Practicing what? Being made into hamburger?” Jacob took a step closer and put a hand on her arm. “Have you read stories of humans having incredible rushes of strength in times of great stress, like lifting a car to free a trapped child?” “Yeah. I thought they were baloney. ” “No, it’s not baloney. And your power operates under the same principle. You’ve never experienced it because you’ve never been in a life or death situation, so it’s never been activated. But it’s there, waiting, more power than you ever imagined.” Sunni stared at the whizzing cars. Drivers talked on cell phones, picked their noses, played with radios, or held the wheel carefully. Whatever dangers they might be anticipating, a person jumping in front of their car probably wasn’t one of them. “What will the drivers do? I’ll cause a pile-up. People will get killed.” He shook his head. “If you do it right they won’t even see you.” “And if I do it wrong?” He pressed his lips tightly together. “Jacob?” “Don’t do it wrong.” Sunni stood at the edge of the curb and grasped the metal chain that barred the traffic lanes. Pedestrians passed in couples and groups, laughing and talking, taking pictures of the city, jogging or race-walking. The few who were alone walked hunched in their coats, seeming lonely and bereft. No one looked at Jacob and Sunni. “Climb over the chain,” Jacob said. “I’m afraid.” He nodded. “That’s as it should be.” She put one trembling leg over the chain and then the other, and stood clinging to it, teetering on the

small curb. This must be how people feel before they jump off this bridge, Sunni thought. Scared shitless. That was her last thought before Jacob pushed her into the traffic. She turned her head left to stare into the headlights racing toward her like a volley of bullets. Terror struck her body like a bolt of lightning, electrifying every part of her. Sunni felt a surge. It was as if she’d stamped on the gas pedal of a race car and felt the kick of acceleration like a wave rolling through her gut. Her eyes burned, and for a millisecond she went blind. But when her sight came back the sea of lights had separated. Each pair of headlights was isolated, its speed and relative distance from her as easy to calculate as on any city street. She paused, teetering on the white line in front of the first lane. Now! She dashed to the next white line, feeling a rush of air on her back as a car passed within inches of her. She turned her attention to the next lane. Now! She jumped into the road, but this car was coming faster than the first. She had to turn right and run with the car a little distance before she was far enough in front of it to head left again. As she turned she stared the driver straight in the face. He was a pudgy man, about fifty years old, with grimy eyeglasses and a day’s growth of beard. He looked straight at her, but his face registered nothing. In less than an eye blink he was past her and she was on the next line. One more lane of traffic to go. Now! When she reached the bicycle lane Jacob was waiting to greet her. She hadn’t thought him capable of smiling the way he was now. He picked her up and twirled her around in a circle until she was dizzy. Finally he set her down and cradled her face in his hands. “I did it!” she cried. He nodded as he wiped the tears from her eyes.

Chapter 13 When Richard invited Isabel to the Lalique, Tiffany, and Faberge exhibit at the Legion of Honor Museum she told him that she didn’t generally attend exhibits like that; they were too crowded and difficult to maneuver with her crutches. “Oh, you won’t have to worry about that,” Richard said. “Why, you’re going to cure me of MS?” Isabel was joking, of course, but what she didn’t know was that it was entirely within his power to cure her of MS, and any other human infirmity that might be inconveniencing her. But her simple little mind wouldn’t have comprehended that answer, however, so he simply told her to trust him. When they arrived at the museum the guards were just locking the front door, but the curator of the exhibit brought them in the freight elevator to the basement exhibition space. After a bit of fawning over Richard, he left them alone to wander the rooms at their leisure. Isabel had been hopping from case to case like a jackrabbit, oohing and ahhing over the gilded and bejeweled eggs made for Russian royalty and the Art Deco jewelry designed for the nouveau riche of the Industrial Revolution. Richard, who had seen it all before and owned quite a bit of it himself, plastered a smile on his face and followed a step behind Isabel, quietly telling her little anecdotes about certain pieces: which queen had owned what egg, which tycoon made a gift to a penniless actress of a fourteen carat emerald welded into the mouth of a turquoise and aquamarine dragon. He wished it were Sunni whose hot breath was steaming up the glass case holding a particularly delicate Lalique hair comb in the shape of a butterfly, but then again, Sunni probably wouldn’t be breathing with that much enthusiasm. Sunni was difficult to impress, which made her all the more intriguing. He was not going to be able to reach her through the usual channels. She was impossible to glamour, and Jacob was probably even now hardening her heart against him with his lies and insinuations. No matter. He had found an even better, more insidious method for luring Sunni to his side. And the added benefit was the fortune that the father of this gentle, bovine woman had placed at her disposal. He would leave San Francisco with Sunni as his partner and the LaForge millions in his bank account. After that the Council could kick and scream all it wanted because it would have no power over Richard Lazarus anymore. In fact, perhaps he’d form his own Council, padded with the offspring that he and Sunni would produce. He smiled at this idea. Isabel, thinking that the smile was for her, beamed back at him. “Thank you, Richard, this was a wonderful idea.” Richard put his hand on her waist and led her to a bench in the center of the room. Gold, silver, and jewels glittered all around them. It was like being in the room with Rumpelstiltskin after he’d woven all the straw into gold. “I have something for you,” Richard said. He pulled a velvet case about the size of a pack of playing cards out of his pocket and presented it to Isabel with a flourish. “Ooh, you shouldn’t have.” Her cheeks flushed bright rose. A rich, salty scent filled the air as her blood pressure began to rise, and Richard felt a slight twinge as his fangs dropped. He tested them with the tip of his tongue. She snapped the case open and gasped with genuine awe. Richard was pleased. As innocent as Isabel was, he imagined she had a safe deposit box somewhere filled with baubles that would strike the average girl dumb. But this was no average jewel. It was a Lalique brooch, a platinum leopard studded

with yellow diamonds, manufactured in Paris in 1911. Owned by the wife of John Jacob Astor, the brooch had survived the sinking of the Titanic. (The same, unfortunately, could not be said for John Jacob.) It was scheduled to be in the exhibit until an unnamed collector bought it for an undisclosed sum and it disappeared from public view. “I couldn’t accept this. It’s too much,” Isabel pushed the case back into his hand. “Nonsense. I want you to have it. It is a unique jewel, for a unique woman.” Isabel blushed harder. “May I?” Richard removed the brooch from the case. His hand hovered near Isabel’s bosom. She nodded. He delicately pinched and lifted a swatch of her low-cut sweater. Her lips parted, her breath became labored as he drew close. He pinned the brooch onto her sweater, brushing her skin lightly, accidentally, with his fingers. Her eyes were soft and gleaming, wide as a doe’s as she gazed at him. He didn’t even need to glamour this one. He bent to kiss her neck, allowing his fangs to graze the soft skin just under her chin. She shivered and sighed. Her body surged forward. It required no effort on his part. She practically impaled herself in her eagerness to be close to him. Her blood pumped, gently at first, then more strongly as her heart rate increased. She swooned, and he caught her body with his arm, pressing her tight against his chest. Ah, he loved the thrill of doing it in public places! At any moment a guard, the curator, any human idiot might stumble upon them. Oh, at first they might think it was a mere tryst, nothing to worry about, until they saw the blood trickling down Isabel’s neck, circling her breast and cascading into her cleavage. He allowed himself to imagine a scene of carnage, of himself set free, killing dozens of guards, police, museum patrons, anyone who got in the way, crushing their bones as he sucked them dry as corn husks. It would be mayhem. It would be beautiful. He lifted his head and his fangs retracted. Isabel lay in his arms, her eyes half closed, lost in a blizzard of sensation. There was no blood on her neck or chest. He had been as neat as a Victorian schoolmistress. The time for mayhem had not yet come, and if Richard had learned anything over these long years, it was patience. Sunni stood on a tiny platform high up on one of the towers, accessible by a ladder made of struts welded into the metal. The struts were placed impossibly far apart to discourage anyone who wasn’t a safely tethered bridge worker, but Jacob had scampered up as nonchalantly as a monkey swinging through the forest canopy. Sunni, once she was able to suspend her disbelief, followed almost as nimbly. The wind at this elevation was a howling monster, desiccating her eyeballs and flapping her cheeks like laundry on a clothesline. Three hours ago it would have been unbearable, but Jacob had taught her to focus her senses, to tune out distracting sensations, such as pain, in favor of hearing and vision. The silvery backs of a school of dolphins looked like half moons cutting the water as they leaped into the air. “Jacob, what would happen if I jumped off thebridge?” She spoke in a normal voice, knowing that despite the screaming wind he would hear her. Looking down into the gleaming black water, one arm firmly clenched around her waist, he shrugged. “Nothing, probably.” “Let’s do it!” He shook his head vigorously. “Oh, no, not me.” She stared at him, surprised at his refusal. So far, Jacob had stayed at her side, performing every task that he had asked of her. At first he’d been much faster, but she had been pleased to find herself

catching up to him. A couple of times he had been forced to save her, once when she misjudged a car’s speed and once when she lost her footing on the wave-dampened underside of the bridge, but now she felt like nothing could stop her. “What do you mean, not you?” “I can’t swim.” She laughed, one brief hard yelp. Then she looked at him to see if he was laughing, too. He wasn’t. “Go ahead,” he said. “I’ll meet you on the beach.” He leaned over, and for a moment the screaming wind was halted as he pressed his lips against her cheek: ice against ice. Then he was gone. When she looked down he was already on the walkway. She stared straight ahead and stepped into space as if she was walking out her front door. Instantly she was hurtling downward. The sensation was like being shot from a gun through concrete. Her skin felt as if it was being flayed off her body, leaving every nerve ending screaming.

Whoever said that jumping off the Golden Gate Bridge was a quick and easy way to die never tried it. The obsidian ocean rushed up to greet her. She felt no power, no strength, only a desperate, helpless panic. Her body curled into itself as she twisted and tumbled through the air like a ball in a bingo cage. The change came not a moment too soon. The power began as a tiny flame in her core, but when she concentrated it caught fire and raged throughout her body. She straightened her arms and legs, the wind harmless as a breeze, and turned so that she was in a diving position. She cut the surface of the bay as neatly as an Olympic diver dropping into a swimming pool. The power stayed with her as she swam, rendering the cold and five-foot swells hardly noticeable. Instead she noted the crystalline shine of moonlight on the water, and the way the lights of the city winked like flickering fireflies. She noticed a rhythmic pattern to what looked like flashes of light on the water’s surface, but after watching for several seconds she realized that it was the pod of dolphins, swimming about a hundred yards away. She swam closer to them, close enough to feel the surge in the water as their powerful bodies raced forward in unison. She was swimming next to a mother and a calf. As she looked into their round, shiny black eyes, the upward curve on the dolphin snout had never seemed more like a smile. The little one leaped out of the water. His tail flipped up as he met the air, an exuberant gesture that seemed to say, “You try it, too!” So Sunni did. She lifted her chest and arms as if she was going to do the butterfly stroke, and her body was airborne, the curve of her back matching the position of her little dolphin friend. She kicked her feet just before she sliced back into the water. The mother dolphin chirped her approval. For a moment Sunni contemplated giving up the human world and just staying with these peaceful, intelligent beings, but she knew her strength wouldn’t last forever. She could already feel a burning pain in her arms and legs that said her swimming time was almost over. Reluctantly, she turned toward land. She could see Jacob standing on the beach. With her telescoping eyesight she could even see the anxious look on his face as he scanned the bay. She was standing in neck-high water before he noticed her. Her heart leapt to see his anxiety change to happiness, but then she realized that this change of expression meant that he hadn’t been entirely sure that she would survive. Come to think of it, she hadn’t been so sure herself when she was hurtling toward the water at a hundred miles an hour. He stayed well back on the beach, watching her as she came toward him. He had a blanket in his

hands, which he threw over her shoulders. “Where’d you get the blanket?” she asked. “I broke into someone’s car,” he said. “Are we allowed to do that?” She rubbed her hair with the blanket. He laughed. “You mean is it against our laws? ” “I don’t know what I meant. I don’t know what I meant by ‘we,’ for that matter.” He scooped her up, blanket and all, tucked her into his arms and ran. He glided as if on invisible skis across the beach and the road that led to the bridge. When he reached the forested hill on the other side he took it in leaps like a deer or a mountain goat, bounding in a zigzagging pattern around the trees and boulders. She had been feeling quite smug about her accomplishments, but this display of dexterity made her humble again, especially given that he was carrying her as nonchalantly as she carried her briefcase. At the top of the hill was Fort Point, built during the Civil War to deter a Confederate attack that never came. Jacob paused briefly in front of its red brick façade, contemplating the arched windows marching in regulation across its surface. Sunni started to put her feet down, but he just tucked her under one arm and used the other hand to scale the building. When they reached the roof he placed her down gently on a pile of dry leaves. He wasn’t even breathing hard. She fell on her back, laughing harder than she had since she was a child. She laughed until tears poured out of her eyes and she could scarcely catch her breath. Jacob leaned over her, watching with a bemused expression. “What’s so funny?” he said. She shook her head, desperately trying to form words around her helpless chortles. “It’s … not … funny …” she choked. “Oh, I see,” he said, although he clearly didn’t. Finally she managed to control herself, although the laughter still bubbled up like hiccups. “It’s fantastic, don’t you see, Jacob?” He tapped his chin with one finger. “Fantastic. As in wonderful, or unbelievable?” “Yes,” she breathed. Her heart was still pounding, and her breathing was shallow and quick, but it was no longer a consequence of laughing. Now it was an acute awareness of Jacob leaning over her, his dark wavy hair falling across his forehead, his blue eyes reflecting the moonlight. He licked his lips and his pearly teeth glinted with moisture. Her heart lurched. Were those fangs she had glimpsed before he closed his mouth? He moved closer. She felt her face soften, her lips parted, her chest lifted. She moved inexorably toward him, unable to resist even if she wanted to. “Sunni, I can’t do this,” he said, his voice strangled in his throat. He grabbed her shoulder, but whether it was to pull her forward or push her away she couldn’t tell. “Yes, you can,” she whispered. “I’m not human. You just saw that. You can’t hurt me.” “Oh, I can,” he said, still resisting. “But you won’t.” He closed the distance between them. Slipping his hand behind her head, he lifted Sunni to him, his

mouth meeting hers with force. His other arm encircled her back. She heard and felt a thrumming sound that filled her head and body. Her skin vibrated with its rhythm. It was their hearts beating in unison, as if they had become one being, incapable of existing without the other. He pulled away, drawing back so that he could look at her. “Do you want to bite me?” she asked. He nodded, his face contorted with suppressed desire. “But I don’t want to frighten you, or have you think ill of me.” “Who do you bite, men or women?” “Mostly women.” “How do they respond when you bite them?” His cheeks flushed and he glanced away. “It is an enjoyable experience, if we desire to make it so. It is part of our predatory adaptation that we can make humans desire to be taken by us.” “Do me a favor. Don’t ever say predatory adaptation again.” He smiled. “All right.” “So go ahead. Do it. I want you to do it.” She pulled him down to her. His lips grazed her neck. She felt her blood rise up to meet him. When his fangs entered her a tremor of pleasure rolled through her body. She shook like a small animal caught by a predator, but he held her tight. He was correct about the pleasure she would feel, but he hadn’t warned her of its intensity. She was poised on a precipice, exquisitely balanced between life and death, experiencing every sensation magnified a thousand times. Every nerve ending in her body had come to life and she felt excitement from the top of her head to the tips of her fingers and toes. No body part had primacy; she was one organ of pure sensation. Yet deep at the center of all of this sensation was a core of emotion. She felt herself connecting to Jacob in a deep and indescribable way, felt their hearts entwining as firmly and as surely as their bodies. As Jacob drank, Sunni felt her life turning on its axis. Whatever happened after this, she would never be the same.

Chapter 14 Jacob ran, dodging eucalyptus trees with bases wider than a car, leaping over fallen branches and shrubbery, his feet barely touching the ground. Sunni was asleep on the roof of the fort, and he couldn’t just sit there and watch her. Every muscle in his body was taut as a bowstring, and he hoped to release the tension with a bit of hunting. But even as he ran he obsessed: about what was going to happen next with Richard and the Council, and about his overwhelming desire to take Sunni fully and entirely, body and soul. He was in pursuit of a six point stag. Every sound registered in his heightened senses, from the tapping of a woodpecker to the grinding of a termite. The stag crashed through the undergrowth, zigzagging wildly in its effort to lose the predator on its tail, but there was no contest between them. Jacob was simply enjoying the hunt, appreciating an opportunity to exert himself. The stag was getting tired, though. It was time to take him down, drinka little bit, and let him go back to the herd. Jacob leaped into the air, feeling buoyant as a bird. Then, as suddenly as if he’d hit a trip wire, Jacob pulled up short and dropped to the ground, on his feet, but barely. The deer continued to run, unaware in its panic that it was no longer being pursued. Jacob’s fangs dropped, his legs and arms tensed, every nerve stood at attention. He turned toward the sound of footsteps. Enzo Rizzoli stepped from between two trees, adjusting a wine red tie against a cherry-colored shirt with a hand that sported three rings and a heavy gold bracelet. He and Jacob bowed to each other, performing the greeting that had been standard when each had been alive. “That was quite a show, Jacob,” Enzo said. “I haven’t seen hunting like that since Napoleon’s time.” “You mock me,” Jacob said, but mildly. Enzo clapped him on the back. “You were rather slow. ” “I was taking my time, enjoying the chase,” Jacob grumbled. “What do you want, anyway?” “Scipio wants to see you,” Enzo said. “Where is he? ” “He is very close.” They walked to the edge of the woods, where a black Escalade idled in an empty parking lot. Jacob could see two other vampires inside: a tall female with chestnut hair was driving, and in the passenger seat sat a blond male whose highly developed musculature made his suit jacket look like it was stuffed full of potatoes. He was wearing dark glasses, even though the sun was only a glowing half sphere rising behind the eastern hills. Around the vampire’s neck was a ring of angry red scar tissue. “What happened to the young yeoman?” Jacob asked. “Lazarus used a chain on him.” Enzo sighed. “Poor boy. He didn’t even know about such things. He thought by becoming a vampire he’d be invincible.” “Where’s Scipio?” Jacob asked, feeling adrenaline pump through his limbs and torso. He had no intention of fighting Enzo and the other vampires, but his body didn’t seem to know that. “I’m not at liberty to say,” Enzo replied.

“Come now, ragazzo, what’s going on here?” Jacob knew that Enzo couldn’t lie to him. They had been friends since they were young yeomen together in Europe. At about the same age, both had been forcibly converted by an unscrupulous vampire. In Enzo’s case it was his own mother, who had turned her whole family in a hopeless attempt at preserving the domestic bliss she had known as a human. Both had been military men, and both had joined the Council to restore order to a life that no longer made any sense. Enzo sighed. “You are summoned before the Council. They are meeting in the secret place.” Jacob thought of Sunni, asleep in the leaves on the roof. “I’m in the middle of something.” Enzo smiled apologetically. “I’m afraid I must insist.” “Do you know what they want? ” He shrugged, pushing out his lower lip. “It is not for me to say.” Jacob climbed into the backseat. The car headed east, with the beach on one side and rows of boxy, pastel-colored houses on the other, everything aglow in the fiery light of the rising sun. The woman vampire drove very fast, barely applying the brakes, weaving in and out of traffic, both on her own side and in the opposing lane. Several times she avoided obstacles by driving on the sidewalk. In a human this would have been dangerous, but vampire reflexes were so fast that the other cars seemed like wagons drawn by mules. There was the possibility of being pulled over by the police, but then she would just glamour the officer and be on her way. It took less than two minutes to arrive at the Palace of Fine Arts, a gorgeous beaux arts temple left over from the Panama Pacific Exposition of 1915. The female vampire dropped all her passengers off without a word and sped away. “Cloak yourself,” Enzo said, but Jacob already had. The young vampire was having trouble. He flickered in and out like a dying lightbulb until Enzo thumped him on the back. “Concentrate, Patrick,” he growled. “Your mind is distracted.” Patrick stopped walking and squared his shoulders. In an instant he was fully cloaked. Two joggers passed within inches of him, causing him to jump back to avoid a collision. The three vampires skirted the pond that flanked the Palace and entered the center of the monument. Enzo smiled as he looked up at the circle of Corinthian columns, each one adorned with a maiden in Roman dress, splayed over the top of the column as if she was resting from the climb. Jacob knew the Palace, in its ruined splendor, reminded Enzo of his native Rome.

“Buona sera, ladies,” Enzo murmured to the statues. He led the small procession to a cement wall flanked by two columns. He felt around the mossy, pockmarked wall until his hand found its quarry. He pulled, and a door appeared. He waited for the other two men to enter and then he pulled the door closed behind them. They were at the top of a narrow, damp staircase that descended straight into the earth. There was no light, but none was required. They walked down the stairs and along a low-ceilinged hallway. Eventually they emerged into a vast, circular room that roughly mimicked the dimensions of the monument above them. There was an empty area in the center, tiled with marble, surrounded by ascending rows of seats, benches for spectators and chairs for the members of the Council. It was a small assembly. Four vampires sat in the lowest tier, facing a platform supporting a chair and a lectern. A glass and a pitcher of water sat on the lectern, as if they were expecting a speaker who would lecture at length. Jacob hoped he wasn’t the speaker they were waiting for, for he had very little to say in his own defense. He was a farmer, after all, not a lawyer.

At the far left of the group was Scipio. Even though he and Enzo were both Italian, Scipio possessed none of Enzo’s sartorial flair, as evidenced in the nondescript dark suit and white shirt he was wearing. He appeared as tired as a vampire was capable of, but he sat ramrod straight with his head forward, the very picture of dignity and nobility. He gave Jacob a small nod of acknowledgment. Next to him was a vampire named Nasim. He was Moroccan, if Jacob remembered correctly, and was dressed in traditional garb, a galabiya, its mandarin collar edged with gold braid. Nasim had been vampireborn in the mid-nineteenth century and had risen quickly in the ranks of the Council because he was a consummate negotiator and harbored no allegiances toward any of the old European vampire clans. Nasim was leaning over, whispering to a woman Jacob didn’t recognize. It was rare to encounter a vampire who had been turned in the twilight of their years, as this woman had been. Jacob didn’t know the reason for this: perhaps a lack of access or simply a lack of interest. After all, humans were usually turned for romantic or sentimental reasons, and it was the rare old man or woman who was capable of making a young heart flutter. The female’s wrinkles had been erased by the conversion process, but her shoulder-length hair was as white as a swan’s down. She was slender, pale even by vampire standards, and wore a plain black dress topped by a thick shawl. It was cold in the underground chamber, and although vampires couldn’t be harmed by cold, it bothered most of them, especially the ones who had lived before central heating. Jacob remembered too well the winters in Providence, when his wife drew the curtains on their bed and they huddled together under their blankets. It was some-times so cold that they couldn’t sleep for shivering. In the morning frost would rime the insides of the windows and the water in the washbasin would be frozen solid. The last Council member was a man Jacob knew well. Looking at Isaiah Eddington was like staring into some strange mirror, in which you could see not only your own image, but also the reflection of your whole family. It was a mirror that also reflected back your sins. In Isaiah Jacob saw his own face, tinted with the African blood of the slave who was Isaiah’s mother. He had Jacob’s aquiline nose and blue eyes, but his lips were fuller and his skin was the color of caramel. Isaiah didn’t acknowledge Jacob, only stared straight ahead as he waited for the proceedings to begin. Scipio stood as the three vampires reached the platform. “Jacob, please take a seat,” he said, in a formal tone. Jacob’s two guards evaporated into the darkness at the edge of the chamber, although he knew they were loitering somewhere nearby in case they were needed. Scipio sat down and spoke from his chair. “Jacob, you know Nasim and Isaiah. ” Jacob nodded. Scipio indicated the woman. “This is Melinda Peterson, of New York City. She is one of the newer members of the Council, turned only two years ago.” “Mistress Peterson. “ Jacob bowed, lifting back up just in time to see the woman nod at him curtly. “It has come to our attention that Richard Lazarus has been in contact with the dhampir called Sunrise Marquette, whom you have been assigned to guard.” The hope that Jacob had been harboring, that the Council might not yet know about Richard and Sunni, that he might be able to stall for more time, flew out the window. “That is, unfortunately, correct,” he answered. “But he hasn’t convinced her of anything. She isn’t on his side.” “That is irrelevant,” Melinda said.

Jacob tugged nervously on his nonexistent beard. Isaiah cleared his throat. “Jacob, your guarding of the dhampir had an inauspicious beginning, but since then you have carried out your duties with integrity. ” “Excuse me,” Melinda said, “but isn’t Jacob Eddington your brother?” “Half brother,” Isaiah replied. “We had the same human father. But what is your point?” “My point is that Isaiah is most likely biased,” she said to Scipio. Scipio’s lips twisted with irritation. “The Council heads sent him here, Melinda. It is not for us to question their judgment. We have a decision to make, so let’s confine our comments to the issue at hand.” Jacob was unable to sit still any longer. He rose to his feet. “What is the issue, by the way?” Nasim answered him. “I’ll speak frankly, Jacob. The Council has determined that Sunni Marquette must be eliminated.” Jacob swallowed slowly, holding his eyes and lips steady, not allowing his emotions to show. His hands wanted to ball into fists, but he kept them loose at his sides. If he gave anything away it would be a death sentence for Sunni. “Ordinarily it would be you who would undertake the task, but there is a question of whether you have been compromised. We are here to determine whether to reassign you or allow you to complete your mission.” Nasim’s handsome face stayed neutral as he spoke. Jacob paced to the edge of the platform, as close as possible to his interrogators. “Of course it must be me who eliminates her. I have been her guardian for twenty-four years. I know all her habits. For anyone else it could be dangerous. She is not aware of them yet, but when she is frightened her abilities appear, and they are formidable.” “Some Council members have questioned whether you have developed feelings for the dhampir,” Isaiah said gently. “If that’s the case it’s better for all concerned if you recuse yourself.” “I have no feelings beyond concern for my fellow vampires and hatred for the traitor Richard Lazarus. I will do my duty, you can depend on it.” Jacob stared into Melinda’s pale blue eyes, trying to control his rampant emotions but knowing that she was reading him like a book. “I have grave concerns about you, Jacob Eddington,” Melinda said. “It’s time to vote,” Scipio said decisively. “All in favor of allowing Jacob Eddington to complete the task of eliminating the dhampir Sunrise Marquette, raise your hand.” Just as Jacob expected, the three men’s hands lifted. Melinda’s gaze was icy. Why did she hate him so much, he wondered. Scipio looked down at Jacob. “You have three days to complete your task, Jacob. We are sending Enzo Rizzoli to assist you. When it is done, report back to the Council for reassignment.” “I object,” Melinda shouted. She rose to her feet, aiming an accusing finger at Jacob. “He’s in love with her, it’s as obvious as the nose on his face. He cannot be trusted with this task. The consequences of Richard Lazarus joining forces with this dhampir would be disastrous. We must reassign him.” Nasim seemed to find her outburst embarrassing. He looked away into the darkness. Isaiah kept his blue eyes focused on Jacob. His half brother knew everything that Jacob had lost and Richard’s role in it.

His vote had been purely personal. Scipio gazed at Melinda with patience, like a benevolent parent watching a child have a tantrum. “The vote has been taken, Counselor.” He clapped his hands twice. “Enzo!” Enzo and Patrick soundlessly materialized out of the darkness. “Yes, sir?” Enzo asked with a slight bow. “Did you hear the verdict?” He inclined his head. “I did, sir.” “Then go with Jacob, without delay. ” Patrick stepped forward. “May I go too, sir? I have never killed a dhampir.” His handsome, boyish face was suffused with excitement. “You wish to confront Richard Lazarus again, after that episode with the chain?” Scipio asked, with a slight note of sarcasm. Patrick’s face fell. “I thought it was just the dhampir.” Scipio waved a hand at Jacob and Enzo. “Go, now. You have seventy-two hours to execute the task.”

Chapter 15 Sunni awoke, curled in the stolen blanket, atop a soft pile of dead leaves. Golden sunlight warmed the concrete roof, and her clothes had dried while she was asleep. She felt perfectly comfortable, healthy and happy, only a bit hungry. She caught sight of Jacob in her peripheral vision, pacing along the crenellated wall, looking out to sea. She stood up slowly and stretched, brushing stray leaves out of her clothes and hair. He turned when she began moving, and retrieved a paper coffee cup and a pastry bag from a spot in the corner. “I hope this is still hot,” he said. “I didn’t want to wake you. ” The latte was lukewarm, but it tasted delicious, as did the cinnamon roll. Sunni had just swallowed and was about to speak to Jacob when she heard a rustling in the leaves and smelled an unfamiliar scent. This time the adrenaline rush was instantaneous. The latte cup hadn’t even hit the ground when Sunni landed directly in front of the other man on the roof, her small hands curled into fists. He took a step back, waving his hands in mock surrender. “You are right, Jacob, the lady is fast. “ He smiled broadly at Sunni, raising one eyebrow. He was very handsome, with a bold nose, heavy eyebrows, and dark, wild hair similar to Jacob’s. Sunni took a step back and lowered her arms. Jacob handed Sunni her cup, which he had caught in midair with a minimal loss of liquid. The roll had not been so lucky. It lay on the ground, crusted with dirt. “Sunni, this is Enzo Rizzoli, an old friend of mine. He’s going to help with your training. ” When Sunni placed her hand in Enzo’s he lifted it to his lips and kissed it lingeringly. She stepped back, flustered, while Jacob glared at Enzo. “What kind of training? “ she asked. “All of it,” Enzo replied. He surveyed the roof of the fort with disapproval. “We must leave here, Jacob. It is too exposed.” Jacob pointed to the vast military cemetery tucked into the eucalyptus forest behind them. Enzo smiled. “Excellent.” Enzo leaned against the parapet and peered over the fort wall. Sunni followed his gaze. A few people could be seen on the road and on the beach, jogging and walking dogs in the early morning sunshine. “We’ll need to cloak as we descend,” the vampire said. Sunni eyed Enzo’s brightly colored shirt andtie, the incongruous cross pendant lying on top. “Where’s your cloak?” Jacob stepped forward. “It is not a garment. Cloaking is a way we have of avoiding the eyes of humans.” Sunni couldn’t hide her skepticism. “You can make yourself invisible?” “Look at the bridge,” Jacob said.

Sunni obeyed, taking in the gorgeous vista of the brick-red bridge and the surrounding green hills and blue water. When she turned back Jacob had disappeared. The only thing indicating his presence was a slight shimmer in the air, like the air patterns over a road on a hot day. She laughed with excitement. “Wow! Can I do that?” “It’s an advanced skill,” Enzo said. “Even some young vampires can’t do it, because it is a mental skill, rather than a physical one.” “Show me,” Sunni begged. Jacob reappeared abruptly, as if he’d stepped through an invisible door. “Close your eyes,” Jacob said, and Sunni obeyed. “The process is something like meditation. You must focus all of your attention.” “On being invisible?” Sunni shifted from foot to foot, impatient to try it. “No,” Enzo replied. “On nothing. You must clear your mind. When your mind is empty then humans will not be able to see you.” “That makes absolutely no sense,” Sunni said. She opened her eyes and stared at Enzo. He shrugged. “Fine. Don’t do it.” Sunni puffed out her cheeks and sighed, but when she was finished with her slight fit of pique, she closed her eyes and concentrated. After a few seconds she opened them again. “How will I know if I’m invisible?” she asked. “Can’t vampires always see other vampires?” “Yes, but we’ll know if you are cloaked,” Jacob replied. “We’ll see that shimmer around you.” She closed her eyes and emptied her mind. The sensation wasn’t entirely unfamiliar to her. Sunni’s disrupted childhood had left her with a powerful need for inner peace, and one of the ways she’d searched for it was through Buddhism. She had spent several years in her twenties learning to meditate, and she drew on that knowledge to quiet her mind and clear it of extraneous thoughts. “She’s flickering, like Patrick,” Enzo commented. “Quiet,” Jacob hissed, but her concentration was broken. Sunni popped her eyes open. “Did it work?” she asked. “With practice you might be able to do it,” Jacob said diplomatically. Enzo laughed. “You are only half a vampire, so it stands to reason that you would only be able to cloak halfway. ” Sunni glared at him. “How do you explain how good my other skills are, then?” He gave her a sly smile. “I am not aware that you have any skills, beyond an obvious attractiveness. Would you like to show me?”

Sunni had been in a car accident when she was twenty-five that broke her pelvis, cracked three ribs and shattered her ankle. At least that’s what the emergency room physicians claimed, but when she was transferred to intensive care the new x-rays didn’t seem to match the old ones. She didn’t have any of the

injuries they had claimed, or rather she did, but they were old and already healed. The doctors were busy at the city hospital and released her with little more than a perplexed shake of the head, but Sunni vividly remembered the immediate, overwhelming pain upon waking up in the wreckage. That pain was what she was feeling now as Enzo bent her backward over an ivory headstone, punching her repeatedly in the face while the back of her head bounced off the monument. “Pain is in the mind, Sunni,” she heard Jacob say. “Remember what I taught you on the bridge. Separate yourself from the pain by concentrating on everything your senses take in.” It was beyond difficult to ignore when someone was punching the living crap out of you, but she concentrated on her hearing first, and as the sounds around her came into focus, the pain began to fade into the background. She heard sparrows chirping in the bushes nearby, and crows cawing farther away, high in the eucalyptus trees. Even further out she heard seagulls squawking in the air over the bay. Cars created a river of noise as they followed Doyle Drive onto the Golden Gate Bridge, and a single helicopter sounded like a giant egg-beater in the sky. Once the pain had subsided she focused her powerful vision on her attacker. She could discern immediately from the way he was leaning into her with his body and arms, but away with his head, that he was trying to protect his face. It made sense that someone as handsome as Enzo would not want to be punched in the face. Even if he was a vampire and knew that he would heal he wouldn’t want his features marred, even for a few minutes or hours. He probably didn’t want to get blood on his tie, either. Her hands had been on his chest, trying to push him away, but now she applied them to his face, scratching violently with one hand while reaching for his eyes with the other. Enzo immediately jerked back and Sunni slid out from under him. “Good girl, now you’re getting it,” Jacob shouted. She turned to see where he was, which turned out to be a terrible mistake. Enzo leaped right over her and grabbed her from behind, choking her with his forearm until her vision went black. “Fight back, Sunni. Use every part of your body as a weapon. “ She heard Jacob’s voice as if it was miles away and underwater as she began to faint, but by focusing all of her waning mental energy she was able to gather the loose strands of her consciousness and bind them together enough to think of her next move. She jerked backward, using her head as a battering ram to pound Enzo’s face. She felt his nose crack against her skull. His grip on her neck loosened and she jumped away. Blood ran down her forehead, blinding her in one eye. She turned around and before Enzo could regroup she took a flying leap, landing on his chest with her knees, raining blows down on his handsome face with both fists. He caught one of her arms and used it as a fulcrum to fling her onto her back. Then it was his turn to land on her chest. The air slammed out of her and her vision closed to a pinprick as she felt his hands close like a vise around her neck. This time there was no room to maneuver. All of her limbs were trapped.

“Buona sera, bella dona,” he murmured. Sunni thought it was strange that the sky chose that moment to open up, but as the soft raindrops caressed Sunni’s battered face she was happy for the distraction. As her consciousness flitted away like the last bird before nightfall, she felt a wave of sadness, thinking that she would never see Jacob again. There was so much she had wanted to tell him, but it was too late now. The pain was gone, replaced by a soft, velvety darkness that enveloped her in its cloudlike embrace and whisked her somewhere far, far away. “Stop!” Jacob grabbed his friend’s arms and wrenched him away from Sunni. He tossed him into the air with all of his strength, and Enzo flew straight up as if he’d been shot from a cannon. His body

corkscrewed twice before landing on the flat surface of a chestlike sarcophagus. The stone cracked in half and Enzo dropped into a muddy, foul-smelling pit. Jacob turned away to see to Sunni, but he had barely moved before Enzo burst out of the grave and barred his way. “I have a duty to the Council, Jacob. The dhampir must die.” Enzo crouched in a fighting stance, baring his glittering white fangs. Jacob’s fangs descended. He flashed them at his adversary. “I’ll kill you first.” The two men faced off, drenched with blood and rain, their eyes never leaving each other. Jacob never doubted that he would kill his friend if he had to, but he hoped that Enzo did not feel the weight of his own obligations as strongly. After a long moment Enzo stepped away. He stood up straight, smoothed his hair out of his eyes and adjusted his tie. Jacob retracted his fangs. The adrenaline washed out of his body, leaving his limbs trembling. Enzo shook his head sadly. “Not for a human. Don’t call in your chips for a human, Jacob.” Jacob shrugged. “I’ve made my decision. Leave us now, my friend. In twelve hours, go to the Council and tell them you lost me.” “They would never believe that I lost you! “ Enzo pounded his chest. “Tell them whatever you want. Just let me go.” Blue eyes bored into black ones. For a moment, as they stared each other down, Jacob wondered whether it was going to start again. But Enzo flicked his eyes away and made a tossing motion.

“Ciao, then, Jacob. I wish you luck. Richard will probably kill you, you know.” “I know. Good-bye, Enzo. You’ve been a good friend, more than I ever deserved.” Jacob took Sunni back to her apartment and put her in her bed, where she lay for several hours, drifting in and out of consciousness. Periodically he moved aside her makeshift bandages and examined her wounds, and each time he looked the skin was more knitted together, the bones underneath better fused. He was relieved to see that her healing powers were this strong. But he had also realized the sad fact that she was still human, and could be killed in all the human ways. Finally her eyes fluttered open and stayed focused. The whites were flecked with red from the capillaries that had burst during the fighting, but the green was as bright as ever. Her cracked lips broke into a smile when she recognized him. “Jacob, you’re here.” He blinked back tears. “Yes, I’m here.” “So thirsty …” “Let me get you a drink.” He ran to the bathroom, poured a cup of water and dampened a washcloth. He held her head while she drained the cup, and then gently cleaned the blood off her face. “Do you think you can move?” he asked. She lifted her arms and legs, and then sat up. He propped the pillow behind her head. “I guess so. Why?” “Because we need to leave now,” Jacob said. He stood and looked around her bedroom. “I’ll pack some clothes for you. Where do you keep your valise?”

“Leave? What are you talking about?” Jacob sat back down and cradled her face in his hands. He had already decided, while she was asleep, not to tell her that the Council meant to kill her, and probably imprison him, now that he had defied them. It was bad enough that Lazarus had her in his sights. “We must go now, far away. So that we can be together. ” Sunni’s smile inverted and her eyes narrowed. With a start, he realized that Sunni might not want to be with him. He had never professed his love, he had just felt it so strongly that he had assumed she knew. He drew back. “I’m sorry. I was being presumptuous.” She grabbed his sleeve with surprising strength. “I’m not mad at you, Jacob. But I’m also not going anywhere.” “But you must, if we are going to be,” he paused, floundering for words. “If we are going to be anything to each other. Lazarus already wants you for himself, how much worse will it be if he knows that I love you? You are the first woman I’ve ever loved since my wife died. This gives him a power over me that he hasn’t had in hundreds of years.” Sunni’s expression softened. There was a light in her emerald eyes. “What did you say?” “That Lazarus will have a power over me …” She shook her head. “No, the other part.” He licked his dry lips. “I love you, Sunrise, beyond all reason, beyond all measure. I love you more than life or liberty. All I desire is to keep you safe.” Her eyes widened, her hand flew to her mouth. “Oh, Jacob.” He hurried on. “We don’t have to be together, I understand if you hate me, I just want to get you somewhere safe. Then I will come back and deal with Lazarus once and for all …” “Kiss me, Jacob.” He stopped speaking. His mind went blank. She put her warm hands on his cheeks and drew him near. He breathed in the sweet scent of her breath and stared into the endless depth of her eyes. If only they could just stay like this, forever. Or perhaps a bit closer. Her eyes closed as their lips met, but he kept his open because he wanted to see everything, to take in every inch of her beauty. The kiss deepened and his fangs extended. Her tongue delicately probed the sharp points. She leaned back. “Can you make love like a human man?” He was shocked at her candor, but also excited by it. She made him feel like a schoolboy, childish and eager. “I have not, uh, attempted the act of love since I’ve been a vampire, but I know it is possible. ” Her eyebrows flew up in surprise. “You haven’t made love since the 1700s?” He couldn’t meet her amused gaze. “Is that funny to you?” “No, not funny at all. Surprising, though. You’re so enticing, women must have thrown themselves at you. How could you be so stoic?” “I didn’t love any of them.”

A tiny smile curved her lips. A rush of indignation flooded him. “I am no priest, Sunni, nor am I a eunuch. I have been with women in the vampire way, and it is very satisfying in its own right. ” She nodded. “I’ll vouch for that.” “But as for the other, if hasn’t seemed necessary.” She reached up and began unbuttoning his shirt. “I think it’s necessary. Right now.” “But you are hurt.” “Can you be gentle?” “I shall be whatever you want me to be.” She slid her legs over the side of the bed. “Please don’t take this the wrong way, but I think I need to take a shower first. I feel very dirty.” Jacob carried her into the bathroom and set her on the closed toilet while he turned on the shower. As it warmed he gently removed her torn and soiled garments. When he reached the lace brassiere that did nothing to hide the rosy areolas of her small, perfect breasts, he gasped. He had never seen anything so alluring. He pushed the flimsy fabric aside and dropped to his knees to pay tribute to her perfect bosom with his tongue. His manhood fought the constraining garments that trapped it. He blushed when he saw her admiring the shape under his trousers. “That’s so cute, you’re blushing,” Sunni said. “It’s the hot water.” The bathroom was indeed filling with steam. Sunni’s pale skin was taking on a warm pink glow. “Come in the shower with me,” she said. It seemed there was only a moment between her words and the divestment of all their clothing. Then there was nothing between them, just slick, slippery flesh, with hot water flowing over every inch. He found the soap and gently washed her, gliding over various bruises and cuts on her otherwise perfect body. She stepped closer and kissed him again. She was so small he had to bend low, so he simply picked her up. She wrapped her legs around his hips. The hot, velvety feel of her sex against his organ was maddening and exquisite, as was the tide of blood that pounded through her small frame. It seemed she felt equally excited, as she panted and squiggled in his arms like a cat dropped in a pond. She moved her mouth off his just enough to whisper, “I usually use a condom.” “I harbor no human diseases, my love, but if you are worried about pregnancy we can …” She shook her head. “No, not that. Don’t say any more, Jacob, just take me, please.” It was such a small movement for him to lift her hips and position her body, then to slide her down so that he could enter her inch by magnificent inch, but it had volcanic results. Her head rocked back and she gasped, then cried out with pleasure. Noises emanated from his throat that he did not recognize. His mouth lay open against her neck, his fangs grazing her skin as he thrust into her from below. He wanted so badly to drink from her. “Do it,” she screamed, as if she had heard his thoughts. She pressed his head against her throat. “I

want you to drink me.” He did, and in the rush that followed they climaxed simultaneously, in great shuddering waves that sent Sunni’s blood pouring down Jacob’s throat. He broke away to keep from taking too much, but held his tongue against the wounds until they were staunched. Sunni was making incoherent noises, somewhere between a shriek and a groan, while her tiny body bucked in his arms. When she finally went still, he lifted her chin and smoothed her ebony hair off her wet face. “Are you all right?’ he asked. “Never better,” she whispered.

Chapter 16 Sunni lay on the bed with her head against Jacob’s chest. She listened to the quiet pounding of his heart, trying to process everything that had just happened, what it meant and what their next move would be. Looking at their entwined hands, she couldn’t help noticing that although her own fingers were wrinkled like prunes, his were smooth and plump. “I have a confession to make, Sunni,” Jacob said quietly. Very gently, he lifted her off his chest and sat up. “I have been watching you for years. Since before your mother died.” Sunni nodded. “Well, that makes our relationship a little awkward, that you’ve known me since I was a little kid, and I hardly know you at all, but that’s okay.” “There’s more.” When he looked at her, there was no light in his eyes. His face was as immobile as a statue. “I am responsible for your mother’s death.” She pulled away so that no parts of their bodies were touching. “What are you talking about?” she whispered. “The Council has been aware of you since you were born. It is illegal to make a dhampir, but in general the Council allows them to exist—as long as they don’t fall into the hands of rogue vampires.” “So dhampirs are like nuclear weapons? The good vampires are allowed to have them, but aren’t supposed to use them? And the bad vampires aren’t allowed to have them, but they sometimes get them anyway?” “I’m no expert in nuclear weapons, but I suppose the analogy works. And I was assigned to watch over you, to make sure that you didn’t fall into the wrong hands.” Sunni got out of bed, pulling the antique quilt with her and wrapping it protectively around her body. “I should probably tell you, Jacob, I’ve already heard this story from Richard.” His eyes widened. “Oh, really?” “Yeah. I should have told you, I guess, but I didn’t really trust either one of you at the time.” She blinked hard. “He said that two vampires came from the Council to ‘acquire’ me. I remember those two vampires. My mother was fighting with them. Then another one came and tried to save her, but one of the first two killed her. ” “Let me guess,” Jacob said. “Richard told you he was the one who tried to save your mother and you.” “That was his story. ” Jacob shook his head, shaking with bitter laughter. In a few economical movements he jumped out of bed and pulled on his jeans. “Oh, he is clever, I’ve got to give him that. But Sunni, he mixed the story up. He was one of the first two vampires. He was not with the Council. He and another rogue vampire just decided to kidnap you.” He looked down at his empty hands. “But I failed. I am sorry.” Sunni glared at him. “Okay, spill it. The whole story. ” “There isn’t much more to tell. I saw the car, I saw them fighting, and I came running.” He paused with his eyes closed. For a moment his face looked ancient. “What, Jacob?”

He backed up until he hit the bedroom wall and then he pressed himself flat against it. “I saw it was Richard, and I was afraid, all right? I hesitated for a moment, and that was all he needed. He killed her. I came forward again, and they drove away. “ His fingers scrabbled, as if trying to dig their way out. “If I hadn’t hesitated, your mother would be alive today. ” Jacob’s history with Richard and his inability to confront him had been the cause of her mother’s death. It was also the reason why Sunni had endured years of loneliness and misery thereafter. Sunni felt her blood turn to ice in her body. “You’re a pretty piss-poor yeoman, aren’t you, Jacob?” He flinched, but he didn’t defend himself. “Why didn’t Richard come after me again?” “He has, hasn’t he? It took him twenty-four years, but he came back for you.” His voice was ragged. He turned his face away as if he couldn’t bear her scrutiny. “Why didn’t you tell me this before …” Sunni stopped, unable to finish the sentence out loud.

Before I fell in love with you. “I didn’t intend for any of it to go this far. I didn’t plan to love you.” She saw pain etched deeply into his face, like carvings in granite. “What do you want to do now?” he asked. Sunni felt as if a huge weight had fallen on her chest, slowly suffocating her. “I think we’re done here.” “All right then.” Jacob grabbed the rest of his clothes and threw them on. Sunni couldn’t bear to watch, but she couldn’t look away, so she stared at her chair in the corner and followed Jacob with her peripheral vision. Why did every move he made have to be so graceful? Love and hate, that toxic blend she had become so intimately familiar with since her mother died, no, since before her mother died, washed through her again. Jacob paused with his hand on the doorknob. “Even if you choose not to use my help, please don’t try to do anything alone. Go to Sherman Wong. He will help you.” Sunni stared at him, not believing her ears. “Sherman Wong? What the hell does he have to do with …” Jacob left the room before she could finish her sentence. She was numb, drained of any feeling, lifeless. She welcomed this lack of emotion. It was so much better than anger or sadness. If she felt nothing Jacob could never hurt her, never disappoint her. No second chances. “We’re getting married,” Isabel trilled. “Isabel’s here,” Carl belatedly announced, trailing Isabel into Sunni’s office. He raised an eyebrow, silently asking Sunni if she wanted him to get rid of the intruder. Sunni had come in early that morning, yelling that she had a dozen fires to put out and he should hold all but her most urgent calls. “It’s okay,” Sunni said, her hand covering the phone receiver. She’d been talking to the curator of a small museum in Paris, trying to establish the provenance of a Gustav Klimt painting that had just come up for sale. A Jewish family in Poland had owned the painting before the War, but it fell off the radar screen in 1942. She knew two other dealers wanted the painting

and if she didn’t put in an offer soon she’d lose her chance. Sunni told the curator an emergency had arisen, apologized, and hung up. “Sorry, Isabel,” Sunni said. “What did you say?” “Richard and I are engaged.” Isabel shook off her crutches and sat down in Sunni’s visitor chair. Hearing it twice didn’t make it any less unbelievable, so Sunni decided not to make Isabel say it a third time. She just stared at her with her mouth open. “When it’s right, you just know it,” Isabel said. Sunni did a swift mental recap. The dinner at Gary Danko had been on Monday, Isabel’s date was on Tuesday. Today was Friday. It was absurd how fast it had happened. But of course it seemed absurd. It had happened in vampire time. “I didn’t realize you even saw him again after you went to the symphony. I know he asked you, but you didn’t tell me you’d gone out.” “I omitted a few things,” her friend admitted. “Why would you do that? ” Isabel shrugged. “You’ve been busy.” Sunni’s stomach felt like she’d swallowed a dozen live goldfish. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I’m sorry, tell me about it now.” Isabel leaned back against the chair. A giant, bejeweled brooch in the shape of a leopard twinkled above her left breast, a gift from Richard, no doubt. It wasn’t Dennis’s taste. “We were at Jardiniere last night, and during dessert he got down on one knee. My heart almost stopped, I tell you.” “I believe it,” Sunni muttered, cursing herself for letting Isabel out of her sight. “‘Isabel,’ he said, ‘I would like to request your hand in marriage.’ Did you ever hear anything so romantic?” Sunni stared at her friend. Something about her was distinctly off. Even though she was talking about how wonderful everything was, her face was immobile. She barely smiled, and she spoke as if she was reading the words off cue cards. “We’re getting married on Sunday. Richard worked it out with the priest at St. Sebastian’s. The church was already booked up for the next six months, but Richard convinced him to add another slot at the end of the day. The ceremony is at seven o’clock.” So vampires could have church weddings? Sunni thought about the cross Enzo wore around his neck. It was starting to seem as if none of the stories humans told about how to vanquish vampires were true. “You’re getting married. At St. Sebastian’s. Great.” Sunni concentrated on breathing slowly and deeply while her stomach roiled. “And Sunni,” Isabel reached across the desk to touch Sunni’s hand, “I want you to be my maid of honor. ” “No,” Sunni blurted out.

Isabel’s brows dropped in confusion. “What do you mean, no?” Sunni pulled her hand free. “Isabel, don’t do this.” “What are you talking about?” Sunni jumped up and circled around the desk. “It’s too fast, don’t you see? You don’t know the guy at all.” “Richard says we know everything we need to know about each other,” Isabel pouted. “He may know everything he needs to know about you, but you know nothing about him.” “You don’t know that. You don’t know anything about our relationship.” Isabel’s words were angry, but her reactions still seemed muffled, as if she was half asleep. “I know a lot more than you think.” She lifted both hands. “Look, I’m not saying don’t do it. I’m just saying take your time. What harm could there be in that?” “Richard says it has to be on Sunday. ” “It doesn’t have to be on Sunday. It doesn’t have to be anytime!” “I know why you’re doing this …” Isabel said slowly. Sunni felt immense relief. Maybe even in her altered state Isabel understood that Sunni always had her best interests at heart. “It’s because of my illness. You don’t think Richard could love me because I have MS, so you’ve decided he only wants me for my money.” Sunni looked at her friend’s glassy eyes and slack mouth. She thought about what Jacob had said about his ability to hypnotize people. Glamouring, he had called it. Richard had done it to Jacob’s wife in order to drink from her night after night. Realization slowly set in. Lazarus must have glamoured Isabel so deeply that she remained under his spell even when he wasn’t present. It would do no good to argue. “I’ve changed my mind.” Isabel stood up, gripping the back of the chair. “About what?” Sunni asked. “About you being my maid of honor. I don’t even want you at the wedding if you can’t support me.” Isabel shoved her arms into her crutches. Her long blond hair swung to the side, momentarily revealing her neck. Sunni gasped. She skirted the chair and grabbed Isabel by the arm, pulling her hair aside. Two tiny wounds two inches apart, pale pink like the inside of a seashell, adorned Isabel’s soft white neck. Richard had left her a calling card.

Chapter 17 Fifteen minutes later Sunni charged through the lobby of the Mandarin Oriental Hotel. She was at the elevators before she realized that she had no idea which room Richard was in. She took a deep breath and walked to the reception desk. A balding, middle-aged man wearing mascara held up one finger as he spoke to someone on the phone. Sunni shifted from foot to foot. She was afraid if she had to wait too long she would lose her nerve. The man put the phone down. “How may I help you?” “Could you give me Richard Lazarus’s room number, please?” “I’m afraid we don’t give out that information.” He smiled apologetically. “Right, of course. Could you call him for me?” “I can do that. Who shall I say is here?” “Isabel LaForge.” The flicker of his eyelids told Sunni that he knew the name. Of course he did. Dennis owned the Mandarin Oriental. Sunni looked away, wondering if the man knew what Isabel looked like, but he seemed not to know or care. He dialed the phone. After a few words he hung up and smiled at her. “Mr. Lazarus says you can go right up. Room twenty-two twelve.” The hallway was long, quiet, and lavender scented. The door to 2212 swung open seconds after Sunni knocked. Richard looked at her with an implacable expression, and then stepped back to admit her. “Surprised to see me?” Sunni asked. “Not at all,” Richard said. He was wearing a blue silk smoking jacket over a blindingly white shirt, open at the collar. His hair was not its usual perfect shell: it looked mussed, as if he’d been running his fingers through it. Sunni looked at Richard’s handsome face and realized that it was a mask, hiding his true nature from his victims. Sunni had previously considered herself a good judge of character, but Richard had duped her. Maybe not as completely as he’d fooled Isabel, but enough that she had let her guard down long enough for him to take over her friend’s mind. And just because she now knew what he was didn’t make him any less dangerous. Richard was a viper, and as long as he was alive he was deadly. Sunni followed him into a living room that overlooked Union Square. He walked to the window and pointed to the statue in the center of the square, a female figure in flowing robes mounted on a pedestal several stories high. “Do you know what that statue is called?” Richard asked. Sunni shrugged. “Victory,” he replied. “I’d like to buy her, but I don’t suppose the mayor would part with her. Can I offer you a drink?” “Yes, I’ll have a whiskey. Do they have single malt in that little wet bar?”

He laughed quietly. “Are you mocking me?” “How so?” “That’s Jacob Eddington’s drink.” “I would never mock you. This is far too serious. ” “Fine.” He opened the cabinet and pulled out two little bottles. Without asking he added ice to a glass and poured the whiskey over it. He gave her the glass and sat down next to her on the couch. “What do you want, Sunni? I thought you made your position quite clear earlier.” “I want to know why you asked Isabel to marry you,” Sunni demanded. “What does she have to do with this?” When the vampire smiled it was like a wolf baring its teeth. Sunni could barely hide the shudder that went through her body. How had she ever found him charming? “It’s not Isabel I want, although I admit, her fortune will be a nice dividend.” “I don’t understand.” “You, Sunrise, you’re all I want.” Sunni fought off the fear that threatened to overwhelm her by focusing carefully on his words. “What are you planning to do with me once you have me?” He came even closer and she forced herself not to move away. Now his face was inches from hers. It was masklike in its perfection, smooth and hard as stone, with not a hair or a pore in sight. “I want children.” Sunni gulped hard. The air in the room had just gotten considerably thinner. “Your bloodline, combined with mine. Our offspring would be undefeatable. All I would need was one or two and I could rule the vampire world.” “My bloodline?” Sunni jerked backward. “You know who my father is! Tell me!” She grabbed his lapels and shook him. “Tell me!” Richard gripped her hands so that they were immobilized. “Oops,” he said. “I slipped, didn’t I?” Tears leaked out of Sunni’s eyes. “Please,” she begged. “You’re on the wrong track, Sunni. It’s not your father who gave you the vampire genes,” he said. “It was your mother. ” Sunni sat on a bench in Portsmouth Square Park, across the street from the Golden Dragon restaurant, waiting for Delia to come out and meet her. It was a cool but sunny afternoon and the park was full of people. A cluster of older men played chess under a pagoda-style roof and another group of elderly people performed tai chi exercises under a cherry tree. She could hear the happy shrieks of children in the playground nearby. Sunni stared at the pebbles set in concrete under her feet, chewing an already ragged fingernail. Richard had given her just enough information to shatter her equilibrium, but not enough to do her any good. Rose had been a vampire.

Thinking back, it made sense of certain things, like the fact that Rose never ate with her. She made sandwiches and bowls of canned soup, and then sat, absently smoking cigarettes while Sunni ate. As an adult Sunni had rationalized that it was the drugs that robbed her mother of her appetite, but now she knew the truth. But who was her father, and was he still alive? Richard had also, perhaps inadvertently, let loose one other fact. His story, coupled with Jacob’s, led Sunni to the inevitable conclusion that Richard had killed her mother. Jacob had failed to save her, but Richard had actually squeezed the life out of her. When that knowledge burned its way into her consciousness she had looked long and hard at Richard, smug in his smoking jacket, and resolved that she would have to kill him. And for that she would need help. Delia hurried across the park, shivering in her short-sleeved cheongsam dress. She sat down, looking longingly at a refreshment cart parked nearby. “Man, I wish I’d brought my wallet. I could use a hot dog.” “I’ll get you one. Do you want a soda?” Sunni bought two hot dogs and two cans of Sprite, and then led Delia to a distant bench under some trees, out of hearing distance of the other people in the plaza. She knew many of them didn’t speak English and the rest of them didn’t care, but she just couldn’t risk it. She popped open her can and took a long drink, buying time to organize her thoughts. “Delia, I need to ask you some questions that might seem strange.” “Shoot.” Delia spread the pickle relish more evenly on her hot dog and then took a bite. Sunni inched closer and spoke softly. “Are you half one thing, half something else?” “Half Chinese, you mean?” “No. I mean half human, half… vampire.” It sounded so absurd that she half expected Delia to laugh in her face Delia spoke through a mouthful of food. “You’ve figured it out, have you? You know you’re a dhampir?” “You knew what I am? Have you always known?” “Duh.” Delia slurped her soda. “Daddy knew as soon as he saw you.” Sunni put her hot dog in its little paper bowl on the bench. “So Sherman is a vampire?” Delia looked around, making sure no one was within earshot. “Don’t use names. Everybody knows him around here.” “Why didn’t you guys say anything?” “Daddy’s on the down low.” Sunni peered at Delia in confusion. “The vampire world thinks he’s dead, and he wants to keep it that way. ” “Not all of them. Jacob Eddington said I should go to your dad for help.” Delia’s expression went from confused to angry. She grabbed Sunni by the collar of her fleece jacket and twisted it so that it choked her. “If you’ve put Daddy in danger I’ll kill you.” Sunni coughed. She reached up and gently removed Delia’s hand.

“Jacob’s been watching me for years, Delia. He’s probably known about Sherman for years as well. If he was going to get him into trouble he’d have already done it.” Delia licked her lips. Her red lipstick was smudged from the hot dog. “Okay. What did this Jacob Eddington think you needed help with?” “A vampire showed up in San Francisco last week. His name is Richard Lazarus. He seems to be very powerful, and he’s planning to kill Isabel if I don’t do what he wants.” “Planning to?” Delia interrupted. “What kind of vamp ‘plans’ to kill people? They just do it.” “Not this one. He likes to play with his food.” Delia scratched her chin pensively. After a long moment she looked back at Sunni. “I’ll talk to my dad. If he wants to help you, he’ll find you. If he doesn’t, then you’ll have to let it go. Don’t come around us anymore. Don’t look for us.” Sunni nodded. “Okay.” “Promise me, Sunni.” Delia squeezed Sunni’s hand. “I promise.” The winds the next day were a little stronger than Sunni would have liked and the temperature hovered in the low sixties, but the sky was clear and the sun was shining, so by San Francisco Baystandards it was an ideal sailing day. She called Carl and told him to cancel her appointments, that she would be out of the gallery for the morning. One of the virtues of being the boss, Dennis had always said, was that there was no one to stop you when you wanted to play hooky. When she called Dennis, he agreed to meet her at the dock in an hour. They didn’t have to talk as they maneuvered the Rose out of the harbor. Replaying roles they’d acted out countless times before, Dennis unfastened the dock lines while Sunni fired up the engine. When they had cleared the mooring area Dennis let out the mainsail while Sunni manned the helm. When they reached open water Sunni turned the boat toward the Golden Gate Bridge. She filled her lungs with fresh ocean air and her eyes with the panoramic views: the jagged skyline of San Francisco with its distinctive pyramid-shaped building, the art deco–fluted cylinder of Coit Tower standing alone on its tiny hill. On the right the mountains of Marin County were still verdant from the spring rains. The towns of Sausalito and Tiburon stepped down the hillsides like Mediterranean villages. The wind was strong out of the west, and fifteen-foot waves dashed the boat from side to side like a giant cat was batting it between its paws. Sunni tacked toward Ocean Beach, hoping to find calmer water. Dennis appeared and handed her a mug of coffee, then he tossed himself onto a seat, adjusting his sailor’s cap against the glare. Sunni adopted the sailor’s posture, her knees pointed out, legs curved like parentheses for maximum stability. Salt spray stung her face. The smooth wooden wheel felt comfortable in her hands, familiar as her favorite coffee mug. Seagulls circled above, screeching their discordant cries, keeping an eye out for food, whether it was fish in the water or sandwiches in the hands of sailors. “So, how’re you feeling about all of this?” Dennis shouted over the roar of the wind. Sunni sipped her coffee. “I was about to ask you the same thing.” In fact it was the reason she’d asked him to come sailing with her. Sunni planned to unburden herself as much as possible to Dennis and enlist his help. He was human, but his wealth gave him access to unimaginable resources. She had never seen him encounter a problem that he couldn’t solve. Perhaps it

was naïve of her, but she hoped he could fix this, too. “It’s awfully fast,” Dennis said. “I’m trying to get her to give it a few months, but she seems to be in an awful hurry. ” “Can’t you just forbid it?” Dennis gave a dry laugh. “She’s thirty-two years old. How much good do you think it would do?” “Is there any way you could make Richard go away?” Sunni knew it was a shocking suggestion, but she felt she had to make it. Dennis came to stand next to Sunni at the rudder. He put one hand on the wheel and helped her steer, as he did when she was first learning how to sail. “Spill it, Sunni. What do you know that I don’t?” Sunni glanced at Dennis’s profile, his jaw line still strong at sixty-four, his hair gray but abundant, blowing in the strong wind. She had never told Dennis about Jacob, although it had crossed her mind many times. She had always known the old man had connections, that he could set a private detective on her “guardian angel” and probably find out who he was in less than a day, but when she thought about it she realized that if Jacob’s presence in her life was a mere coincidence she really didn’t want to know. But this was a different story. This situation was dangerous, and she needed help. “Dennis, Richard isn’t what he seems. I’ve learned some things about him over the last few days that are very disturbing. ” Dennis dropped his hand from the wheel. “Does he mean her harm?” “That’s not his main purpose. He’s using her as a part of a bigger plot.” “To do what? Get our money?” Dennis’s face was getting red. “Yes, among other things.” “Sunni, you’re being obtuse. Just tell me what’s going on!” Dennis shouted. A big wave crashed onto the boat. The Rose’s hull sunk so far into the surf that frothy seawater washed over the decks, soaking them to the knees. Dennis grabbed the wheel and helped Sunni bring the boat back on course. Sunni opened her mouth to tell him everything, but found that she simply couldn’t do it. If Dennis believed her then he would know that monsters existed, and his entire worldview would be destroyed. If he didn’t believe her then he would think shew as insane, and never trust her again. She quickly formulated a partly true story that she hoped would be plausible. “He wants me, Dennis. I’m part of some crazy plot Richard has about ruling the world. He knows I wouldn’t go with him willingly, but he also knows that I would do anything for Izzy. So if I go with him, he’ll leave her alone. If I don’t he’ll kill her, but after they’re married, so that he can have her money. He’s already brainwashed her, so there’s no reasoning with her. Either I go with him, or Izzy dies.” Dennis put his head in his hands and bent over. Another strong wave hit the boat, causing her to dip so far to starboard she was almost horizontal. Sunni had to pull Dennis up so that he wouldn’t be knocked unconscious by the wheel as she steered it hand over hand. The Rose finally entered into relatively calm waters near Ocean Beach. Sunni helped Dennis onto the wet bench, where he sat staring out toward land, looking stunned. Sunni reached out a hand and patted him on the shoulder. She had never seen him so diminished.

“Richard is a vampire, isn’t he?” Dennis asked quietly. For a moment Sunni could only stare at him in shocked amazement. “You know about vampires?” He shrugged. “I know they exist. I don’t know that much about them.” Sunni’s blood felt like ice water in her veins. “Dennis, do you know about me, what I am? ” He looked up at her. The sparkle was gone out of his green eyes. He looked years older than he had an hour earlier. “God help me, yes.” Sunni let go of the wheel. Dennis grabbed it from below. “Why … ?” she couldn’t finish the sentence. “Just a minute.” Dennis put Sunni’s hands back on the wheel. He walked to the bow and Sunni heard the creaking sounds of the anchor being released. When he returned he took her hand and led her to sit down with him. “I met a vampire once before, many years ago. That’s all I want to say about it.” He shook his head as if trying to release a painful memory. “I don’t know anything about them, and I can’t tell when one comes into my presence. I only know that they have certain powers. When Isabel brought you home I thought you were just a normal kid.” “A normal kid? ” He smiled affectionately. “Well, not normal, of course. You’ve always been special. But it took me a while to see that you had powers that weren’t human.” “Why didn’t you tell me?” Sunni had to restrain herself to keep from yelling at Dennis, from pounding on his chest with her fists. “It seemed to me that you could live a normal human life if you didn’t know. You didn’t need to drink blood, you could go out in sunlight. You weren’t afflicted with any of the usual vampire traits. ” “It seems vampires themselves aren’t afflicted with any of the usual vampire traits,” Sunni wryly commented. “Did Gloria know?” Dennis shook his head. “No. I wanted her to treat you like a daughter, and it might have been hard for her to understand.” Sunni snorted. “You think?” Dennis reached out as if he was going to take her hand, but then pulled back. “I’m not going to ask you to forgive me, Sunni. We have to make decisions as parents, sometimes they turn out to be right, sometimes wrong, but we have to live with them.” She was glad he didn’t ask for forgiveness, because she wasn’t ready to give it yet, but she took his hand. “I’m sure there’s a lot more to say, but we need to figure out what to do about Richard. Vampires can be killed, I know that. I just don’t know how, yet. ” “All right, this is what we’re going to do,” Dennis said. His voice was calm. He was used to issuing orders and having things go his way. Sunni hoped fervently that they’d go his way this time. “You’ve got to apologize to Isabel, and tell her you’re going to be in the wedding. This is not the time to be alienated from her.” “Okay. And then what?”

“I know a guy who knows a guy,” Dennis said. “For enough money I can make Richard go away. ” “Are these ‘guys’ human, or vampires?” “They’re human. I don’t know any vampire assassins.” Sunni chewed her lip nervously. “I don’t think there are any. Apparently it’s illegal for vampires to kill each other. It’s also against their moral code.” Dennis laughed drily. “Same for humans, but that’s never stopped us.” Sunni shook her head. “I’m not sure humans can kill Richard Lazarus.” “These guys have eliminated African dictators with armies of bodyguards. You say it’s possible to kill him? He’s not immortal?” “Yes, it’s possible.” “Then they can do it.” “If you say so.” Sunni was still not sure that human intervention would be enough, but unless Sherman decided to help them it was all they had. And at least she didn’t have to feel guilty that innocent people were going to get hurt. Dennis’s “guys” were obviously no angels. Sunni looked up. Dennis smiled at her with such affection that it made her heart lurch. “I know I said I wouldn’t ask for your forgiveness,” he said. “But I hope I can earn it someday.” She gave him a small smile. “I’m going to go below and call Isabel right now,” she said. As soon as Isabel said hello Sunni launched into her apology. “I am truly, truly sorry. You’re my best friend, Isabel, there’s no one I care about more in the world. I only want your happiness. You believe me, don’t you?” Isabel paused for longer than Sunni would have liked, but finally she spoke. “Yes, I believe you.” “Our friendship is too strong to let this get between us. Let’s talk this out, Isabel.” “What is there to talk about? You said you wouldn’t support my marrying Richard.” Sunni wondered if Lazarus was standing over her, listening to her conversation, then she pushed that idea out of her mind. “I won’t say anything more about Richard. I’m going to support your choice. I’ll be your maid of honor. I’m going to stand beside you and throw rice at you and dance at your reception. Okay?” “Okay,” Isabel answered, a little too automatically. Sunni clicked off her phone and stared out the tiny porthole at the roiling sea. She hadn’t lied that much, she rationalized. She wasn’t going to say any more about Isabel’s choice of husband. She was going to stand beside Isabel at her wedding ceremony. She just needed to make sure that it wasn’t Richard Lazarus that she married.

Chapter 18 Sunni and Dennis stood under a streetlamp at the corner of Fifth and Market, between a Kentucky Fried Chicken restaurant and a defunct storefront advertising a gambling game called Fascination. A shopping cart and bundle of blankets in the doorway indicated that someone had claimed the Fascination parlor as their temporary home. Dennis had dressed down for the occasion, but his jeans had razor sharp creases down the legs. Even his skin gave off a plump, glossy sheen that screamed money. Sunni felt a constant, low-level buzz of adrenaline that kept her fingers twitching and her eyes darting around. Dennis, the old boxer, probably thought he was protecting them, but Sunni knew now that she packed more power in her pinkie fingers than Dennis had in his whole body. Dennis clutched a crumpled paper grocery bag in one hand and his BlackBerry in the other, eyeing everyone who passed them with way too much interest. Most of the denizens of the corner paid him no mind, intent as they were on scoring dope, finding something to eat, or struggling with the demons in their heads, but a few slowed down and looked him over with malicious intent, causing Sunni to bristle with aggression. “Man, it stinks of pee here,” Dennis said, rubbing his nose. He pushed his sleeve back to check the time, flashing a big Rolex. Sunni slapped his wrist. “Don’t show that around here.” He sighed and then chuckled. “I can’t think of the last time someone kept me waiting, Sunni. Except for Gloria, no one would dare.” “Yeah, well, we’re not in Kansas anymore,” Sunni said. “Looking for someone?” The words came from a short, middle-aged white man wearing a blue Windbreaker and an A’s baseball cap pulled low over his eyes, leaning against the graffiti-covered wall next to the store. He had soft brown eyes behind rimless glasses. He looked entirely innocuous. “Are you Paul?” Dennis asked in his usual booming voice. “Shh,” the man said, “You trying to wake the whole neighborhood?” He moved a few steps closer to them, but kept looking up and down the street, as if watching for a car. “Did you bring something for me?” Dennis held out the bag. The man grabbed it, glanced inside, and then tucked it under his jacket. “Is there a picture in there?” “Yes.” Isabel had insisted on engagement photos, even though there wasn’t time to publish them in the newspaper. Sunni, after pondering the fact that a vampire’s image could be reproduced, another myth debunked, had printed one up on the computer. It was in the paper bag, on top of a hundred thousand dollars in cash. The man in the baseball cap lit a cigarette. “Do you want us to call you when it’s done?” he asked, exhaling in Dennis’s face. Sunni and Dennis exchanged glances.

“That’s not necessary,” Sunni replied. “We’ll know. ” “Okay then.” The man dropped the lit cigarette on the sidewalk. He started to turn the corner. “Wait!” Sunni said. He looked back at her, his expression neutral. She closed the distance between them. Up close, she saw his teeth were nicotine stained and his glasses were smudged. “This man is very, very dangerous,” she whispered. He smiled. “Yeah, okay.” She grabbed the arm of his jacket. “I’m serious,” she hissed. “You can’t mess around with this guy. Don’t try to do it with one man, it needs to be several, and they have to be experts. You’ve got to kill him right away; don’t talk to him first. Riddle him with bullets, do you hear me?” He stared steadily at her hand until she released him. “People like me generally don’t like it when people like you tell us how to do our job,” he said, and then he turned around and walked away. Sunni ground the man’s cigarette under her heel. “I don’t like this, Dennis.” He shrugged. “They come very highly recommended.” “What if they get killed?” Sunni shrieked. “Quiet.” Dennis tucked Sunni under his arm. “These are trained assassins, Sunni,” he said quietly. “If anyone can do the job, they can.” Richard left the hotel with plenty of time to spare: St. Sebastian’s was only five blocks up Powell Street. It was a beautiful evening. The perpetual wind and fog had finally receded, leaving the city looking brandnew. San Francisco in the fog was a Monet, all muted colors and soft focus. In sunshine it was a Van Gogh, chaotic and bright. Richard liked the city either way, but to be honest, it was hardly more than the backwater it had been before the Gold Rush. He couldn’t wait to get back to London, to show Sunni what a real city could offer. He thought about the wedding that was about to occur. It would be his third—no his fourth, actually. He’d forgotten about the barmaid in Munich in 1943. His latest coupling had been to the Countess Yvette de la Foucault, of Lyon, three years ago. It had been a daring move on his part. She was a very rich, very high profile woman. Their marriage was all over the news in Europe. The nerves of every vampire in the Council had been jangled, especially when the countess began to grow ill, of a wasting disease—anemia, septicemia—something nasty but impossible to diagnose. Within two weeks of the marriage she was dead, and her entire fortune had passed to her new husband. It was only then that he found out that the fortune consisted of a mortgaged estate filled with antiques encumbered by the claims of twenty-four different descendants. Isabel, on the other hand, had assured him that she was the sole heir to the LaForge millions. Lazarus smiled at a pair of attractive women passing him as he strolled up the hill. “Nice tux,” one of them said. He lowered his head in acknowledgment of the compliment. “God damn it,” Richard snapped. “What do they want now?”

The women heard him and looked alarmed, but he wasn’t speaking to them. He was referring to the black limousine that had just pulled into the bus stop. As the door opened Richard prepared himself to deal with Scipio and his henchmen again. He wasn’t worried, but he wanted to get to the church on time. Dealing with the Council might make him late. But the person who opened the door wasn’t a vampire. It was a red-haired man in a dark suit. Gingers, they called them in England. He held a gun, very discreetly tucked into the crook of his other arm, just the muzzle showing. There was another man in the car: larger, bald, and with a dark complexion. He wasn’t displaying a gun, but Richard guessed he was probably carrying one. Two humans, armed with guns. This was an interesting development. He stepped into the car at their request. Immediately he pulled a cologne-scented handkerchief from his pocket and held it to his nose. The car stank—of sweat, dried blood, and the rancid stench of fear. These men had been busy. Richard took a deep whiff of cologne and put the hanky down. “To what do I owe the pleasure, gentlemen?” The bald man answered. “Dennis LaForge sent us. ” “I see. You have a wedding gift for me?” The bald man smiled without showing his teeth. “You could say that. ” The windows were tinted but Richard could see easily as the car drove a block and then turned into an underground parking garage. They circled down a few floors and parked. Richard could smell the tension coming off the men. It was decidedly more pronounced from the ginger. He had sensed something about Richard that was making him nervous. The ginger had kept his gun trained on Richard the entire time. To his credit, his hand didn’t shake. Richard’s eyes lingered on the man’s gold wedding band. It was shiny, with not a scratch on it. The bald man cracked two knuckles. “You aren’t getting married today, I’m afraid. You’re going to leave town now and you aren’t coming back.” “And if I decline? ” The man’s expression hardened. He was good at his job, Richard thought. If he were human he’d be quite frightened. “You don’t get to decline.” Richard clicked his tongue. “Did your employer tell you anything about me? ” “He told me enough,” the bald man said. “Let’s stop talking, Charlie, and just do it,” the red-haired man interjected. The bald man opened his mouth to reply. It was still open when Richard grabbed his head and snapped it neatly to the side, severing his spinal cord. His head flopped forward, pulling his body along with it, onto the floor. The other man’s gun went off as Richard knocked his hand aside. Whoever had been driving behind the frosted glass panel jumped out of the car. The sound of footsteps on concrete receded into the distance. Richard smiled at the one human left behind. “Newlywed, are you? ” The man couldn’t answer. Richard felt his fear like a damp cloud. Like fog, it was, really. Quite unpleasant to be around.

“Well, you should be grateful to me. There will never be a chance for the marriage to go sour. She’ll always remember you like this, young and handsome and virile.” “Please, sir,” the man babbled. “I’m begging you …” “Well, perhaps not virile.” Richard grabbed a hank of the man’s distinctive hair, yanked his head back, and then sank his fangs into his remarkably tender flesh.

Chapter 19 The sun coming through the rose window of St. Sebastian’s Cathedral cast a kaleidoscope of color onto the rose petals strewn in the aisle, and its rays illuminated the faces of San Francisco’s glitterati in the front rows. Sunni recognized Francesca Savonarella, first violinist of the San Francisco Symphony; Maribelle Sneed, pulp novelist, multimillionaire and serial bride; and Elizabeth Wexler, San Francisco grande dame and chief of protocol for the mayor’s office. Only a man of Dennis’s stature could have brought this illustrious group together after an engagement almost as brief as that of Britney Spears in Las Vegas. But of course all of them were dying to catch a glimpse of the mysterious London financier who had captured Isabel’s heart. A wizened old man played the processional music on a two-story tall pipe organ, the notes so resonant that they buzzed in Sunni’s gut. Three more bridesmaids stood at the altar with Sunni, in purple dresses that complemented but didn’t matcheach other. The thinnest woman—Isabel’s cousin, Maxine—was wearing a sleeveless sheath. Her friend from college, Angela, who was a bit plump, sported a fifties-style dress with a full skirt. Francie, Isabel’s colleague from the Museum board, who was built like a telephone pole, was wearing an A-line shift dress. Four groom’s men balanced the women on the other side of the altar, wearing black tuxedoes and purple vests the exact shade of the girl’s dresses. Richard hadn’t chosen a single one of these gentlemen. They were all Isabel’s cousins or the sons of Dennis’s golfing buddies. According to Isabel, Richard had claimed that he couldn’t bring over any of his friends “from across the pond” at such short notice. The groom stood in front of the altar, his gaze turned toward the door at the end of the aisle where Isabel would soon emerge. His full shoulders and slim waist formed an inverted triangle under his impeccable tuxedo. His dark hair was perfectly coiffed. His expression was reverent and sentimental, but not maudlin. Sunni had felt a moment of hope when Richard was late for the ceremony, but then there he was, with a few hairs out of place and his bow tie slightly askew. He had stared pointedly at Dennis while he told Isabel that he had been “unavoidably detained. ” A collective intake of breath announced the arrival of the bride. Isabel was wearing a strapless ivory Vera Wang original, its shape resembling an inverted calalily. The dress was chosen from a dozen that had been brought to the mansion theday before and tailored on the spot. There had been a discussion as to whether Isabel should walk down the aisle or not, with Dennis encouraging her to just step out the side door used by the priest. Isabel had replied that the people had signed up to see a gimp get married and that was what they were going to get. But to Sunni’s eyes the crutches were invisible, so radiant did Isabel look as she proceeded down the aisle with her father at her side. She wore no veil, nothing to distract from her face, which was illuminated by love as if there was a candle burning behind her eyes. Sunni let her tears flow, knowing that they’d be misinterpreted as tears of happiness. Isabel had no bouquet, as she didn’t have a free hand to carry it. When she reached the altar she handed her crutches to her father. Dennis and Sunni glanced at each other, but then both quickly looked away. Dennis took his seat in the front pew. Sunni saw now that what she’d perceived as radiance when Isabel walked down the aisle was in fact the sheen of perspiration. Her face was pale, with a bluish cast that was visible even under the layer of makeup she wore. But her smile was beatific, and Sunni smiled back, even though it pained her to do so. Isabel swayed as she turned around. Sunni put out a hand to steady her, but Richard reached her first, sliding his arm protectively around her waist and holding her other hand. The organ gave one last shudder and wheeze and everyone sat down.

“Dearly beloved,” the priest began in a sonorous tone, “we are gathered here today to witness the holy union of Isabel Agnes LaForge and Richard Lazarus …” Sunni watched Richard take the vows that she knew he had every intention of breaking as swiftly as possible. He played his part to the hilt, even tearing up a little as he placed the platinum band around Isabel’s ring finger. Isabel repeated her own vows in such a soft voice Sunni could hardly hear her. She could only see the back of Isabel’s head, and beyond her, Richard, wearing a smile that chilled Sunni to her core. When Isabel reached “until death do us part,” her voice completely faded away. As Sunni stared in stunned horror, Isabel stumbled backward. Her eyes rolled up until they showed only whites, and then her legs crumpled. She hit the floor like a doll tossed by a bored child. Richard caught her head before it hit the marble floor. Sunni heard shouts from the audience. Several people started forward, including Sunni, but Richard waved everyone back. “Give her some air,” he shouted. “And someone fetch a glass of water. ” Maribelle Sneed, the novelist, had old-fashioned smelling salts in her purse. Sunni was surprised to see that they proved completely effective in reviving Isabel, although she recoiled from the small bottle as if a skunk had sprayed her face. The priest stood up, smoothing his cassock. “Do you want to continue?” He directed his question to Isabel. “Yes.” Isabel nodded emphatically. “Daddy, my crutches.” Dennis grabbed her crutches as Richard helped her to stand up. She finished her vows, her voice a bit stronger. The priest asked for the ring. Sunni fished it out of her pocket, wishing it was a gun with silver bullets, or whatever kind of bullets might work on vampires. “Help me, Sunni,” Isabel whispered. Sunni felt a sudden panic wash over her as she looked at Isabel, whose arms were encased in the crutches. Surely she wasn’t going to ask her to put the ring on Richard? Sunni’s hands were shaking so hard she could barely hold onto the heavy platinum band. “Hold my elbow,” Isabel said. Sunni secured her friend, holding her by the elbow and waist, but she couldn’t bear to watch the travesty that was occurring. Her eyes drifted out to the crowd. They were misty-eyed and smiling, all of them blissfully ignorant. She knew Jacob wasn’t there, because she herself had banished him, and yet her eyes still searched, moving to the same spot in the back of the audience where she’d seen him at the last wedding. “I now pronounce you husband and wife,” the priest said, and Sunni felt Richard pull Isabel away from her. “She’s mine now,” he whispered, in a voice only Sunni could hear. The world stopped at that moment, not because Isabel and Richard were married, but because Sunni had seen Jacob. He was standing, as was everyone else, but he wasn’t craning for a glimpse of Isabel. His eyes were focused like a laser on Sunni. What had made her think that just telling him to go away would be successful? He had vowed to watch over her, and here he was. What she felt on seeing him wasn’t anger, it was relief, that she had someone to share this moment with, someone who understood. She gave him a small smile, and he smiled back.

But then two men in dark suits who had been standing nearby grabbed him by the arms and dragged him toward the door. No one else noticed because all eyes were on the wedding couple. “Jacob!” Sunni screamed. She jumped off the platform, ignoring the tearing sound as her dress ripped up the side. The shocked guests stared as she charged down the center aisle, kicking up a cloud of rose petals. “Stop them,” she shrieked at the idiots who stood frozen near the door while Jacob was hustled out, but everyone else was moving at human speed and she couldn’t expect them to be able to do anything. She reached the cathedral steps just in time to see a black SUV tear down California Street. Driving like a stunt car in a movie, it cut off a cable car, plunged into oncoming traffic to sidestep a Toyota, and disappeared down Powell Street.

Chapter 20 Reflected in an ornate rococo mirror on the wall of the marble-lined bathroom of the Presidential Suite of the Mandarin Oriental, Isabel LaForge Lazarus shivered in the gossamer silk negligee she’d chosen for her honeymoon night. Richard watched her from the doorway, trying to tamp down the feeling that it had all been just too easy. She had just powdered her face, but the dark circles under her eyes were starting to show again. She had visited the doctor for a barrage of tests the day before the wedding, tests neither she nor Richard wanted, but her father was most insistent. They revealed a myriad of symptoms: anemia, jaundice, low blood pressure, high white blood cell count, low T-cell count, and a low grade fever. Obvious causes, such as AIDS, were ruled out. Eventually the doctor said that Isabel was probably having a severe attack of her MS, although a few of the symptoms were simply inexplicable. Four more medications were added to her regimen. A dozen pill bottles were now lined up in a neat row on the bathroom shelf. He recommended bed rest, and of course to cancel the trip to Europe, which was why she was now ensconced in a hotel less than two miles from her house, and four miles from the hospital where she would be rushed if she collapsed again like she did during the wedding. Which she wouldn’t, not unless Richard made it happen. He wanted Isabel weakened, but he didn’t want her to die. Not yet. And if he needed her to fight for him, which might still be necessary, he might have to build her up again. Isabel was finishing her ablutions, so Richard glided back into the bedroom and sat on the coverlet, arranging his face into a mask of delighted anticipation. She took two steps into the room and then her crutches got caught on the plush weave of the Aubusson carpet. She started to fall, but Richard scooped her up and, in the blink of an eye, transported her over to the bed. He laid her down and smoothed her hair into a luxurious curtain over the satin pillow. “There is nothing to be embarrassed about, my darling,” he responded to her unspoken thoughts. “You are beautiful, my Isabel, and desirable.” She held out her arms and he leaned over her. She touched his cheek, gazing at him with an expression of wonderment. “Your face is so perfect,” she whispered. “You don’t have a wrinkle or a blemish anywhere. How can that be?” “I am attended by a very good dermatologist,” Richard answered, although of course he hadn’t seen a doctor since they were known as barber surgeons. He stroked Isabel’s thick blond hair. It was his favorite thing about her, because it reminded him of Jane, the woman who should have been his wife. Richard met Jane the day before Jacob did, in April of 1769. He had come down to the port to meet a slave ship, which had set out from Providence six months earlier, organized by Richard and bankrolled by Jacob’s father, John Eddington. The ship had not yet set out the gangway, so to kill some time he had ambled into her father’s new general goods store. Thereafter he had visited the shop almost every day, practically putting himself in the poorhouse buying items that he didn’t need, everything from nails to coffee, in order to have a chance to speak to her. Jane always seemed very happy to see him. She had a wonderful sense of humor, so even though Richard was not generally given to jesting, he tried it with Jane and was rewarded by the musical peals of her laughter. She even put her hand on his wrist once while she giggled at some little joke he’d made. He had expected to wait a little longer before proposing to her, but when Jacob said at the music recital that she was already spoken for, he knew he had to move quickly, otherwise this misunderstanding

between herself and Jacob might go too far to be stopped. So the very next day he dressed extra carefully and took himself down to the port.

The bell over the door jangled as he entered the store. He was gratified to see that Jane was alone. Her back was to him as she arranged some fabrics in a fanlike shape so that they could all be seen. All the displays in the store had that same artful touch, and Richard happily imagined what their home would look like with the money he would bring and the taste and refinement Jane would provide. She turned around at the sound of the bell, wiping her hands on her apron as if she’d been handling something wet. “Good afternoon, Mr. Westerbridge,” she said. “As I’ve asked before, please call me Richard. “ He removed his tricorn hat with a flourish and inclined his head in a courtly bow. She returned his gesture with a shallow bob. “And as I’ve said, once I know you better. I am so new to the town, I certainly don’t wish to take any familiarities. ” “We’ve been speaking to each other every day for three months, Jane. Don’t you think we might count ourselves as familiar by now?” Her cheeks flushed a becoming pink. “I suppose so. Good afternoon, Richard. How can I help you today?” “Would you come and sit next to me? “He indicated the wooden bench at the back of the store, near the unlit stove. She shook her head. “I’m sorry, I’m the only one here, as my father is making a delivery. I must stay behind the counter. ” Richard contemplated coming back another time, but he had no time to waste. In addition he felt the need to be reassured that what Jacob had said wasn’t true. He stepped forward and reached across the counter with an open palm, balancing his arm on a wooden display casefull of buttons. Jane looked down, a confused expression on her face. “Take my hand, Jane,” he entreated. She laughed. “Oh, Richard, don’t be silly. ” He leaned a little farther and grabbed her hand. The color in her cheeks darkened, but she didn’t pull away. He took that as a good sign. “Jane, my association with John Eddington has made me a rich man. I have cash, land holdings, slaves, and have begun the construction of a two-story brick house that will be the envy of all Providence …” “Please, Richard, say no more. “ She slipped her hand out from under his and began rearranging the fabrics she’d already put in perfect order. She seemed overcome by some strong emotion. “Perhaps you think, because you are a shopkeeper’s daughter, that you are not worthy of me. I assure you, Jane, I think nothing of the kind.”

Her hands went still. She laughed, but it was not the rich, mellifluous laughter he was accustomed to hearing from her. It was bitter, this laugh. “I am not worthy of you, is that what you think?” “No, you misunderstand me, my dear…” “I am already betrothed to Jacob Eddington, but if I weren’t I still wouldn’t marry you. ” He stepped backward, clutching his chest as if she’d stabbed him, which he felt she had. “Why do you say such things?” “You are a loathsome creature, Richard Westerbridge.” Finally she came out from behind the counter, but only so that she could point at his chest with an accusing finger. Her eyes were bright, the color high in her cheeks. He was sad to admit that he had never seen her look so beautiful. “When your ship arrived from Jamaica, and discharged your ‘cargo’ into the street in front of my store, I could not believe my eyes when I saw that it was human beings! Sick, bewildered, broken men and women, in chains. I shall never forget their pitiful cries. And the way you treated them, worse than cattle bound for the slaughter. ” “I was doing it for Jacob’s father. He is the largest slaveholder in Providence,” he added, hoping to cast aspersions on Jacob by association. “Yes, but Jacob has chosen to be a simple farmer. And only because John Eddington’s rightful heir has decided to reject his legacy, has it cleared the way for you to become his aide de camp.” Richard felt as if all the air had left the room and he was slowly stifling to death. The pain was like nothing he had ever experienced before. “Jane, please reconsider,” he begged. “Never. I would only marry a man, and you are something else entirely.” She turned her back on him and began furiously rearranging the store’s inventory of pewter cutlery, her shoulders trembling with unshed tears. Richard plunged out the door and into the dusty street, gasping for breath. Richard turned to Isabel, who was pulling on his shirtsleeve. “Are you all right, Richard? You looked so sad for a minute.” The vampire appraised his new wife coolly. “Would you love me if I were human, Isabel? If I were a man like any other?” “What?” Her eyelids fluttered as she tried to make sense of his words. “If you were human? I don’t know what you mean.” Richard shook his head. “Oh, never mind,” he said. She started to unbutton his shirt but he stopped her. “Let me pleasure you first,” he said. He parted her lips with his tongue and kissed her deeply. Her tongue had a mineral tang from the medications she was taking. He felt her body heat increase, heard her heart begin to pound wildly. Her eyes were half open but the irises had rolled back. He pinched her nipple and she climaxed instantly. She

bucked, legs going stiff as waves of pleasure rolled through her body. Richard watched her with a mixture of interest and faint disgust. He wondered if Sunni would react in any way the same as a human woman when he touched her this way. Would her dhampir blood dampen her reactions, or make them more powerful? He wasn’t sure which way he wanted it to be. It would be satisfying to pleasure her so extravagantly, but at the same time he hoped it might be a little more difficult, so that he could have the satisfaction of a job well done. He renewed his ministrations and Isabel purred like a kitten, her eyes rolling back again. Her hips undulated with the multiple orgasms that flowed through her body. He heard two tiny pops, like miniature balloons being punctured, as his razor sharp fangs pierced her resistant flesh. She gasped. At first she moved closer, breathing hard, clutching Richard’s back, but then, as the pain began to seep in, she choked and gasped, pounding his back with her weak little fists, then pushing on his chest. It was as effectual as a gazelle trying to free herself from a tiger. Her heart beat sluggishly against her rib cage, more slowly with every passing moment. But he was not here to kill her. Just at the moment when she couldn’t possibly give any more, he retracted his fangs and pulled away. Her head lolled to the side, her eyes staring vacantly. “Sleep well, my bride,” he whispered, as he licked a stray drop of blood from her cheek. Later that night Richard entered the LaForge Building through one of six spotless glass doors and proceeded to the security desk, stopping to admire a Rodin sculpture in the plant-filled foyer. It was one of the lesser works, but still impressive. The security guard looked up from his computer screen. Unlike most of them, this man looked like he might actually be able to provide some security. He was a beefy man, about forty-five years old, with a military haircut, ruddy cheeks, and a gun strapped to his hip. “Can I help you?” “I’d like to see Dennis LaForge,” Richard said with a polite smile. The guard picked up the telephone. “What is your name?” he asked. When no answer was forthcoming the man looked up and met Richard’s eyes. “You don’t need to call anyone,” Richard said. A glaze came over the man’s face. “When I get into the elevator, you’ll forget you ever saw me,” Richard said. The guard nodded and Richard walked to the elevators. The offices of LaForge Realty and Development were empty and quiet. Even though the lights were all on, the darkness outside seeped in through the large windows, giving the place the appearance of being suspended in deep space. Richard circled the perimeter until he found Dennis’s office. It was locked, but that was easily remedied. Dennis looked up. The color drained out of his face when he saw who it was. “What are you doing here? Why didn’t the guard call me?” Richard took his time crossing a vast expanse of antique Persian carpet. Dennis watched him, obviously nervous. Richard thought it was admirable that he managed to stay seated. “Well, Isabel is asleep, bless her heart, and I wanted to talk to you in private.” “About what?” Dennis asked.

Richard pointed at a chair. “May I?” Dennis nodded. Richard sat, lifting his pants legs so that they wouldn’t wrinkle at the knees. “I’ve come to discuss Isabel’s inheritance,” he said. He adjusted his tie, making sure the knot was perfectly centered. “I’m sorry, Richard, I can’t discuss any of that without my daughter. I’m sure you understand.” “Well, the topic of this conversation might upset her, and I certainly don’t want to do that.” “What topic would that be?” “What Isabel’s inheritance would be in the event of your untimely death.” Dennis’s Adam’s apple rose and fell as he swallowed. Richard could smell the sweat forming under the mogul’s custom-made shirt. “I’m not sure why we’re talking about this now, Richard. ” Richard smiled. “An upsetting topic for you, too, I see. But necessary.” “I don’t see why it’s necessary. The inheritance is between my daughter and me. And I find it unseemly that you would even ask. ” “So you’re not going to tell me? Very well, I’ll have to assume that my wife is right and that she will inherit everything. I just wanted to be prepared to help her sort things out after you’re dead,” Richard said. Dennis shook his head. “I don’t intend to die for a good long time, my friend. Maybe I’ll outlast you.” “Well, you tried to outlast me, didn’t you, by sending in those little hirelings, those petty assassins?” “I, uh, don’t know what you’re talking about.” Dennis was almost choking by the end of the sentence. Richard gazed at him impassively. “I don’t think you’ll outlast me, Dennis. I don’t think you’re going to last the night, frankly. ” “Get out,” Dennis said, regaining a bit of his bravado. Although he couldn’t see them, Richard knew when Dennis’s fingers began to creep toward the security button under his desk. A moment later Dennis let out a screech when Richard landed like a hunting eagle on the other side of the desk. He swung Dennis’s chair around and crouched in front of him with one hand on each of his arms. There was a small balcony outside, fitted with glass walls so as not to impede the view. Richard carried Dennis outside and propped him up against the waist-high wall. The cars on the street twenty-eight floors below looked like toys. The wind rushed past their faces, bringing tears to Richard’s eyes. He put his arms around Dennis from behind, pressing both of his hands against his father-in-law’s ribs. “You should try to calm down,” Richard said soothingly. “With your heart condition a fright like this could kill you.” “I don’t have heart trouble,” Dennis stammered. “Yes, you do. You have a blocked aorta. I feel your blood trying to squeeze through that tiny channel, can’t you feel it?” Dennis let out an unearthly noise, something between a yelp and a shriek, as Richard grabbed his

ankles and tossed him over the balcony. His body thudded against the glass. Drool dripped out of his open mouth and over his eyelids. “Dear God, save me!” Richard gave him a little shake, as if shaking dust from a rug. Dennis scrabbled helplessly at the sheer wall of glass, his fingers finding nothing to cling to. Tears leaked out of his eyes and into his hair as he sobbed with pain and terror. “Puh, please,” he sputtered. “Don’t beg, Dennis,” Richard said. “It doesn’t become you. This will all be over in a moment.” A minute later Dennis’s heart stopped beating. Richard hauled the body back in and dropped it like a bag of laundry on the small terrace. He adjusted the knot of his tie, which had come loose, and then he peered over the edge of the wall. He did a few mental calculations to assure himself that he wouldn’t land in the line of cars running down Market Street, and then he leaped over the wall. The cold air was bracing and he thoroughly enjoyed the dive.

Chapter 21 “Dennis is dead? I can’t believe it!” Sunni paced the length of the living room in the LaForge mansion, where Isabel was lying stretched out on a couch under a blanket. Her face looked ravaged, pale and blotchy, with patches of red scales. Tears ran unchecked down her face and neck into her diminished cleavage. Sunni’s face was dry, but her stability felt as fragile as eggshells. “I know. I can’t believe it either.” Isabel said. Her voice had no affect. Her eyes were blank, staring at the cold fireplace. “He had a heart attack, just like that? He was healthy as an ox!” Sunni circled the couch and walked back to the grand piano. Its strings echoed faintly from the tapping of her shoes on the uncarpeted floor. “You’re going to have an autopsy, right, Isabel?” “Oh, Sunni, how could you ask that?” Isabel asked, reaching for the box of tissues at her right hand. “Yes, Sunni, that’s a bit ghoulish, don’t you think?” Richard’s voice was as cool as ever, with a faint hint of amusement that Sunni was sure only she could detect. She refused to look in his direction, where he was ensconced in a high-backed wing chair drawn up to the fireplace, looking every bit the lord of the manor. She turned to the only other person in the room. Alastair Black, the family’s lawyer, stood behind the couch, dressed in a dark suit and red club tie, holding a large burgundy leather briefcase which no doubt contained papers he hoped to share with his client if she was ever in any state to pay attention. He gazed at Isabel with a mixture of sympathy and alarm. Sunni remembered from the days following Gloria LaForge’s funeral that Alastair was a genteel Englishman of the old school, much disturbed by open displays of emotion. “Alastair,” Sunni said sharply, “don’t you think there should be an autopsy?” “Well,” Alastair said, his voice pitched high, “I don’t quite see the purpose, Ms. Marquette.” “To determine if there was any foul play.” He fluttered his fingers in the air. “Foul play, oh dear, whatever do you mean?” “Foul play?” Isabel turned toward her husband, her eyes widening, as a bit of comprehension sank in. “Can’t you see you’re upsetting her?” Richard said. He had a small round table in front of him, with tea steeping in a china pot and a plate full of crustless sandwiches. “Would you like a cup of tea, Alastair?” “Yes, indeed, a cup of tea would be just the thing. Don’t you think we should all take a cup of tea? And perhaps refrain from using such incendiary language?” Alastair walked toward the table, clutching his briefcase like a shield in front of his chest. “Please, sit down.” Richard indicated the chair opposite him. “Sunni, why don’t you sit as well? You’re making Isabel anxious, and in her state of health this is not a good idea.” “I prefer to stand. ” “Very well.” Richard handed Alastair a teacup balanced on a delicate china saucer, which forced the lawyer to place his briefcase on the floor. “So, have you brought the will with you?”

“I have indeed. “ Alastair waved toward his briefcase. “Shall I read it? It concerns you all.” “I can’t listen to this.” Isabel put her hands over her ears. “I don’t think this is the right time, Alastair,” Sunni said. “Very well.” Alastair blew on his tea and then took a sip. “I understand the delicacy of the situation, but Dennis wanted this dispatched as soon as possible.” An alarm rang on Isabel’s watch. “I need my pills,” she said. “I’ll go,” Sunni replied, happy to have an excuse to leave Richard’s presence. She walked up the wide, curving staircase to the second floor, her mind racing. When she opened Isabel’s bedroom door she screamed. Richard was sitting on the bed. He chuckled at Sunni’s shock. “Surely you’re not still surprised at vampiric abilities, my dear? I imagine you have prodigious powers yourself by now, thanks to Jacob Eddington. Although if a poorer teacher could be found anywhere on the continent, I’m not sure who it would be.” He flicked an invisible speck of dust off his trousers. “He was a failure as a man and he’s a failure as a vampire.” “How could you have done it?” Sunni spoke through gritted teeth. “Why, Dennis tried to kill me, Sunrise, before the wedding. This was pure self-defense, I assure you.” Richard plumped one of Isabel’s pillows and leaned back. “Self-defense? He was nowhere near you.” He waved a dismissive hand. “You know what I mean. He tried to kill me by proxy.” He narrowed his eyes at her. “Did you have a hand in that, by the way?” Sunni didn’t answer. She went into the bathroom and put Isabel’s pillbox in her pocket. When she came out Richard was lying comfortably on Isabel’s bed. “By the way, why are you resorting to such weak alternatives when you have vampires at your disposal?” Sunni tried not to betray any emotion, but at the mention of her missing lover’s name she felt her lower lip begin to quiver. She turned away, but not before Richard smiled triumphantly. “He’s run away, hasn’t he?” He smacked his knee. “I always knew he was a coward.” Sunni clenched her fists as white hot anger washed through her. “How dare you? He didn’t run away, he would never do that.” Her hand slowly slid to her mouth as she realized that she had said far too much. Richard smiled with smug satisfaction at the success of his gambit. “So the Council has taken him away, have they? And you are all alone again.” Gulping back tears, Sunni forced herself to meet Richard’s eyes. “Are you ready yet, Sunrise? To join me freely?” He smiled insinuatingly. “You see how Isabel looks. She doesn’t have a lot more time, I’m afraid. Maybe only long enough for me to move her money into some offshore accounts.” Sunni’s knees felt weak. She clutched the door handle so as not to fall down. Richard sat up. “Don’t think of it as a defeat. Think of what I could teach you, what I could do for you. Haven’t you always wanted to understand what you are?”

“Yes.” This question, at least, she was able to answer honestly. “So come with me. And I will let Isabel live.” Sunni forced herself to walk over and sit down next to him. “All right,” she said. “You win. I just need a little time to get my affairs in order.” “Twenty-four hours, that’s as long as I can wait. Let’s seal it with a kiss.” He leaned closer. Sunni closed her eyes. His cold lips pressed against hers. The kiss was chaste, but it was a tribute to the power of the vampire that Sunni found herself responding. She despised Richard Lazarus more than any being she had ever encountered, and yet she kissed him back.

Sunni had to wait until Monday morning to find a locksmith, but by nine A.M. she was standing outside the door of Jacob’s apartment with a man wearing coveralls and a utility belt. He inserted two long metal rods into the lock and jiggled them. Within a few seconds the door popped open and Sunni was looking into Jacob’s Spartan living room. “Great,” Sunni said. “How much do I owe you?” The locksmith raised an eyebrow. “I’ll need to see some ID to confirm that you live here.” Sunni felt the sweat bead up along her hairline. She reached into her purse, but as she did so she fixed the locksmith—a large, middle-aged man with a florid complexion—with a steely stare. She concentrated with all her might on his protuberant blue eyes. “You don’t need to see any ID,” she said, trying to emulate the compelling voice Jacob had used when he attempted to glamour her. The locksmith sneezed and then rubbed his nose with the back of his hand. “You might be right about that. A three hundred dollar ‘deposit’ would probably do the trick. ” Sunni’s hands shook as she pulled out her wallet. Luckily she always carried at least five hundred dollars in cash, in case of earthquakes and other emergencies. The locksmith slipped the money into the breast pocket of his coveralls, winked at her, and ambled away down the hall. She quickly closed the door behind her and leaned against it, breathing hard. Once her heartbeat had calmed down she continued into the living room. Everything was just as Jacob had left it, which didn’t surprise her. He certainly hadn’t been planning on leaving town, judging by the way the other men had hustled him out of the wedding. She looked around, taking in the empty galley kitchen, the black leather sofa, and the pile of books on the coffee table. She wasn’t sure what she was looking for, but there didn’t seem to be much to find. She made her way into the apartment’s lone bedroom. It was completely empty, with dust bunnies gathering in the corners of the wood floor. She pulled open the closet door. Inside was a mattress, covered neatly with a single blanket. There was adhesive weather-stripping attached around the doorframe. She stepped onto the mattress, pulled the door closed and was plunged into complete darkness. Jacob had told her that he didn’t need to sleep, and she knew that sunshine didn’t affect him, so why did he have a light-protected sleeping chamber? She lay down on the mattress and curled into the fetal position. The room was a sensory deprivation tank. Suddenly she understood why he had created it. If she were going to live for an indefinite period of time with no hiatus, no relief from the constant assaults of everyday life, she would probably have made such a space for herself. Even in the few minutes that she lay there she found herself growing calmer, a little more detached from the desperate clamor that had been raging inside her since Richard turned her

life upside down. With her nose pressed against the blanket she smelled the delicate pine and snow fragrance that was Jacob’s unique signature. It was so faint it would be undetectable to anyone with normal senses, but it overwhelmed her. She closed her eyes and breathed in until her olfactory glands became exhausted. Then she opened her eyes and found that she could now see in the darkness. In the corner was a business card, which she snatched up and read. It bore a single name, Scipio, and a phone number with an international prefix. Sunni jumped up and ran to get her purse. Reasoning that it would be quicker to walk than to try to find a parking space in North Beach, Sunni plunged out onto the street to make the approximately one and a half mile walk to Caffe Rosso, where the man named Scipio had said that he would meet her. She crossed Market Street, checking the time on the Ferry Building clock and dodging the crowds of office workers to emerge onto Stockton Street. Her route took her through the heart of Chinatown, so she deliberately stopped at the Golden Dragon to see if the CLOSED sign was still on the door. Unfortunately, it was. The buffer zone between Chinatown and North Beach was the red light district on Broadway, relatively empty on a Monday morning, but for taxis and men washing the sidewalk with power hoses. She passed City Lights bookstore, not even pausing to look in the window, although normally she would never pass the city landmark without going in and buying something. North Beach was a tidy, compact neighborhood, full of cafés, restaurants, and small apartment buildings. Sunni easily found Café Rosso on the corner of Columbus and Green Street, a glass-enclosed box with a smoking porch out front and no fewer than three Italian flags fluttering in the soft breeze. She stepped inside. The air was filled with opera and the hissing sound of the espresso machines. Three of the dozen round tables in the café were occupied, all by pairs of men, which would have made it more difficult to ascertain which of them was her quarry, but for the fact that one of the men was Enzo Rizzoli, the vampire who had dealt her the beating of her life. He smiled cheerily and waved a be-ringed hand. Sunni approached the table. The other man was in his fifties, or had been when he became a vampire. He had a round, intelligent face framed by short gray hair and eyes that were damaged in some strange way that made them both hard to look at and difficult to ignore. He stood up and kissed Sunni’s hand with practiced grace and Sunni immediately sensed that she had found the man who had taken Jacob. One chance, one business card in Jacob’s apartment, and she’d hit the bull’s-eye. Enzo reached for her hand after Scipio released it, but she ignored him. “It is indeed a pleasure to meet you after all these years, Ms. Marquette,” Scipio said. He snapped his fingers at the teenager behind the huge espresso machine. “May I offer you an espresso, perhaps a cappuccino?” Sunni decided that her favorite espresso beverage, the caramel macchiato, was probably not on the menu at such a venerable establishment, indeed such an order might get her kicked out if she wasn’t sitting with two Italian men who were obviously very familiar with the café. “I’ll have a cappuccino.” The teenager behind the counter nodded and began toweling off the milk-steaming tube. Scipio sat back down and crossed his legs. He smiled at Sunni politely. Despite the film over his eyes it was obvious that he could see perfectly. “I’ll get right to the point, Mr. Scipio,” she began. “Scipio, just Scipio. Like Socrates and Herodotus.” Sunni suddenly had the feeling that she’d fallen headfirst into a Godfather film. She was in North

Beach, the ancestral home of the creator of those movies, and she was sitting in an authentic Italian café with a patriarch and his elaborately dressed henchman, about to request the return of her lover, the man whom they had kidnapped. The only difference from the movies was that these men were all vampires. The thought would have been funny if it wasn’t so terrifying. “I want to know what happened to Jacob Eddington,” she said, and then shook her head. “Actually, I just want him back.” Scipio raised his eyebrows. Enzo lifted his hands in a questioning gesture. “We’re not sure we know what you’re talking about,” Enzo said. Sunni smacked her hand on the table. “Cut the bullshit. I saw you take him at Isabel’s wedding.” “I thought they were cloaked,” Scipio snapped. “She’s a dhampir,” Enzo replied, “she can see through that.” The teenager came around the counter and deposited the cappuccino in front of Sunni. It had a twist of lemon and an almond biscotti cookie on the saucer. As her mouth watered, Sunni realized she couldn’t remember the last time she’d eaten anything. Despite the beautiful food at Isabel and Richard’s reception she’d been too upset to eat a single bite. She dipped the biscotti in the coffee and let the crumbly cookie dissolve on her tongue. Scipio sighed. “All right, yes, we took him. Jacob Eddington is currently incarcerated.” “Where is he? ” “That is not for you to know, I’m afraid.” “Is he hurt?” The gray-haired vampire shook his head. “When will you let him out?” “Not for a long time, I’m afraid.” Scipio gazed out the window. Sunni followed his eyes, seeing only the usual crowds hurrying along the sidewalk. “He has broken some of our most fundamental laws.” “You mean about me, right? Because he trained me?” “Yes, that’s correct.” Sunni looked at Enzo, her eyes blazing, and was rewarded when Enzo’s smug expression changed to a fearful one. So Enzo’s boss didn’t know he’d been with Sunni and Jacob at Fort Point, that for a while, at least, he’d participated in Sunni’s training. Before he’d decided to kill her, anyway. Sunni opened her mouth to say something and then realized that if both Enzo and Jacob were alive, then this handsome young vampire must have been somehow complicit in Jacob’s plans. She let her mouth drift closed and Enzo breathed a tiny sigh of relief. “Why do you have such laws? They’re ridiculous, don’t you see?” Scipio looked at her in confusion. “You all seem to pride yourselves on having such a civilized society, bound by honor and morals and so on. And yet dhampirs are part of your community, aren’t they? Just as much as someone who’s half Asian and half Caucasian, for example, is part of this society? ”

Scipio toyed with his espresso cup. “Yes, but unlike your example, dhampirs are illegal in our society. ” “That’s like miscegenation in America, when it was illegal for people of different races to marry. So in that case making half-breed humans was illegal. It’s so backward, Scipio, don’t you see that?” Scipio was silent. Sunni put both hands on the table and leaned closer to the two vampires. “What are you all really afraid of?” Enzo chewed his lovely lower lip, staring at the table. Finally he looked up. “Dhampirs are more powerful than we are, in some ways.” “Enzo, be quiet,” Scipio hissed. The younger vampire shook his head. “It’s not illegal to tell her the truth, mio amico.” He turned back to Sunni. “We are afraid that if too many dhampirs are made they might band together and destroy us.” “They will only destroy you if they feel they have no other choice. If you make them part of society, welcome them in, they will have no reason to hate you.” She paused and looked down at the table. “We will have no reason to hate you.” The soprano on the café’s stereo system hit a glass-shattering high note and held it for an amazingly long time. Scipio waited until the note had died away before he nodded slowly. “I see your point, young lady.” “How are dhampirs made, anyway?” Sunni asked. She blushed then, and rephrased her question. “I mean, can any vampire and any human make a dhampir?” Scipio shook his head. “Any human can be made into a vampire, by sucking their blood to the point of death and introducing vampire blood into their system. This is the equivalent of injecting a virus into the human. But for a vampire and human to create a dhampir by sexual union, the human must have a specific gene, otherwise the sperm will not implant in the egg. The gene, as I understand from our scientists, is quite rare.” “So this fear you have that we are going to overrun you is baseless, right?” Scipio and Enzo looked at each other, and then back to Sunni. Neither of them seemed to know what to say. Sunni drank her cappuccino in one gulp. It warmed her throat on the way down. “But let’s get back to why I’m here. How can I get Jacob back?” Scipio pushed his chair back and stood up. He seemed finally tired of listening to Sunni’s rant. “You can’t.” He turned to Enzo. “Pay the bill. I’ll be in the car.” Enzo watched his boss leave and then pulled out his wallet and began counting bills. Sunni put her hand on his arm. “Will you help me, Enzo?” He pulled his arm away, shaking his head roughly. “I’ve already done too much.” “You have the wrong person, don’t you see?” Two old men at a nearby table turned to stare at her and she realized she was shouting. She lowered her voice. “Richard Lazarus is the one who should be in jail, not Jacob. Richard killed my foster father, for God’s sake. He’s probably going to kill my best friend.” Enzo’s face sagged. “I am sorry, bella dona. But killing humans is not illegal. What he has done is ill advised, but not illegal.” He touched her cheek lightly. “You are very strong, Sunni. If you can kill Richard,

we would all be grateful, I assure you.” His finger traced the line of her chin. Although Sunni tried to ignore it she felt a fluttering in her stomach. Damn these vampires and their sex appeal, she thought, as she stepped away. “Grateful enough to let Jacob go?” “That is not for me to say, but I have lived long enough to know that the future contains infinite possibilities.” Sunni snorted. “Thanks. Philosophy is just what I need right now.”

The twenty-four hours was up and Richard was sitting in her living room. Sunni tested the knives in her kitchen, sliding the blades across her fingertips until they were crisscrossed with ribbons of blood. None of them seemed sharp enough, nor did she know whether they would even be efficacious against a vampire, since she had pushed Jacob away before they’d gotten to the weapons portion of her training. She had spent the rest of the time fruitlessly searching for Jacob, Sherman, and Delia. She searched Jacob’s apartment again, and wandered the area around Fort Point looking for clues. She’d Googled “vampires in San Francisco” and telephoned some of the people she discovered on the Web, only to find that they were clueless wannabes who had no idea what a real vampire was. She’d visited Sherman and Delia’s apartment both at night and during the day, always finding it dark and locked. At the Golden Dragon she’d found nothing but disappointed customers milling around on the sidewalk, amazed that a restaurant that had been open seven days a week since 1927 was taking a vacation. There was nothing else she could do but trust that the vampire lore about dhampirs was true, and that she had enough power to kill Richard herself. Sunni poured herself a glass of wine and went back into the living room without a weapon. Richard looked as relaxed as ever, legs crossed, one arm tossed over the back of the couch. He was dressed in one of his usual tweed suits, but instead of a vest and tie, he wore a cashmere sweater and an open-collared shirt. He stood when she entered the room, giving her a formal little bow before sitting down again. She took a big gulp of wine and then placed it on a side table. Now that he was here she had no idea what to do. The only example she had was from television shows, where vampire hunters suddenly start kung fu chopping their enemies, breaking windows and destroying every stick of furniture in the process. “Are you ready? “ the vampire asked. “Have you packed your bags?” “Yes, I’m ready. But not to go with you,” Sunni replied. She put down the glass and squeezed her hands into fists, trying to bring on the change that she had felt on the bridge, the rush of adrenaline that would give her the power she needed, but felt nothing but panic. He peered at her suspiciously. “What are you doing?” Sunni launched herself at him. In the second that she was aloft Sunni felt the change, so when Richard moved toward her she was ready. She could see every molecule of Richard’s being. Time slowed so that she could prepare for the impact of their bodies in the air. As he met her she grabbed his lapels, holding him inches from her as they both hit the ground. He grabbed her hair and smashed her head against the floor. Blood welled up in her mouth from her bitten tongue, but she felt no pain. She freed one leg and kicked him in the stomach, knocking him off her and to the side. She leaped up and grabbed a lamp, intending to crush his skull with it, but while her arms were raised he tackled her. She fell again, this time into the glass coffee table. It shattered against her back and she fell into a curtain of razor-sharp shards. She tried to sit up but he was already on her,

grinding her back and head into the glass. This time she felt pain, a great deal of it. “I’m very disappointed in you,” Richard grunted, his face against her neck. “You are not living up to your potential, not at all. I’m afraid I shall have to kill you now. ” She closed her eyes, trying to find her way back to her place of power, when she felt his jaw clamp onto her neck with the force of a hammer blow. She felt both fangs as they descended, sharp as needles. She screamed and thrashed, but she was pinned to the floor. Her blood rushed traitorously through her veins, offering itself to Richard, strengthening her enemy as it simultaneously weakened her. What came to her mind then, as her heartbeat faltered and her life began to ebb, was Jacob. A simple, unbearable thought, that they would never repair the rift that existed between them. It couldn’t end like that. She had to live. They had to see each other again, at least once, to make things right. Jacob lay on the dirt floor of his cell, one floor below the Council chamber and two floors below the Palace of Fine Arts. The only sounds were his breath, and the steady dripping of water from the pond far above him. There was no source of light. Jacob could have seen if he wanted to, but he had already ascertained that there was no way out. The bars were reinforced titanium, far too strong for one vampire to break. He could dig, but he was two stories underground. Whatever was going to happen between Sunni and Richard would be long done by the time his mole act could be completed. He had already lost track of time. Many years ago, during the War, he had been imprisoned by the British, and he’d kept a rough track of the days by the length of his beard and fingernails. Unfortunately he no longer had those quotidian markers to go by. So he lay on his back and drifted, waiting for someone to come by and check on him, so that he could at least attempt to overpower them and escape. But no one had come since Enzo and Patrick had locked him in with murmured apologies. Jacob heard a sound in the darkness, and it jerked him from the floor like a fish on a hook. Or perhaps he sensed it on some level that even he had never experienced before, because he knew this sound was too far away even for a vampire to hear it in the normal way. It was the sound of Sunni screaming. His fangs dropped, his legs and arms tensed, every nerve stood at attention. Everything in the black room became as bright as midday. With a strangled cry he threw himself against the bars, pulling at them with a strength that he had never felt before. The metal creaked, groaned, and gave way. He squeezed out through the small space and raced down the dark tunnel, doubled over to avoid hitting his head on the low ceiling. He burst into the antechamber of the jail and ran for the door that he knew led to the surface, but by then the alarm had been sounded. Enzo, Patrick, and three other vampire guards were on him, pulling him to the ground, one man on each of his limbs and Enzo holding his head. He was desperate; he was enraged. His mind was empty but for the single imperative of getting to Sunni. He sunk his fangs into Enzo’s neck and ripped through the flesh, half severing his friend’s head. Then he turned back to finish the job, but the other vampires had already dragged him away. They tossed him into a nearby cell, where he lay on the ground, his energy entirely exhausted, knowing he wouldn’t be able to break out again. Just beyond the bars he could see his friend, surrounded by the other vampires. Enzo’s breath came in slow, ragged gasps. He turned to the side and gazed at Jacob with no rancor, just infinite sadness. Jacob rammed his forehead into the ground and stayed there, the cold earth scraping his skin. He wished more fervently for death now than he ever had, even when he was standing outside the house containing his wife and children and knowing he could never enter it again. He felt wetness on his face. When he touched his cheek his hand came away red, stained with his own blood tears.

Chapter 22 The vampire was distracted by her blood. She could feel a laxity developing in his limbs as he siphoned the life force out of her veins. If she had been human she would already have been unconscious by this point, there would be no need for Richard to remain vigilant this long. But she wasn’t human, she told herself. Richard was underestimating her. She had powers that every vampire she’d met was afraid of— to one degree or another—she just needed to harness them. But Sunni was also distracted. The pain from her lacerated back, her contused head, and the wounds in her neck, compounded by the blood loss, were all serving to turn her into a quivering lump of jelly rather than the killing machine she needed to be. There were only seconds left before she died, she understood this on some deep cellular level. She had to find her focus. She concentrated on Richard, testing every point of connection between them, trying to find the weakest link. His grip on her head was the tightest; his neck was like a bar of iron pressing her to the ground. His legs were likewise unmovable, trapping her own legs underneath them. His right hand held her arm fast, but there was some looseness in the grip of his left hand. That was all she needed, one tiny weakness. She concentrated all her strength into her left arm and pulled it out of his grasp. She felt for his face, and then shoved her fingers deep into his eye socket. She felt something soft but resistant pop under her fingertips, like puncturing a sheet of Saran Wrap covering a bowl of Jell-O. Richard let out a loud, inarticulate shout of pain and pulled away, covering his face with his hands. She knocked him over and slid out from under his body. She backed far enough away that he couldn’t grab her legs and then she dared to look. He was still clutching his face, but she knew a vampire as powerful as he would recover enough within seconds to reach for her again. She considered attacking him while he was down, but her vision was blurred and her limbs were shaking violently. She was so weak she could barely stay upright. So she made the decision to leave him there and run for the door. She took the fire escape stairwell, stumbling and almost pitching headlong several times, yet moving at a pace that no human could match. Richard entered the stairwell when she was several floors down, his footfalls echoing in the empty space. She doubled her efforts, taking the stairs a flight at a time, until she was out on the sidewalk. Dodging the cars and buses as she darted across Fifth Street, she hoped she was moving fast enough that no one would see her wild hair and blood-soaked clothes. She wished she could cloak herself, but she would have to stop and concentrate to do that and it wouldn’t help hide her from Richard. She didn’t dare turn around and look for her pursuer, because it would waste precious seconds. She ran three blocks down to Market Street, and then turned right. She was in a tiny alley, too narrow for cars, redolent of piss and garbage. It came to a dead end in front of a set of padlocked iron doors with an overfull Dumpster in front of them. She crouched next to the Dumpster and waited. At least she’d see him first if he came this far. Interminable minutes clicked by but the alley remained empty. Sunni tried to stay alert, to think about what to do next, but every time she blinked, her eyes stayed closed for a second longer than the last time. Her shirt was soaked with sticky, copper-scented blood. Her head had become unbearably heavy, and her chin bobbed against her chest. “It’ll be okay.” She pushed the garbage bin forward a few inches and lay down on the slimy sidewalk behind it, cushioning her head with her arm. “Just need to rest a few minutes,” she mumbled.

The garbage bin and the sidewalk faded away. She was lying in a field of soft spring grass, the sun shining overhead, and a soft breeze rustling her hair. The scent of Jacob was all around, and when she looked up he was leaning over her, stroking her cheek. The sun glowed like a halo behind his head, and his blue eyes sparkled. He leaned close and kissed her, his lips as soft as velvet. His arms encircled her in a warm embrace as he lifted her to her feet. She looked down and saw that she was dressed in a simple white dress, the fabric so light and airy that it floated on the breeze like milkweed, and in her arms was a bundle of yellow tulips tied with a white ribbon. Jacob was dressed in white linen pants and a loose shirt. A circle of their friends and family surrounded them. Dennis was there, magically restored to life, and Isabel was standing straight and strong by his side, no crutches in sight. Delia and Sherman stood arm in arm with happy smiles on their faces. There was someone next to them, someone achingly familiar, but the sun was in her face and Sunni couldn’t quite see her. She took a step forward, still holding Jacob’s hand. “Mama?” she whispered. Rose looked exactly as she had the last time Sunni had seen her; thin and lithe, with long ebony hair falling in a gleaming curtain down her back. Her mother glided forward and took Sunni into her arms. Sunni put her face against her soft neck and breathed in a sweet floral scent that she’d almost forgotten, but knew immediately was her mother’s alone. “Mama, am I dead?” she asked. Rose stroked Sunni’s hair. “You are at the doorway, my darling, that’s why you see both the living and the dead here.” “Which way should I go? ” “That’s my Sunni, always wanting to be in control.” Rose stepped back, laughing quietly. “We can’t tell yet. So just enjoy this moment.” Still holding one of her hands, she turned Sunni gently around, to where Jacob was standing patiently. Sunni gave him her other hand, closed her eyes and lifted her face to the warm sun, the soft breeze, and the sweet mingled scents of the two vampires she loved. Richard stood in the stairwell, his back against the wall, the railing pressing into his tailbone. He took one deep breath and, as he exhaled, pushed his dangling left eye back into its socket. The pain was intense but brief. In another thirty seconds he could see out of it again. He looked down the stairwell, where he could hear Sunni leaping like a gazelle. He smiled, despite the anger that still bubbled in his gut like witch’s brew. The dhampir had such determination, such strength. If only she wasn’t so damnably obstinate. He straightened his clothes as best he could, given the ripped seams and popped buttons, as he considered his options. Certainly he could go after her. She was dripping blood like a piñata drips candy; she’d be easy to track. But if he was honest, he didn’t really want to catch her. He hadn’t wanted to kill her back in her apartment. He’d let the heat of the moment overtake him. He probably would have killed her had she not stalled him by removing his eyeball, but if she’d died he would have been very sorry. Jane’s death was the greatest regret of his long life. He had tried to convince himself that it wasn’t his fault. She had died by her own hand, how could he be responsible for that? But he loved her enough to know that by ruining her life, by taking Jacob away from her and forcing her to live without ever knowing what had become of him, he had killed Jane as surely as if he’d wrapped the noose around her tender neck and kicked the chair out from under her feet himself. He would not do it again, he would not kill Sunni, no matter how much she provoked him. He still had Isabel; he still had every advantage that he’d had before he came to Sunni’s apartment.

Sunni’s wounds were grave enough that she might die without his intervention: even a dhampir couldn’t survive more than an eighty percent blood loss. But if she lived he was sure she’d come back to him again, try another time to avenge her foster father and retrieve her best friend, she was that stubborn. And every time she returned she was more powerful, more worthy of being his partner. He still believed he had a chance to win her love. He smiled to himself and started down the stairs. This game was far from over. Sunni’s eyes felt like they were glued shut. Something hard was pressing into her back, as if she’d fallen onto a large, sharp-edged rock. Her left leg was numb and the right was full of pins and needles. She didn’t know where she was but she smelled garbage and cold night air. Of the voices that had woken her up, two were familiar, but she couldn’t place them. “You’re cute,” said a voice she didn’t recognize, but from the brogue and the slur she could tell it was a drunk Irish man. “Who’s the old man? Your grandfather?” “Excuse me, let me past. We are looking for someone.” This was the old man the Irish one was referring to. “Gimme your wallet, old man,” the Irish voice said. Somebody laughed, maybe the old man. Sunni tried to lift her hands but they felt as heavy as lead. “Listen,” the elderly voice said urgently. “We are looking for a woman. She might be hurt, maybe dying. She’s somewhere around here.” “What’s she look like?” asked a female voice, raspy and cigarette-burned. “Shut the fuck up, Dolores,” the Irish man said. “We don’t care what she looks like.” “Woman, look me in the eyes,” the elderly man said, his tone commanding. “You will tell us everything you know. ” Sunni recognized the voice, and the tone. It was Sherman Wong, and he was glamouring the woman with the raspy voice. The glamoured woman spoke in a monotone. “There’s a woman behind that garbage bin. She’s dead, though.” “Gimme your fucking wallet, man, before I shoot you!” It was the male, now high-pitched and hysterical. Sunni heard the hollow thumping sound of punches, then a cracking noise, like dry twigs being stepped on. The Irish man began to cry, but the cries receded down the alley and finally she didn’t hear him anymore. Footsteps approached. Callused fingers gently pressed on the side of her throat. “Sunni, don’t worry, we’re here now. You’re going to be okay. “ Fingers fluttered over her eyelids, helping her to open them. Sherman and Delia slowly came into focus, leaning over her. “Her pulse is very weak,” Sherman said to Delia. “I will have to give her my blood. ” “Dad, you’re kidding! That’s gross.” Delia said. Sherman ignored her. He lifted his wrist to his mouth and bit down, and then he put his wrist to Sunni’s mouth. The warm, salty blood spurted in rhythmic bursts down Sunni’s throat. At first she gagged and turned away, but he grabbed her head. “You must drink, Sunni. Otherwise you will die.”

After a moment she started swallowing and in another moment she grabbed the wrist and sucked hungrily. “That is the grossest thing I’ve ever seen,” Delia said. “Then stop looking,” Sherman snapped. Sherman gently pulled his arm away. Sunni watched him hold a finger to the wound on his wrist until it began to close. A woman in a ragged T-shirt and short skirt approached them from behind. “Is she all right? I thought she was dead. ” Delia spun on the woman. “She’s alive, no thanks to you. Why didn’t you call an ambulance?” The woman raised her eyebrows and gave Delia a cynical smile. “Why ain’t you calling her an ambulance now?” “Good point.” Delia turned back to her father. “What do we do now, Dad?” “Hold Sunni,” Sherman said. Sunni felt Delia’s soft arms slide in to replace Sherman’s ropy ones. Sherman walked over to the woman and stared into her eyes. Immediately a glazed expression took over her face. “Close your eyes, Dolores,” Sherman said. Her lids fluttered and then closed. “Keep them closed for five minutes. When you open them, all you will remember is a strange dream. None of this is real, do you hear me?” “None of this is real,” she repeated. As Sherman and Delia carried Sunni out of the alley the woman stayed upright, but with her head slumped, asleep on her feet. Sherman and Delia brought Sunni back to her apartment. She rejected the idea of going to bed, opting instead to sit in the living room on the only part of the couch that wasn’t covered with broken glass. Sherman examined her neck. “The wounds are almost gone,” he announced. “You have good healing powers.” “How good?” Sunni croaked. Her throat felt scratched and raw, as if she’d been through the flu. Sherman’s face wrinkled into a big smile. “Not that good. I don’t recommend that you try this again.” “But Richard’s not dead yet. And he’s not finished screwing with me and Isabel.” Delia leaned forward so that Sunni could see her without turning her head. “That’s why we’re here, Sunni. We’re going to help you.” “But you said Sherman doesn’t want the Council to know he’s alive.” Sherman shrugged. “Maybe they won’t find out, but what’s the use of living forever if you can’t help your friends sometimes?” “I wouldn’t know,” Sunni said, trying to ignore a wave of pain and nausea that was washing over her.

“You rest for a day,” Sherman said. “Get your strength back. Then come to the restaurant. Come to the back door, in the alley. I’ll be in the kitchen.” Sunni walked through the living room, gingerly skirting piles of crushed glass speckled with blood and red wine, while isolated glimpses of her battle with Richard flipped through her mind like a PowerPoint presentation with half the images missing. She retrieved her cell phone from her purse and checked the time. It had been eight hours since the fight. That was a lifetime as far as Isabel was concerned, perhaps literally. She dialed her friend’s number and chewed a ragged fingernail while it rang. She was immeasurably relieved to hear Isabel’s groggy voice. “Sunni? Where have you been? I’ve been trying to call you. ” Sunni checked her recent phone calls. There were none from Isabel’s phone, although there were half a dozen from Carl at the art gallery, and two from Alastair Black, Dennis’s lawyer. “Hmm. I guess I missed your calls. Listen, are you feeling better?” Isabel sighed. “Not really. Went to the doctor again, got another prescription, but nothing’s really helping.” Sunni grabbed a cold soda from the refrigerator and drank half of it in one gulp. The thirst must be a side effect of blood loss, she figured. “Can I come and see you?” Sunni asked. There was a long pause. “I don’t think so. I’m just not up to it.” “I won’t tire you out at all. I’ll just sit there quietly. I’ll bring you magazines, all your favorites.” After another long pause, a different voice came on. “Sunni, so happy to hear you’re all right. We were worried about you.” Richard’s smooth voice was full of mocking insinuation. “I bet.” Sunni gulped her soda. “Worried that you didn’t finish the job.” “My dear, Isabel isn’t feeling well right now. Why don’t you come and see us in a couple of days? She should be completely transformed by then.” He abruptly ended the call. Sunni slammed her phone on the counter. What did he mean by transformed? Was he going to make her into a vampire now? And if so, was that better than killing her? Sunni went to the bathroom and took a shower. The hot water pouring over her body reminded her of Jacob. The memories of making love with him in this very room flooded her with grief. He had said he loved her and she hadn’t replied. He had confessed to a sin of omission, that he had attempted to save Sunni and her mother and Rose ended up dead. In response to his confession she had driven him out of her life. Now he was gone, imprisoned in some vampire jail, for the unpardonable crime of trying to help her again. If only she’d just left town with him when he asked her, she was sure that he would be free now, and they would be together. The thought made her sob so hard that the scabs on her neck burst and blood trickled out of the bite holes, which made her cry even more. When the shower water finally turned cold and she had no more tears left, she got dressed in jeans and a T-shirt and headed for Chinatown.

Chapter 23 The Golden Dragon had a side door located in a tiny alley filled with Dumpsters serving the myriad nearby restaurants. Laundry flapped overhead on ropes strung between the adjacent buildings. The alley reminded her of her recent near-death experience in a similar location. She banged on the door hard, wanting to leave the place as quickly as possible, but no one answered. Sunni was about to go around to the front door despite Sherman’s instructions, when a busboy finally let her in. She realized then why no one had heard her knocking: the restaurant was open for business again, and the din in the kitchen was comparable to standing on an airport runway. Dozens of cooks, waiters, and busboys shouted at each other in Chinese while they chopped, fried, flambéed, and tossed dishes around like Frisbees. It took Sunni a while to locate Sherman, standing at a counter with a cell phone pressed between his ear and his shoulder while he chopped a huge pile of green leafy vegetables. Sunni was almost burned several times before she completed the obstacle course of running waiters and chefs tossing food in woks over gas flames a foot high. When she reached Sherman he glanced at her, and then continued shouting in Chinese. Finally he snapped the phone shut and turned to her. “Are you sure you want to do this?” he yelled. “What choice do I have?” Sherman shrugged. “Good point. Okay, Vampire Killing 101.” Sunni followed Sherman down some rickety stairs into a cold, brick-lined basement. A safe in the back of the room said “Wells Fargo, 1897.” The wooden shelves and counters, lined with produce boxes and metal cans of oil and soy sauce, looked equally old. A large sink with chipped white enamel filled one of the walls. Near the stairs a wooden crate quivered ominously. Sherman lifted the large crate easily and carried it to the sink, where gleaming cleavers and other knives were attached to a magnetic strip on the crumbling brick wall. Sunni could hear pathetic quacks coming from inside the box. Sherman handed her a thick rubberized apron and put one on as well. They were both so tiny that the aprons hung almost to their ankles. The crate turned out to be full of stunned, white-feathered ducks. Sherman pulled out the top one. Its legs were tied together with twine but it flapped its wings in a vain attempt to escape. Its shiny black eyes rolled around wildly. Its beak opened, but no sound emerged, because Sherman was holding it by the neck. The chef selected a long, slender knife. He held the duck down on a cutting board with grooves that angled down into the sink. Sunni swallowed hard, willing herself to watch without flinching. If this was a test she intended to pass it. He stretched the duck’s neck over the sink and sliced its throat. The duck’s wings flapped even more desperately after the cut than before it. Sunni watched in disgusted fascination as the duck’s blood squirted at high velocity into the sink. The wings eased into stillness as the volume of blood lessened. “There are three ways to kill vampire,” Sherman said abruptly. He gave the duck a final shake and chopped its head and feet off before tossing it onto a large wooden table with a dark and sticky-looking surface. He pulled another duck from the crate. “You kill this one,” he said with a smile. Sunni stepped forward and grabbed the duck with sweaty hands. It was more active than the first one,

and more vocal. She had to hold its body down with her elbow while stretching its neck with her hand, freeing the other hand to take hold of the knife. “Burning is one way,” Sherman said. Sunni sliced the duck’s neck, feeling the sharp knife slide all the way to bone. “Slicing off the head is another. ” Sunni felt the soda she’d drunk threaten to make a return appearance. She turned her face away from the pulsing blood and flapping wings and breathed slowly and deeply. “What’s the third way?” she asked. “Salt water. ” She turned around to look at him, not sure that she’d heard correctly. The duck, which she’d thought was dead, made a last attempt to fly away. She pressed it back down against the cutting board. “You mean drown them?” He laughed, shaking his head. “No, more like in the Wizard of Oz. You know that movie?” She nodded. “Put a vampire in salt water and he’ll dissolve like the Wicked Witch of the West. Poof.” He snapped his fingers. Sunni tossed the duck onto the table next to the other one. Her right hand was dripping with blood. The smell was rich and fecund and horribly intimate, like the odors in a bedroom after two people have been making love for hours. It made her dizzy and sick. “You’re kidding, right, Sherman? The Wizard of Oz?“ “I like jokes as much as the next guy, but I’d never kid about this. This is life and death. Most likely your death. So I’m telling you things vampires never share with outsiders. This is why you won’t find it in books, in vampire lore.” “Because it’s so simple,” Sunni said, contemplating. He laughed, clutching his belly as if she’d told a magnificent joke. “Oh, it’s not simple at all! You can’t throw a bucket of water, like in the movie. A little bit of salt water does nothing. You must immerse the vampire in salt water. It’s not simple at all. No vampire will go near a big body of salt water. ” Sunni thought of Jacob refusing to enter the bay, telling her that he couldn’t swim. It hadn’t occurred to her that there was more to that story. Sherman dispatched the rest of the ducks in a few economical movements. Then he swept them all into the crate, presumably to take upstairs to be cooked. He rinsed his hands and dried them, and then turned back to Sunni. “You know it’s against our code for vampires to kill other vampires. Punishable by life imprisonment.” The old man chuckled. “That’s a very long time.” “I don’t want to get you into trouble, Sherman.” “Richard Lazarus has wreaked so much havoc, maybe the Council will thank us if we kill him.” He

replaced his cleaver onto the magnetic strip. “Or maybe not, no matter. I could use a break from the restaurant.” “What do they do to humans who kill vampires?” Sherman tossed his long beard over his shoulder and raised his white eyebrows at Sunni. “There’s nothing in the code about that. It would be like writing into your laws what should happen if a cow kills a person. But remember, Sunni, you are not a human.” His fingers ran lightly down the row of knives, landing on one that was different from all the others, so much so that Sunni wondered why she hadn’t noticed it before. It was slightly longer than a carving knife, and its handle was covered with a worn brown material that looked like braided leather. A piece of dark gold metal was set at right angles between the handle and the blade. Instead of being flat, the blade had a raised ridge down the center. It looked like a sword from the Middle Ages, made for a very small knight. “Here, hold this,” Sherman said. She tested the knife on her finger and immediately regretted it. It was sharper than any blade she’d ever held and it sliced deeply into her flesh, leaving a gash half an inch deep. Sherman handed her the towel he’d used to dry his hands. “Lucky you’ve got good healing powers,” he said. “This is no time for stitches.” “So what do I use this for?” “Slicing off heads.” Sherman went to the safe and opened it with three spins of the lock. Sunni caught a glimpse of bundles of cash inside, but the only thing Sherman removed was a small velvet bag, no bigger than a coin purse. He handed her the bag as if he wanted to get rid of it as quickly as possible. “Go ahead, look inside,” Sherman said. She peeked in, and then looked up at her tutor. “What do you do with this?” she asked.

Chapter 24 It was a clear, calm night. Every star in the sky was on view while Sunni navigated the silent streets of the LaForge family’s tony hilltop neighborhood. The mansions there were of every style imaginable, from gingerbread-adorned Victorians to modern glass and steel boxes. Some sat behind gates and walls like mini fortresses, while others hugged the sidewalk, inviting visitors. Sunni pulled up to the LaForge house’s ornate metal gate and typed in the access code. Nothing happened. She tried again, and finally pushed the intercom button. She wasn’t surprised when Richard answered. “Sunni! Are you here to kill me again? Come right in.” The gate swung slowly inward. Sunni drove to the front of the house and parked behind Isabel’s Mercedes convertible. Dennis’s Mercedes, a more staid 4-door sedan, was in front of Isabel’s car, parked at an angle and with the wheels cranked to the right, as if whoever had been using it last had been driving either very fast or very carelessly. She watched in the rearview mirror as Sherman parked his white van farther down the driveway, partially hidden by a large flowering bush. He and Delia leaped out and ran down a gravel path that led around the house. Both of them were dressed in dark, loose clothing. Within five seconds they were out of Sunni’s view. She rang the doorbell and waited for what seemed like a very long time. In the past the maid or Dennis’s house manager arrived before her finger was hardly off the button. The door was finally opened by Richard himself. He bowed in a courtly manner and waved her in. “How’s your eye?” Sunni asked. Although it was obvious that he had healed perfectly well, she wanted to remind the evil vampire what she was capable of. Richard winked, a mischievous grin on his face. “That was a good trick, I’ll give you that.” Sunni examined the foyer. The gilt and marble hall table held the usual elaborate floral arrangement in a tall vase, but the lilies, roses, and birds of paradise all drooped on their stems and a circle of orange pollen stained the white marble. “Where are the servants?” “I ate them.” Sunni stared at him without blinking. Richard chuckled. “Don’t you have a sense of humor anymore?” He ran one long, pale finger over the surface of the table and blew a puff of orange dust into the air. “Isabel and I gave the servants a welldeserved vacation. Why don’t you come into the library and have a drink? You seem like you need one.” The library was to the right of the foyer. Through the French doors Sunni could see a fire burning brightly in the fireplace. Sunni had hoped the Wongs would have showed up by now, but at least they’d find her easily in the library. She nodded and followed him. Richard had been busy in that room. Many of Dennis’s leather-covered, gilt-embossed books were tossed willy-nilly, open on the floor or the tables, their spines cracked and pages wrinkled. An open fountain pen lay on top of one particularly elaborate specimen, its ink soaking into the soft calfskin cover. “I thought you were an art collector,” Sunni said derisively. She picked up the fountain pen and capped it.

“I am, my dear. These are all replicas, interior decorators’ specials, as you would know if you’d examined them. They’re not worth the paper they’re printed on. There were a few treasures, yes. I’ve already put those away.” He walked to the fireplace and sat in one of the high-backed wing chairs that flanked it. In his pinstriped trousers, open-collared shirt, and smoking jacket he looked like he’d popped out of a Victorian novel. He contemplated her, a tiny smile lifting just the corners of his mouth. “So, what brings you here, Sunrise? Are you hoping for a ménage à trois?” Pure white rage flowed through Sunni’s body. Her body tensed, her fingers curled into fists. She felt the change come over her. Her pupils dilated. Everything became brighter, saturated with light. She noticed every detail in the room, down to the thrashing legs of a half-dead fly that lay in the window frame on the other side of the room. Her body had sensed the enemy, and was ready, but her mind knew better. Where the hell were Sherman and Delia? “Where’s Isabel?” she asked. “Is she all right?” He steepled his fingers and tapped them lightly. “Why are you asking me? Use your senses! Didn’t Jacob teach you anything?” He chuckled. “Of course he did. Just enough for you to think you could take me on. A little knowledge is a dangerous thing, I always say.” Sunni closed her eyes and concentrated on listening. Soon she heard someone upstairs, walking on thick carpet. It was discernible from the tiny creaks in the floorboards. “That’s not Isabel,” she said. “Who have you got up there?” “Of course it’s her.” Richard took a poker and rearranged the logs in the fire. “That person isn’t using crutches.” “That’s because Isabel is cured.” The dapper vampire smiled, trying to envelop Sunni in his charm, but it was far too late for that. “What the hell are you talking about?” Sunni shouted, but as soon as the words were out of her mouth, she knew. Just as Sherman had given her his blood for its healing properties, Richard must have done the same for Isabel. “Aren’t you going to thank me?” Richard asked. “I can think of several ways you can show me your gratitude.” Sunni still couldn’t hear Sherman and Delia in the house. She wondered if they’d been intercepted in the backyard. “I’m going to see Isabel.” She turned away. “She’s already on her way down. Why don’t you sit and wait for her?” Sunni listened again, and heard Isabel walk to the top of the staircase. “I told myself that if Isabel was still alive I wouldn’t kill you. When I see her I’ll give you thirty seconds to leave. Take Dennis’s car and disappear. Never come near us again.” “Your mercy is touching, but ill-advised, I assure you.” “Thirty seconds, Lazarus.” Sunni turned on her heel and walked into the foyer. Isabel was still at the top

of the staircase. Sunni bounded up the steps, grabbed her friend and hugged her tightly. “Oh, Isabel, thank God you’re okay. Everything’s going to be all right now …” Isabel was standing stiff under her embrace, her body tense as a bowstring. Sunni pulled back to look at her face. “Izzy? Are you all right? Oh, shit.” Sunni dropped her arms. She took a step back, her eyes riveted on Isabel’s face. She yelled down the stairs. “What have you done to her, you bastard?” “Bastard? Isn’t that the pot calling the kettle black?” Richard had entered the foyer and climbed the stairs, moving with feline grace. He walked over to Isabel and put his arm around her, leaned down to plant a kiss on her white cheek. Sunni’s hand flew to her mouth as she stifled a sob. Isabel’s face was the gray-white of a wax candle, the flesh molded to her bones like a painted skull. Her eyes had sunk so far back they were barely visible. Her mouth hung slightly open, her lips bluish and cracked. Her beautiful blond hair was so dirty and matted it appeared black. She was wearing a short-sleeved white blouse with ruffles around the neck. The ruffles were specked with tiny blood drops, a macabre polka-dot effect. “I thought you said you cured her,” Sunni whispered. Richard nodded. “Oh, I did, but then I kept on draining her. There’s really nothing left of her, you see,” he said, smoothing a lock of Isabel’s matted hair off of her forehead. “If I don’t bring her over soon, she’ll just wind down, like a mechanical doll, and stop forever. ” “No,” Sunni said faintly. Tears swam in her eyes, blurring Isabel’s image. “But you, on the other hand, so bright, so full of life. You recovered wonderfully from the draining I gave you.” Richard’s hand snaked out to touch Sunni’s cheek. She was so horrified she didn’t move away. She couldn’t take her eyes off Isabel. “You still have much to offer me.” “The only thing she’s going to offer you is death, vampire.” Sherman and Delia emerged from a back hallway into the foyer. They moved forward so quickly and silently they appeared to be gliding just above the floor. Sherman brandished the knife and Delia held the chain that had been in the small bag Sherman handed Sunni in the restaurant. As fine and thin as fishing line, the chain looked like it wouldn’t hold a toddler, much less a centuries-old vampire, but Sherman had insisted it was one of the most powerful weapons in existence. Sherman and Delia looked so nonthreatening it would be laughable if it wasn’t so deadly serious. A tiny, baby-faced old man and his reed-thin daughter, brandishing comic book weapons. Sunni wondered what the hell she’d been thinking. But then she saw Richard’s reaction. His eyes widened. He stepped behind Isabel, as if he intended to use his corpse bride for a shield. “Shanyuan Wong, is that you? I thought you were dead.” Sherman smiled. “As Twain said, ‘the report of my death was an exaggeration. ‘ But yours will not be. ” The air sparked with anticipation; dust motes danced in the lamplight, stirred by invisible breezes. The atmosphere thickened. Sunni’s pupils dilated, and she could see everyone in the room gather themselves for battle. The shift was visible only to her heightened senses: it appeared as nothing more than a narrowing of an eye, the tensing of a muscle, but it changed everything. Then, as if someone had fired a starting gun, the fight began.

Chapter 25 They had moved Jacob twice; he was now in a cell very near the Council chambers, in fact it was the holding cell where prisoners were kept before they were brought to testify in front of the Council. It had a concrete floor, was furnished with chairs, and equipped with electric light. Jacob assumed that the Council was preparing for him. Unlike human justice, vampire justice was usually swift. But like human justice, it could often be brutal. In the case of a vampire, a life sentence was forever, and to Jacob’s mind that was far harsher than death. It was very quiet in the halls. The chambers never officially closed, but they did have a few hours of quiet around dawn. Jacob paced the floor. It was six steps from one wall to the other. “Stop pacing, Jacob. You’re making me nervous.” Jacob looked up. Scipio was standing in the shadows on the other side of the bars. His expression was grave. “How is Enzo?” Jacob asked. “He is in a great deal of pain. He will heal, however. ” “Thank goodness for that,” Jacob said. “Would you like me to tell him anything?” Scipio asked. Jacob shrugged. “What would I say? I have no right to ask for his forgiveness.” “Well, he has a message for you.” Jacob looked up hopefully. “Come closer,” Scipio said. Jacob drew close to the bars. “He said he forgives you. He understands what it means to be in love.” “He is a good friend.” Thinking the interview was over, Jacob turned to walk away. Then he heard the unmistakable sound of a key in a lock. The cell bars creaked and the door opened, just enough for Jacob to slip through. “I know it is forbidden to kill our own, but sometimes laws need to be broken.” Scipio clasped Jacob’s arm in a Roman handshake. “Go, Jacob. I hope you and the dhampir are successful. And I hope she loves you as much in return.” Despite Sherman and Delia’s unprepossessing looks, Sunni didn’t doubt their prowess in the fighting arena. She had seen enough from Richard and Jacob, and even from herself, to know that they would be capable of taking down almost anything that walked the earth. She expected that she, Sherman, and Delia together would prove a match for Richard. She hadn’t counted on Isabel. The old vampire and his daughter flew at Richard: literally flew, if Sunni’s eyes could be believed, because first they were in the foyer and a second later they were on the second-floor landing. But she only saw them for a moment, because at that point Isabel threw herself at Sunni. Sunni didn’t have to concentrate to bring on the change, it happened as easily and as naturally as blinking an eye. Isabel’s

movements slowed to a crawl, and Sunni had time to cloak herself. At first she wasn’t sure whether her effort had been successful, but she could see from Isabel’s confused expression that it had. Sunni stepped out of the way and Isabel continued on her downward trajectory. With nothing to break her advance she pitched forward and tumbled down the stairs, rolling head over heels until she came to a stop in the foyer. Her body lay immobile on the parquet floor, her head tilted at an impossible angle. Sunni stifled a scream. Ignoring the battle that was occurring behind her, she leaped down the stairs in two bounds and landed at Isabel’s side. She bent over and put her hand on her friend’s wrist, feeling for a pulse. Before Sunni could detect anything, Isabel jerked upward like a puppet on a string and grabbed Sunni by the neck. Sunni responded automatically, seizing Isabel’s shoulders and pushing her away with all her might. As a rabid dog assumes unnatural strength because of the lethal virus coursing through its veins, Isabel fought like a tiger, with no human thoughts in her mind, no recognition that the beast she was trying to kill was her best friend. She threw Sunni to the ground, scratching and punching and gouging. Her fingernails ripped into Sunni’s eyes, and only a quick turn of the head kept Sunni from being blinded. But while her head was turned Isabel got her hands around Sunni’s neck. Sunni gazed in stunned disbelief at the slavering creature straddling her body, choking the life out of her. She knew it wasn’t Isabel, but the face above her was her friend’s. She couldn’t bring herself to do anything except pull on Isabel’s arms and try to disengage her. Grainy halos appeared around each twinkling light in the chandelier above her head. A black fog infiltrated her peripheral vision, like squid ink in water. As Isabel’s beloved face faded from her sight, Sunni’s survival instincts took over. With a sudden burst of strength she hit Isabel under the chin, knocking her backward. As soon as her friend’s grip had loosened Sunni threw her over and switched places with her. Isabel bucked like a wild bronco, screaming obscenities Sunni had never heard from her mouth. She raked Sunni’s cheek with her nails. Sunni watched, aghast, as her chalk-white face was splattered with Sunni’s blood. Isabel smiled and licked some of it off her lip. “I’m sorry, Isabel,” Sunni muttered as she lifted Isabel by her hair and slammed her head into the floor. She watched Isabel’s eyelids flutter. Her eyes rolled back, showing the bloodshot whites. Sunni fervently hoped she had delivered just the right amount of force, enough to knock Isabel out but not enough to kill her or cause brain damage. She stroked Isabel’s cheek as she stood up and wheeled around. What she saw was not what she had hoped for. Delia was on the floor in the shadow of the staircase. The vase of flowers was upended. Delia lay in a pool of stagnant water, but thankfully not blood. Stems and petals were entwined with her hair and clothes. Richard and Sherman clutched each other in a desperate embrace, both bleeding from multiple wounds. They were each trying to stop the other from reaching the knife, which lay on the floor a few feet from Delia’s hand. The two vampires were struggling between Sunni and the knife. She was not going to reach it before one of them did. But a faint gleam on the floor drew Sunni’s attention. The silver chain lay near Isabel’s foot, unnoticed by the vampires. She picked it up. When pulled it stretched like taffy, but it didn’t break. Sherman had called it silver, but this material had a consistency that was like nothing she had ever seen before. Sherman escaped Richard’s grasp and leaped for the blade, picking it up and turning in a single, graceful motion. Richard began backing up the circular staircase, his hands outstretched. Sherman didn’t let a second pass before he followed him up the stairs. Now they were both gliding again, moving at superhuman speed. They paused on the landing, in front of a huge, beautiful stained glass window that Sunni knew was an original Tiffany. Sherman raised the knife. Richard slipped like a shadow behind his back and before Sherman had a chance to react Richard pushed him through the window. The sound of splintering glass was almost musical.

Sunni’s body moved before her mind formed a conscious thought. She leaped the entire height of the staircase, cleared the banister and landed next to Richard with barely a thud. He was still watching the magnificent display of cascading glass shards when Sunni wrapped the chain around him. The chain had the effect of a stun gun on a human. Richard dropped to the ground as if someone had kicked his feet out of from under him. He lay sprawled on the floor, staring at Sunni in shocked surprise. She had no idea how long the effect would last, so she jumped forward and coiled the rest of the chain around his body, trussing him like a Thanksgiving turkey. The chain, which was only a yard or so long, seemed to stretch infinitely, reaching from Richard’s shoulders to his ankles. He closed his eyes and pressed his lips together, grunting in pain. The strange material obviously had some internal effects as well. Sunni watched him for a moment until she was satisfied that he couldn’t move. Then she walked gingerly through the shards. She leaned out the window, avoiding the jagged edges that poked up like stalagmites, and held her breath while she searched for Sherman. It didn’t take long. One story down, he was sprawled like a broken doll on the tabletop surface of the carved privet hedge that surrounded the LaForge house. “Sherman!” Sunni screamed.

Chapter 26 Sherman’s eyes opened and he waved weakly at Sunni. “I’m okay.” He sat up and rolled off the hedge. “I’ll come in by the front door. Just give me a minute.” She sat on the landing with Richard, watching Isabel and Delia in the foyer below, hoping that Isabel wouldn’t wake up before Sherman returned. Unfortunately Isabel did wake up, but so did Delia. Sunni stood, torn between running downstairs and helping Delia and staying with Richard to make sure he stayed tied up. “Don’t worry, I’ve got her,” Delia said. She waited calmly while Isabel crept forward, stealthy but awkward, like a zombie lion. When she was close Delia neatly executed a martial arts maneuver, grabbing Isabel’s arm, twisting it behind her and pressing her to the floor. She was kneeling on Isabel’s back when Sherman walked in. “Are you all right, Delia?” he asked. “I’m fine,” she said. “Just got knocked out for a minute.” Sherman brushed his hands together. A fine glitter of rainbow-colored dust sifted between his fingers. “Pity about the window,” he said, looking at the hole in the wall that he’d just fallen through. “All right, let’s get a move on.” He looked at Delia. “Will you be all right with her, Delia? We could, uh, neutralize her now.” “No!” Sunni leaned over the balcony. “Sherman, isn’t there anything you can do for her?” Sherman bent over Isabel. He lifted her eyelids and checked her pupils, and then laid his fingers against her neck to feel her pulse. Lifting her upper lip, he looked at her canine teeth. Finally, he nodded. “I think there’s still a chance she can recover. ” Delia moved closer. “I can handle her for now, Daddy. We’ll deal with her when you get done with Richard. ” Sherman bounded up the stairs and bent over Richard, who glared at him with dark, malevolent eyes. “You’re a traitor to our kind, Shanyuan,” he hissed. Sherman gave a dismissive snort. “We are not the same kind. Not even close. “ He approached Richard and crouched by his head, but Sunni noticed he kept a respectful distance from the silver chain. “The Council has been after you for years. But it took this girl to bring you down.” “You better hurry,” Delia said. “Someone’s going to report that broken window and the police will be coming.” Sherman lifted Richard’s head, taking care to keep his hands away from the silver. “You get his feet,” Sherman said to Sunni. Sherman opened the back of the van and they tossed Richard on top of a pile of cardboard produce boxes. He didn’t struggle, but his eyes bored into Sunni, never leaving her face. Even after she closed the door she imagined them burning twin holes in the metal, like laser beams. She hopped into the passenger seat and strapped herself in. Which turned out to be a good idea,

because Sherman drove his van like a race car. Traffic was light, since it was four in the morning, mostly just taxis and delivery trucks, and Sherman sped down Market Street, running every red light and weaving around every car as if it was double-parked. Sunni put her hand gently on the old man’s arm. “Sherman, we’ve got a captive in the back. We don’t need the police stopping us.” He laughed. “Sunni, this is how vampires drive. You better get used to it!” She nodded and checked her seat belt again. They pulled into the parking lot at the Yerba Buena Cove Yacht Harbor. Sherman climbed into the back of the van with Richard. Sunni got out and looked around, checking inside nearby cars. When she was relatively sure the coast was clear she opened the wharf gate, returned to the van and opened the back door. Sherman had covered Richard head to toe in a plaid blanket. He looked like a corpse. “What does that chain do, paralyze him?” Sunni asked. “I don’t know exactly,” Sherman answered. “I’ve never used it before. My father gave it to me, and told me only to use it in cases of extreme emergency. ” “Do you think we should cloak ourselves, so that no one sees us carrying him to the boat?” Sunni asked. Sherman shook his head. “We can’t cloak Lazarus. Don’t you think that would look more suspicious, a bundle moving by itself?” “I suppose so.” Sunni grabbed Richard’s feet. They hurriedly carried their burden through the wharf gate and down the dock to the Rose, with Sunni fervently praying that no one would appear out of one of the gently bobbing yachts around them. They stopped at the slip where the Rose was moored. Sunni looked at the boat and at their package. “We’re going to have to put him down,” she said. “I’ll jump in and then you hand him to me.” Sherman nodded. Even though he was ancient, he didn’t look the tiniest bit winded. Sunni was sure that he could have carried Richard himself, but that he was letting Sunni help so that she could feel she was an equal partner in the endeavor. Revenge was not so sweet when someone else did it for you. She jumped onto the stern deck and took a moment to move a box to make some space. When she looked up she screamed. Richard was standing up, holding Sherman in a chokehold. The smaller vampire’s legs kicked wildly in the air. “How did you … ?” Richard laughed. “So much you need to know, dhampir, about vampire weapons and every other thing. If only you had let me teach you, but instead you relied on these pitiful substitutes. You could have been a worthy companion.” He inclined his head to look at Sherman, who was struggling like a bug in a spiderweb. “On the other hand, you, Shanyuan—” He took one step forward and opened his arms. “—you are not so worthy. ” For a moment Sherman was suspended in the air above the water, long enough that Sunni registered the look of surprise on his face as his arms and legs pinwheeled desperately. He hit the water with a small splash, and then, like a bubble popping, he disappeared.

“No!” Sunni grabbed a life preserver from under a seat, and then ran to the railing and threw one leg over, intending to jump in. She stopped when she looked in the water and saw only steam rising. The steam was roughly in the shape of a person. Sunni sank to her knees, clutching the life preserver to her chest. Sherman had been wrong. It wasn’t like the Wicked Witch of the West. When she melted, she left her hat, shoes and broom in a wet puddle. Sherman had disappeared as completely as if he’d never existed. How was she going to tell Delia she got her immutable father killed? She regained control after a few seconds and wiped her face with her shirtsleeve. Now she was at least going to go down with a fight. She took three quick breaths and felt the change come over her as her body readied itself for battle. She crouched and sprung, grabbed the railing lightly and vaulted onto the pier. She had intended to land on Richard, but he was no longer in the place he’d been a second earlier. He was farther down the pier, locked in a mortal struggle with Jacob Eddington.

Chapter 27 Richard and Jacob stumbled along the pier like drunken dance partners, each with their hands around the other’s neck. They lurched toward the pier’s edge and Sunni stopped breathing, her whole being focused on Jacob. She had just seen what falling in water would do to a vampire. She was still in a crouching position after landing on the pier. Under one of her hands she felt the faint impression of the silver chain, thin as sewing thread. She gathered it up, thinking hard. How had Richard gotten free? Could he do it again? What if the chain got wrapped around Jacob instead? What if it proved to be useless? The two vampires swung to the other side of the pier, locked in their deathly embrace. They teetered on the edge, and it appeared that the only thing keeping Jacob from hitting the water was Richard, who was trying to loosen Jacob’s grip so that he could throw him in the water without falling in himself. Sunni leaped forward, her arms outstretched, holding the chain. She landed neatly behind Richard, catching him in the loop of the chain, and pulled hard. Jacob lost his grip on Richard’s arms and fell backward. Time slowed to a crawl. She threw Richard aside and grabbed Jacob, pulling him back up onto the pier. He took no time to recover, just headed toward Richard at full speed. “Bare skin,” he screamed. “Help me!” Bare skin? The realization of what he was saying came upon Sunni in a flash. She ran to Jacob, who was holding Richard down as he struggled. He was hampered by the chain, but not incapacitated by it. Sunni grabbed the collar of the fine cotton shirt Richard was wearing and ripped it in half, tearing it off his arms and chest. Then she took the chain and whipped it into the air, the better to bind him with speed. The end caught Jacob on the cheek. He grunted with pain. Sunni watched with amazement as an angry red wound opened up on Jacob’s cheek, as if he’d been cut with a knife. Blood dripped down his neck, but she couldn’t keep looking. She turned to Richard and with lightning speed bound the chains around his naked chest and arms. He screamed and writhed in agony as she pushed his pants legs up and coiled the chains around his ankles. After a few moments he went still. Dark, smoking wounds appeared under the chains and dripped with blood, just as it had happened with Jacob. Out of the corner of her eye, Sunni saw a light in a nearby yacht. Someone was moving around in a cabin. “Get him in the boat!” she said in an urgent whisper. Jacob lifted Richard over his shoulder and jumped as lightly as a cat onto the deck of the Rose. Sunni followed after him. She took one last look at Richard as Jacob dragged him down into the hatch. His eyes were closed and he appeared unconscious. She felt a thud under her feet as Jacob dropped him on the galley floor. After a minute he came back out. He had taken one of the towels from the galley and was holding it against his cheek. He gave a wry smile, using just the uninjured side of his face. “What are you doing here?” Sunni asked. “I saw them take you away. ” Jacob closed the distance between them. “I’m sorry. I was imprisoned, otherwise I would never have left you by yourself. But I had some help from friends, and I escaped.” She threw her arms around his neck, kissing him hard. He returned her embrace, wrapping one long arm around her waist and lifting her off her feet. After a few moments he gently placed her back on the deck, still holding the towel against his face.

“Let’s go,” he said. Jacob released the lines from their cleats while Sunni fired up the engine. The sun was beginning to rise behind the East Bay hills as they cleared the harbor and headed into the bay. Sunni watched the salmon stain of sunrise leak into the night sky while she steered the boat due east. “There’s a first aid kit in the cabin,” she said. He was standing next to her. She put her hand on his to lift the towel off his cheek. The bleeding had slowed but the wound was still open, revealing wet, red flesh. He looks the same as a human beneath the skin, she thought. What strange alchemical reactions had taken place to make him what he was, to make her what she was, for that matter? Or was it pure magic? “You need a butterfly bandage.” Sunni blinked back tears. Now was no time to break down. “I’m sorry about Sherman, Sunni.” “How did you know about him? His daughter said he was hiding out. ” “I saw him when I was watching you and recognized him. Shanyuan Wong was a yeoman too, but he retired many years ago.” “But vampires never get old, how can they retire?” He rubbed his forehead. “Most of us don’t. But we are a small, isolated, society—rule-bound, superstitious, gossipy. Sherman probably just got tired of us.” “I’ll be right back,” Sunni said. She hopped down the stairs into the cabin. Deliberately not looking at Richard, who was lying on the floor near the stove, she grabbed the first aid kit and went back on deck. While she was hunting for a butterfly bandage, Jacob put his hand on her arm. She looked up and saw that the wound was already healing on its own. “What were you planning to do with Richard?” Jacob asked. “Take him into open water and throw him in,” Sunni replied. “Really?” “That was the plan, anyway. ” The bay was sparsely dotted with boats: a few sailboats getting in an early jaunt, maybe before the owners went to work; a commuter ferry coming from Marin County; a freighter headed for the shipyards in Oakland. But they were far enough apart that no one would see when they pushed their cargo over the side. Yet after watching Sherman dissolve like a lump of sugar into a cup of tea, Sunni was feeling much less sanguine about treating Richard to the same fate. Killing in self-defense was one thing, but dumping a helpless vampire into the sea, even one as evil as Richard, wasn’t in her nature. “Sunni?” For a moment she’d forgotten Jacob was standing there. “Yes?” “I don’t think we should throw Richard into the sea.” “Strange. That’s what I was thinking. It just doesn’t seem right.” He shook his head. “No, I think you misunderstand me. I am going to free him and then I am going to kill him. Fair and square.”

Sunni slapped her forehead. “Oh, good heavens. You’re going to have a duel for your honor, is that it?” “Something like that.” “Jacob, the man is lethal.” “I cannot live any longer if I don’t do this.” “Don’t tell me you’re threatening to kill yourself. You can’t do that.” Jacob waved an arm over the expansive water surrounding them. “You have brought us to the place of life and death, as it happens. It would be very easy. ” Sunni examined his face for any trace of doubt that she could exploit, but she could see it was a lost cause. Jacob’s mind was made up. Her mouth trembled and unexpected tears filled her eyes. Jacob stroked her cheek. “Oh, Sunni, please don’t. I cannot endure seeing you cry.” She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “Okay. I’m fine.” “When I take Richard out, lock yourself in the cabin and don’t open the door until I come for you.” “What if it isn’t you who comes for me?” Jacob looked around the boat. His eyes focused on the dinghy mounted on the stern. “Okay, here’s another plan. We’ll put this small boat over the side. You get in and wait for me, but if anything happens, just take off. Richard can’t pursue you over water. ” The situation was unbearable. Better to get it over with. They were nowhere near any other boats. She cut the engine, ran forward and dropped anchor. Then she brushed off her hands and headed for the dinghy, with Jacob at her heels. She unhooked it as quickly as her shaking hands would allow and used the winch to lower it into the water, attaching its line to one of the cleats on the stern. Then she turned and looked at Jacob. She wanted to hug him, but if she did, she didn’t think she’d be able to let go. Jacob grabbed one of her hands. He didn’t say, “Don’t worry, everything’s going to be all right,” or any of a million platitudes that he might have used to placate her. Both of them knew it was quite possible it wouldn’t be all right. So he simply squeezed her hand gently and turned away.

Chapter 28 Sunni huddled in the dinghy, her head in her hands, listening to the sounds of battle above her head. What was happening was beyond anything she could have imagined, even after two fights with Richard. She didn’t think any of them were going to survive it, but she was determined to help Jacob. She just had to figure out how. “Three ways to kill a vampire,” Sunni muttered, pulling herself upright even as the dinghy bounced on a wave and threatened to knock her over. “Hacking to bits.” Sherman’s knife had disappeared into the bay along with Sherman. She looked around the dinghy. The only sharp thing she had was a Swiss Army knife in the emergency kit. That wouldn’t help her at all. There was a crash above her that felt like a bus was landing on the deck. The very timbers of the boat groaned and some of them cracked. Shattered glass and wood fragments cascaded down into the dinghy. Sunni shuddered, imagining the two vampires enduring blow after blow. “Burning is the second way.” Where was a blowtorch when you needed it? The next crash broke the metal railing just above her head. Sunni looked up and saw Jacob fall through the gap, still clutching Richard’s arms. His face was so bloody and pummeled it was barely recognizable. He didn’t fall into the dinghy. Instead, with an unearthly scream that sounded like an eagle, amplified ten times, he rebounded back onto the boat. Sunni heard a thud in the stern. The Rose groaned and shuddered in a way Sunni had never experienced before. She felt sure the boat was going to come apart, so she made a decision. After tightening the straps of her bright orange life vest, she grabbed the waterproof sack containing the radio, the emergency kit, and the beacon light, and climbed the ladder back onto the boat. The deck looked like it had been through a catastrophic storm. Everything that wasn’t tied down, and most of the things that had been, were strewn about like children’s blocks. The deck itself was splitting apart. The highly varnished wood was cracked and broken, showing chinks of light from the cabin below. Sunni was crying in earnest now, with no attempt to control it. She was crying for everything that she had lost already, and everything she expected to lose in the next few minutes—the Rose, Jacob’s life, and her own, because even if she survived this she would never be the same. Then she saw a can of gasoline skidding along the deck. She leaped forward and grabbed the can, anchoring it between her knees while she pulled open the emergency kit and located a lighter. Sunni heard a sound like beating wings above her head. Jacob and Richard were in the air, suspended against the glowing red sunrise, locked in mortal combat. They appeared to be flying, and there was something horribly beautiful about the sight. They crashed back to the aft deck, and the Rose listed precariously in the water, almost capsizing before righting itself with a gigantic rush of water that soaked Sunni to the skin. She crawled along the deck, clinging to anything that was still nailed down. The giant wave had not ended the vampires’ fight, but steam was rising off their struggling bodies, like a half-doused fire. Sunni opened the can and began pouring gasoline over her beloved boat, tossing it in wild circles, but making sure to soak the sails. Jacob and Richard both paused, looking at her with shock in their eyes, but then Richard began punching Jacob in desperate fury. Sunni emptied the can and tossed it over the side. Clutching the lighter, she looked back at the vampires. It appeared that Jacob was getting the upper hand. He flipped Richard over, knocked him

down, and pushed him over the side. Richard disappeared. “Come here, now!” Sunni screamed. He scrabbled toward her, even as the lighter flicked to life. Swallowing hard, she touched the flame to the canvas mainsail. Soaked in gas, it became an instant bonfire. She recoiled from the heat and turned to grab Jacob’s hand. Her hand clutched air. Jacob was gone. “Jacob!” The scene was now lit with a hellish orange light, but half obscured by dark, noxious smoke. She crawled back to the place where Richard had fallen, and saw Jacob and Richard struggling, clinging to each other and to the broken pieces of the railing. Their bodies were suspended over the bay, each trying to break the other’s precarious grip. Each time a wave hit the boat it listed, and they came closer to being submerged. Sunni moved faster than she’d ever imagined, faster than dodging cars on the Golden Gate Bridge, faster than falling from the bridge. She grabbed Jacob’s hands, braced her legs against the deck and pulled. Jacob’s head reappeared, and she watched in desperation as the rest of his body followed. He was whole and complete, right down to his heavy boots. Not so for Richard. Half of him was still attached to Jacob, clinging to his legs like a barnacle. His face was contorted. His mouth gaped open in a rictus of pain, the fangs glinting like two small spears. His body had dissolved from the waist down into a wet grayish black substance, like ash mixed with water. Sunni closed her eyes, but the image was burned into her memory forever. She wrapped her arms around Jacob and pulled him close. Suddenly Jacob cried out in pain. His body thrashed against the deck. Sunni opened her eyes and saw that Richard had sunk his fangs into Jacob’s thigh. She slid out from under Jacob and with one mighty kick to the evil vampire’s head, dispatched him into the water. Richard’s hideous scream only lasted an instant. She scrabbled over to the edge and peered down, watching the reflection of the flames dance on the water’s surface. It was difficult to believe that Richard Lazarus could actually be dead, but then the telltale circle of smoke appeared, and she breathed a sigh of relief. She crawled back to Jacob. His face was smashed like a rotten pumpkin. She pushed down the desperate panic that threatened to incapacitate her. The fire had reached all the sails and become an inferno, consuming the boat bite by bite like a hungry monster. They only had a few seconds to get out. She grabbed Jacob by the back of his shirt and dragged him along the deck to the stern. Although his eyes were swollen almost shut she could still see the fear in his face as the smoke and flames surrounded them. They reached the dive ladder and Sunni pulled Jacob to a standing position. “Climb over, Jacob,” she shouted. “We have to go now.” Even though his face was destroyed she could detect a wry smile. “From the frying pan into the fire, eh?” he said. “This is the fire, dude. We’re getting into the frying pan.” She threw her leg over the side and looked down. Thank heavens, the little dinghy was still bobbing on the end of its line. She started down the ladder. “Look me in the eyes, Jacob.”

He peered over the side, fixating on her face. “Come on down. Trust me.” She had reached the bottom of the ladder. She hauled the dinghy over and climbed in, holding it close to the edge of the sailboat. Jacob took the ladder in two jumps and landed on his back in the center of the dinghy. He didn’t try to sit up. She untied the line and pushed off, then fired up the outboard motor. Within seconds they had pulled away from the Rose, and Sunni could see that it was entirely engulfed in flames. She heard the whirring of a Coast Guard helicopter, and then it appeared out of the smoke over their heads. She cut the engine and sat down next to Jacob, taking his head into her lap. “Are you all right?” She forced herself to look at him. It appeared that every bone in his handsome face had been reduced to pulp, leaving nothing for his skin to hang onto. “I will regenerate,” Jacob said, his normally perfect diction slurred by his pulverized jaw. “As Richard would have if you’d let that half of him live.” “So we each killed half of him,” Sunni said. “Is that enough to satisfy your honor?” “Is it enough to make you forgive me for what I allowed to happen to your mother?” Sunni sat up and looked into Jacob’s face, bracing herself for the sight. But he was already starting to heal. His nose and cheeks were reshaping themselves, filling out his skin neatly. He looked like a man again, albeit a man who’d been in a heck of a bar fight. “You never needed my forgiveness, but yes, for the record, I forgive you. “ She swallowed nervously. “Will you forgive me for pushing you away?” “You never needed it either, but for the same record, yes, I forgive you.” “Can you sit up?” Jacob grimaced as he did so, indicating that the healing process, as quick as it was, was not over yet. He touched his face gingerly, assessing his injuries, while Sunni opened the bag containing the radio so that she could call the Coast Guard. “You have one more test, unfortunately,” she said to Jacob. “We can stay in this little tub and motor back to shore, or we can ask these guys to pull us up on a ladder.” She pointed into the sky at the helicopter. “Which would you prefer?” “I would prefer the ladder. “ He managed a small smile. “After all, it will be just like climbing the Golden Gate Bridge.”

Chapter 29 A week later, on a hot Saturday afternoon without a cloud in the sky, Sunni and Jacob walked from her apartment to the Powell Street cable car and rode it into Chinatown. Sunni already knew where the Tien Hau Temple was located, or they might never have found it. Perhaps the oldest Chinese temple in North America, Tien Hau was located on a small alley, in a nondescript brick building, atop three flights of winding stairs. The church founders, battling anti-Chinese sentiment in the middle of the nineteenth century as they would for many years to come, had chosen this spot to guard against prying or hostile eyes. The small temple was packed wall to wall with people. Sherman had been a pillar of the community for more years than anyone could remember and everyone wanted to come and pay their respects to him. Golden lanterns and red lightbulbs glinted on the ceiling. By peering between the bodies Sunni could just make out the glass-enclosed shrine, filled with seated deities, and in front of that was an altar, decorated with embroidered red fabric and covered with plates of offerings—candles, incense, flowers, fruit, and other foods. Jacob took Sunni’s arm and they made their way slowly to the altar. Sherman’s ashes were on the table, in a Qing dynasty vase Sunni had given to Delia for that purpose. It was made of fine white porcelain decorated with delicate blue flowers, similar to the one she had sold Dennis but without the French baroque trappings. A small, middle-aged woman who introduced herself as Sherman’s cousin handed each of them a handful of joss paper. “Shanyuan Wong was a rich man,” the cousin said. “He’s going to need a lot of money on the other side.” Sunni dutifully lit the gilt-edged paper and dropped it into a ceramic plate as it was quickly consumed. She placed one hand on the vase and closed her eyes. As they had so often over the past week, guilt and remorse overwhelmed her. She couldn’t stop thinking that Sherman could have lived happily ever after, literally, if Sunni hadn’t dragged him into the confrontation with Richard. She had been the cause of Sherman’s death, and for that she would never forgive herself. She felt a warm hand on hers and she opened her eyes. Delia was standing next to her, wearing a beautiful white silk suit. Her hair was coiled in an elaborate knot at the back of her head, secured with ivory combs. Sunni was surprised to see that Delia’s face was dry, since her own was awash with tears. “Oh, Delia, I’m so sorry,” Sunni said. She had said it before, when they returned to the mansion after dispatching Richard, but she didn’t think she could ever say it enough. Delia pulled on Sunni’s hand. “Come with me,” she said. “I need a smoke.” Jacob, who was very carefully burning a stack of fake paper currency, nodded when Sunni caught his eye and indicated she was going out with Delia. Delia led Sunni through a storage room and out a window onto a rickety metal fire escape. Looking down was vertiginous, as there was nothing but the cagelike metal structure separating them from the bustling crowd three stories below. Delia lit a cigarette. Her exhalation sounded like a sigh. “Want one?” Delia asked. Sunni shook her head. “I meant to tell you this earlier,” Delia said, “but I’ve been so busy with all of Daddy’s arrangements I haven’t had a chance.”

Sunni braced herself for Delia to tell her she never wanted to see her again. She wouldn’t blame her. “He knew what he was getting into when he decided to help you,” Delia said, flicking ash into her hand. “But still, it was my fault. ” “Do you know how old I am, Sunni?” Sunni appraised Delia’s familiar, youthful face. “I always thought you were about ten years older than me.” “I’m seventy-five years old.” “Wow.” Sunni smiled, considering the implications of what that meant for her own aging process. “I guess I will have a cigarette,” she said, holding out her hand. “It’s not like they’re going to kill me.” Her friend laughed as she tapped a cigarette out of the pack and lit it for Sunni. “Sherman was one hundred and thirty-five,” Delia added. Sunni coughed as the acrid smoke burned her throat. “So those stories he told about being in the 1906 earthquake, he wasn’t just confused?” Delia shook her head. “On the day we went to help you, Daddy told me that he didn’t think he would come back from it. He said he had lived long enough, and that he was ready to go.” She smiled ruefully and blew smoke toward the blue sky. “He always said the only way he’d be able to take a day off from the restaurant was when he was dead. ” She gazed frankly at Sunni. “So let go of the guilt, girlfriend.” “But aren’t you sad?” Delia shrugged. “I’ll see him on the other side. It’ll just take me a lot longer to get there than most people.” The ashes came out of the box in a clump. They caught the wind and expanded into a small gray cloud that drifted on the breeze before settling gently on the ocean’s surface. Sunni and Isabel, each holding one side of the plain cardboard box, watched as Dennis’s earthly remains were absorbed by the white churn of the yacht’s wake. Three of his favorite musicians launched into a lively jazz tunethat Dennis had composed. In the hands of experts, Sunni could hear that her foster father had been talented at songwriting, if not at playing. She closed her eyes and let a wave of sadness wash over her. Dennis was the only real father she’d ever had, and she knew that there was no magical biological father waiting in the wings to be everything she’d ever hoped for. She had crossed the rubicon of adulthood now. Her days of being parented were over. Isabel put down the box and took both of Sunni’s hands, giving her a small, sad smile. Luckily, Isabel remembered very little of what had happened during the time that Richard Lazarus had dominion over her mind. As far as she knew she had simply been the victim of a particularly cruel twist of fate: Her father and her husband died within days of each other in separate and unrelated accidents. Dennis had a heart attack, and then her loving husband was lost at sea while boating with friends. Her tragedies had been tempered with good fortune, however: Much to her doctors’ confusion, Isabel’s multiple sclerosis had gone into remission after Richard’s death. Only Sunni and Jacob knew the real reason for her miraculous recovery. After returning to dry land, they had rushed back to the LaForge house, in fear that Isabel or Delia, or both, might be dead. They found Isabel in bed, with Delia in attendance. Delia had already recovered

from the injuries Richard had dealt her, but Isabel was comatose and near death. Only an infusion of Jacob’s blood would save her. Sunni had turned her back, unable to watch Jacob perform such an intimate act with another woman, even though she knew it was necessary. Within an hour Isabel was out of bed and talking like her old self; after twenty-four hours she was moving with more agility than a high school athlete. When they returned to the yacht’s spacious cabin, Alastair Black, Dennis’s lawyer, was waiting for them, his burgundy leather briefcase on the table. Isabel waved at Alastair, but continued on toward the bedroom. “Sunni, may I speak with you a moment?” Alastair asked. “Sure.” Sunni sat down next to him. Alastair opened his briefcase and handed Sunni a letter-sized envelope. She recognized Dennis’s handwriting on the front. “What’s this?” she asked. “We haven’t read the will yet,” Alastair said. “Isabel hasn’t felt up to it. But I drafted it for Dennis, so of course I know what it says. This letter, though, is just for you.” Sunni ripped open the envelope and removed three pages, handwritten on Dennis’s monogrammed stationery. She looked up at the lawyer. “This is dated five years ago,” she said. “Is there anything more recent?” Alastair shook his head apologetically. “I’m afraid not. He wasn’t planning on dying anytime soon. He had written several letters to you over the years, then he would take them back and re-place them with a different one. This is just the latest one.” Sunni nodded and bent her head over the letter.

Dear Sunni, If you are reading this letter then it means that I am dead. I hope you and Isabel will be a support for each other during this difficult time, as you were to me when Gloria died. Sunni, the reason for this letter is to tell you that I am your father—your real, biological father. My excuse for not telling you while I was alive is purely selfish. If I had told the truth I would have lost Gloria and Isabel, and I wanted my whole family with me. I knew that only by presenting you to Gloria as an orphan could I get her to accept you and treat you with the love and care you deserved. I met your mother about a year before you were born. She was a bartender at a restaurant downtown. She was very young, and more beautiful than anyone I’d ever laid eyes on. I had never had an affair before, Sunni, and I never have since then. Your mother knocked me off my feet. I only knew her for a short time, but we loved each other. I always thought that if I had met her before I met Gloria, we could have had a life together. Rose scoffed at that idea. She told me she was only passing through town, but I convinced her to stay for a few months. I offered her money, a job, and an apartment, but she turned everything down. All she wanted was to spend time with me, but she warned me that it couldn’t be forever. When Rose told me she was pregnant I said that I would support both of you and that I wanted to be in your life. But she was angry about the pregnancy. She didn’t want to have anything to do with me after she found out. I was worried she would have an abortion, but she

didn’t. I saw you twice when you were a baby. So tiny, but with such big eyes. I was sure they were going to be green, like mine, and they are. I can’t tell you how much it hurt, the night I showed up at her place and found it empty. I never stopped looking for you, however. It took thirteen years, but eventually I found you, in a foster home in Marin County. I was crushed to find out that your mother had died, but you were alive, and in great need, so I focused on you. You were suffering from depression and other psychological problems, your social worker said, so I arranged for you to join your sister at the Ashwood Institute. Was it a coincidence that both my daughters had the same affliction at the same time? Perhaps, or maybe it was genetics, I’m sorry to say. At any rate, you both improved, and I was able to bring you back home and raise you, if not as my natural daughter, at least as close to it as possible. It was a joy to me to watch you grow and blossom into a talented businesswoman, and a torment to see you struggle with the loss of your mother and your uncertainties about your parentage. I hope you don’t hate me for all of this, Sunni. I’m sure I made many mistakes, but I made them out of love. I’m telling you this now because I am leaving you half of my estate, and I want there to be no confusion between you and Isabel that you are on an equal footing with regard to my business and the distribution of my assets. I am so happy that you and Isabel love each other and have such a good relationship. I only hope that I haven’t held Isabel back, because my ultimate wish for both of you is that you find love, and give me grandchildren, and live long, healthy and happy lives. With love, Your only father Sunni stared at the pages until her tears turned the cursive into blue waves, and the letter became a tiny ocean in front of her eyes. Dennis had known about her vampire nature when he wrote the letter, but he had withheld the information. The only thing he had admitted was that he was her father. So if Dennis had died before Richard came onto the scene she would never have found out from him that she was a dhampir. She waited for a flood of anger to come over her, but it didn’t. What good would it have done to tell her that when he was dead, especially given that he had so little information about what it meant? Like all real fathers, Dennis was flawed, but he loved her and had done the best he could. She sat for a long moment, staring at Dennis’s bold, squared-off handwriting, and then she folded the letter neatly and put it back in the envelope. She handed it to Alastair. “Hold this for me, would you?” she asked. She found Jacob standing at the stern of the yacht, leaning on the railing with his arms spread wide. The setting sun caused his skin to glow like polished marble and painted his eyes the turquoise blue of a tropical ocean. She slipped her small hand into his large one, and together they watched the Golden Gate Bridge recede into the distance. “I have something to tell you,” Jacob said. “I have something to tell you, too,” Sunni said. “But you go first. ” “I received a visit from a friend of mine on the Council.” Sunni bristled. “Why would you even talk to any of them? The Council ordered you to kill me!” “Yes, but they realize they were wrong, and they have forgiven me for defying them. “ She sniffed. “Well, goody for them. “ Jacob sighed. “I know this is hard for you to understand, Sunni, but my association with the Council goes back too far to ignore them.” “Was it Scipio you talked to? “ Jacob nodded. Sunni bit her lip. Since she knew that it was Scipio who had freed Jacob from jail, he was the one member of the Council whom she felt she could forgive.

“Okay, so did Scipio just want to tell you that they’re not going to throw you in jail next time they see you?” “More than that. They want me to rejoin the Council.” “As a yeoman? It’s too dangerous!” “No, Sunni. My fighting days are over, I hope. They want me as an advisor. ” “Seriously, Jacob, what kind of advice do they want from you?” “They want me to aid them in shaping their policies about the interactions between vampires, humans, and dhampirs.” He put his arms around her and kissed her hair. “I think we might be on the verge of a sea change in our laws about miscegenation.” She squeezed his slim waist. “And what makes you the expert in these things?” He tucked a lock of jet-black hair behind her ear, and then circled her cheek with his fingers. “Why, you do, of course. Every moment with you is a learning experience. And I hope to have many more of them in the years to come.” He gave her a long, lingering kiss. Finally he broke away, but kept his arm around her waist, with her body tight against his. “So, what’s your news?” Sunni swallowed hard. “Alastair just gave me a letter. Dennis was my real father and I never knew it.” Jacob nodded, his expression barely changing. “Hmm, that makes sense. He knew it would make things very, very complicated if he told you. He was trying to protect you.” “I’m getting a little sick of men trying to protect me.” Jacob stood up straight and made a salute. “I promise I will never protect you again.” “Yeah, right.” He smiled. “I would think you could protect me now.” “Speaking of complicated vampire things, there’s something I’ve been wanting to talk to you about.” “Anything. ” “How long am I going to live, exactly?” Jacob shook his head. “I don’t know. I’m not sure anyone does. But we are going to have a very long time together, my love.” “Hmm. I can’t say I’m looking forward to the idea of being carded forever. ” Jacob frowned. “What does it mean to be ‘carded?’” She chuckled. “Never mind. Let’s go look at the sunset.” He took her hand and led her to the bow of the yacht. As it plowed westward into the open ocean, they watched the last rays of the sun dip below the horizon.

Epilogue The wedding would have been the envy of any woman with a romantic heart. Even Sunni would have been envious, if it hadn’t been her wedding. When they visited Jacob’s farm in Rhode Island in the spring, Sunni was amazed to find a field full of wildflowers that exactly matched the vision she’d had while she was hovering between life and death in the alley in San Francisco. She knew right away that this was where her wedding should be held. But there was one little snafu. Jacob hadn’t asked her to marry him. So she threw herself down on one knee amidst the primroses, goldenrods, and black-eyed susans, and proposed to him. Jacob laughed, but he seemed taken aback, and didn’t immediately answer. “What’s wrong?” Sunni asked, feeling chagrined. “I thought you didn’t want to get married,” Jacob said. “I do, and I want to do it before these flowers die,” she said. So two weeks later, after a whirlwind of preparations, they gathered in the field, under a three-hundredyear old oak tree that still bore the initials Jacob’s son had carved into it with his penknife. Jacob’s half brother Isaiah played a happy tune on the fiddle while Sunni walked in, holding a bouquet of yellow tulips tied with a white ribbon. She was flanked by Isabel and Delia, who had been told to wear whatever they wanted, so Isabel was as conspicuous as a stop sign in a hot pink sundress, while Delia had opted for a little black dress. Sunni, following her vision, wore a 1920s tea dress of white handkerchief linen, fine and thin as tissue paper, and Jacob a white linen shirt, untucked and open at the neck. A small band of friends and relatives encircled them, a ragtag blend of humans and vampires, although most of the humans didn’t know they were in supernatural company. Scipio, dressed in a Roman toga, welcomed the group in a sonorous baritone that made Sunni wish she’d organized a longer ceremony. He called Enzo, and the vampire came to stand in front of Sunni and Jacob. He had dressed for the occasion in a blinding white suit with a black shirt and red tie. He bowed deeply to them and recited a love poem by Dante Aligheri.

De gli occhi de la mia donna si move un lume sì gentil, che dove appare …

As he continued, his voice low and caressing, Scipio began to weep. Sunni glanced at Jacob in alarm. She had seen Jacob cry tears of blood, and one of her greatest fears was that the wedding would incite the vampires to gush crimson fountains out of their eyes that would make everyone who wasn’t a vampire think that some kind of biological weapon had been deployed. But Jacob had explained that the blood tears only happened when a vampire was in the deepest extremes of emotion, and the sentimental happiness of a wedding would produce only normal lacrimation. “And now I will recite the poem in English,” Enzo said. Jacob held up a hand. “That’s all right, my friend, I will do it. ” Enzo raised his eyebrows in surprise, as this hadn’t been part of their preparations. As he stepped

back into the crowd, Jacob took both of Sunni’s hands in his.

My lady’s eyes shine forth so dear a light That, wheresoe’er its gentleness appears, A world is soon beyond description seen, Such is the wonder of their blissful height. Jacob’s eyes glistened as he gazed at his soon-to-be wife. “Everything in the world is more beautiful when I experience it with you, my love.” They exchanged simple gold bands, and then they kissed. The kiss was so long and so profound that Sunni forgot where she was and what she was doing. The young vampire, Patrick, who had been hiding out under the shade of the oak tree, let out a whoop that finally broke them apart. When Sunni turned to look at him she saw Patrick handing her assistant, Carl, a handkerchief to dry his tears. Sunni learned at the reception that vampires love to dance. Any ungainliness they might have had while human was erased, and they never got tired or developed blisters. At midnight Sunni finally called a break so that she could throw the bouquet, and it landed squarely in the strong and steady arms of Isabel, who exchanged a knowing look with the boyfriend she’d brought from San Francisco. Finally the party was over and everyone had gone home. Sunni and Jacob sat together on the couch in the small, formal parlor of his colonial farmhouse. The house was wired for electricity, but now the only light was from the moon gleaming through the wavy glass of the tall mullioned windows. Sunni leaned against Jacob’s chest, her ankles propped on the arm of the stiff satin sofa, a glass of champagne in her hand. “We’re going to need some new furniture,” Sunni said. “What’s wrong with this furniture?” Jacob patted the back of the sofa, and a cloud of dust was released into the air. “I thought you liked old things. ” Sunni leaned her head back. She pulled Jacob to her and gave him a lingering kiss. “I love old things,” she murmured. “But this sofa is awful. When’s it from, 1860? That was the worst era for furniture.” “It serves its purpose.” Jacob slid his hand up Sunni’s bare leg. “I think we could do anything we wanted on this sofa.” “Could we make a baby?” The progress of Jacob’s hand stopped at mid-thigh. His face grew serious. “Are you sure you want to do that?” “Yes. It’s what I’ve always wanted. I just didn’t know it until I met you.” She nudged his hand so that it continued on its way. “And it’s not illegal anymore. The Council has changed the rules, thanks to you.” “And to you,” Jacob said, his lips against her mouth. “The old ways are giving way to the new.” His tongue was warm, slick and velvety, and Sunni felt herself start to melt. “I would be the happiest man in the world, to have a family with you, Sunni,” Jacob said, his voice thick with emotion. Sunni carefully placed her champagne flute on the worn wooden floor, and then sat up so that she was

straddling Jacob’s lap. She slid both hands under his loose shirt, feeling the hard ridges of muscle in his abdomen, and higher, until they rested on his chest. His heart was pounding hard, and his breath came in shallow, labored pants. He grabbed the back of her head and kissed her so hard she tasted blood, but she didn’t back away. She jerked her arms so that the buttons popped off his shirt, and he laughed without taking his lips off of hers. She filled her fists with his thick, wild hair. And then they were making love, and everything old was new again.

Table of Contents A CKNOWLEDGMENTS Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Chapter 24 Chapter 25 Chapter 26 Chapter 27 Chapter 28

Chapter 29 Epilogue