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 well-deserved 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.