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.