Biting the Bride (27 page)

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 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.