Authors: Clare Willis
Biting the Bride (30 page)
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.”
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.