Authors: Clare Willis
“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 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.”
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?”