by Clare Willis
“Great,” Sunni muttered. “Now I’m a fictional character. Maybe they’ll make a movie about me.”
She sipped her coffee, staring out the window at the concrete expanse of the Moscone Convention Center, thinking about Rose and their short time together. If Rose knew what Sunni’s father was, she never told Sunni about it. But how could she? Would Sunni, at age seven or eight, have understood what her mother was trying to tell her? Of course not, it would only have made Sunni feel crazier than she already did. It must have been a horrible burden for her mother to bear. Maybe it was what drove her to use drugs.
Sunni shook her head roughly and slapped her laptop closed. What was she doing, thinking about Richard’s statements as if they were facts? It was madness to even consider it. And yet it was the only thing that had ever made sense in all the years she’d been trying to figure it out.
She took her coffee over to the window and looked across the street. There was an office building directly across from her, with workers racing around like hamsters on a wheel, oblivious to spectators. On each side of that was a new condo building. If Jacob had been telling her the truth, he lived in one of those two buildings. She ran to her bedroom and dressed in the simplest outfit she could find: jeans and a T-shirt, with a fleece jacket on top. For once she eschewed high heels in favor of sneakers, so she had to roll her pants up at the ankles. Then she pulled the Brazil Room coaster out of her purse and dialed the number scrawled on it.
Jacob’s living room gave the impression that someone had just moved in, or was in the process of moving out. The creamy white walls bore no decoration. A black leather sofa stood at a right angle to the window that overlooked Sunni’s building. There was no TV, no table or chairs in the dining alcove. The tile counters in the galley kitchen were empty and gleaming. There was a coffee table in front of the sofa, piled high with thick, serious-looking hardcover books. Sunni moved so that she could read some of the titles. They were all history: The subjects included the American presidents, slavery, colonialism, and the monarchy in England.
“Are you writing a thesis?” Sunni asked.
“Just trying to figure some things out,” he answered. “Please sit down. Would you like a drink?”
Sunni sat on the sofa. “I’d love some coffee.”
He shook his head. “I’m afraid I don’t drink coffee. I could run downstairs to the café …”
“No, don’t worry. What do you have?”
“Whiskey. ”
“It’s nine o’clock in the morning.”
He shrugged. “I wasn’t expecting company.”
“Never mind.” Sunni eyed him, towering over her, all six feet several inches of him. His body seemed to thrum with tension. “Why don’t you sit down as well? You’re making me nervous.”
There was nowhere else to sit but the couch. He dropped down next to her, letting his long legs slide under the coffee table. Sunni tried not to let herself be distracted by his scent, by the ropy muscles in his arms, by his gleaming jaw. Especially not by his eyes, which in this light were blue-gray, lighter by several shades than the last time she’d been close to him.
“Richard Lazarus came to see me last night,” she began.
He jumped off the couch as if he’d been stung. “That’s impossible,” he shouted.
She held up both hands. “Calm down, Jacob. He was very pleasant, I assure you.”
Jacob paced over to the window and looked down. “He was in your apartment?”
“Yes. He just appeared in my bedroom. I have no idea how he got in.”
Jacob clutched his forehead. “God help me.” In an instant he crossed the room, grabbed Sunni’s hand and turned her to face him. His eyes transformed, glowing from within as if he’d turned a light on inside his head. The blue irises seemed to pulsate and expand. “Hear me now, and obey. You will follow me now. You will not question my orders.”
For a moment Sunni felt as if the world had shrunk to nothing but Jacob’s voice and eyes. She felt compelled to do exactly as he said. But then she blinked hard, and like waking up from a dream, she was released from whatever spell he’d been trying to work on her.
“Like hell I will,” she said. “What are you trying to do to me anyway? Do you think you can hypnotize people?”
“I can hypnotize people, although we don’t call it that. We call it glamouring,” Jacob said, “But it doesn’t appear to work on you.” He shook off his exasperation. “But really, Sunni, if Richard has been in your apartment, there’s not a moment to lose. We must leave San Francisco right away.” He tugged on her hand, impelling her toward the front door.
Sunni pulled back, hard, so that Jacob had to face her. Her head barely reached his chin, but she lifted her face and glared at him. “No! I’m not going anywhere. I came here to get some answers.” She stopped. The feel of his hand in hers was melting her resolve. “Or maybe to hear your side of the story.”
“My side of the story?” His eyebrows drew together and a muscle in his jaw twitched. “What did he tell you about me?”
“He told me that you have been watching me, but not in a good way. Not in the way I thought. And he told me some things about myself. ”
Jacob ran a hand up his forehead and through his hair, leaving the dark curls even messier than before. His eyes drifted down to her lips, and his expression softened. “Are you all right?” he asked.
She looked away, unnerved by his display of compassion. “As all right as someone can be who’s just been informed that they’re a half vampire, and a hot commodity on the vampire weapons market.”
“Just a minute.” Jacob disappeared into the kitchen. In a moment he was back with two glasses of whiskey. He handed her one and gestured that she should sit down.
She sat back and took a sip, letting the liquid burn a trail down her throat. After a few sips she did feel a little calmer. Maybe drinking in the morning wasn’t such a bad idea.
“Richard said that you’re part of a secret vampire organization that’s been watching me because I’m, um, dangerous. He said that your organization killed my mother. “ She thought about adding that Richard had said that he had saved her, and tried to save her mother, but at the last moment decided to withhold the information. She still wasn’t sure who to trust.
“Bastard.” The whiskey sloshed as he slammed the glass onto the coffee table.
“Aren’t you going to tell me that you didn’t kill my mother?”
He turned to her, his eyes blazing. “Would it do any good? Would you believe me? ”
“I don’t know who to believe yet. But I know you and Richard hate each other.”
“That’s very astute of you.”
“Why don’t you tell me why?”
Chapter 11
Jacob paused. For a moment he simply let himself drink in the fact of Sunni’s proximity. His acute senses took in everything about her at once, from the pearly ovals of her fingernails to the way her black hair curved into points just below her cheekbones. For so long he’d watched her from a distance, and imagined her close-up, for so long she’d filled his thoughts, that to have her near enough to touch was a dream come true. But it had come with a price that might be too much for either of them to pay.
Sunni looked nothing like Jacob’s wife. Jane had been tall and heavy-limbed, with untamable blond curls and a generous laugh that came from deep in her belly. She was strong enough to churn butter and wash sheets in a bucket and butcher and dress any animal on the farm. Sunni looked like a strong breeze could knock her over. They were as different as night and day, and yet Jacob felt things for Sunni that he had only ever felt for his wife. How could it be, that in the long span of history that encompassed Jacob and Richard’s lives, that Richard would covet the same two women as Jacob? Was this God’s idea of a joke, or just Richard’s?
Jacob closed his eyes and let the pain that two centuries had barely assuaged wash over him. He let himself think again of what Richard had done to him and his family.
/> June 1775
Jacob followed the rut that his mule, Maisy, was cutting in the rich loamy earth. They had ploughed together so many times that they could have done it in their sleep, and the rows the plough made were as straight as the horizon. The day had been blistering, so Jacob had waited until sunset to come out to the field. The sky was beautiful, filled with scudding clouds stained salmon pink, but he gave it barely a glance.
The routine of his work allowed Jacob ample time to “fuss,” as Jane liked to call it. Yes, he was a worrier, he admitted it, but this time he had something to worry about. As loath as she was to admit it, Jane was ill. A mysterious malady had come upon her, and her normally rosy countenance was pale and drawn, the shadows under her eyes deep and black. She grew tired easily and had to sit down, and when she did her eyes grew blank, staring at something that only she could see, like a door had opened in the firmament. Jacob knew that expression. He had lost his mother and two of his four children, and all of their eyes had taken on that far-away look just before they died.
Jacob was frantic that the same fate should not befall his beloved wife. The doctor had visited twice, but had only served to make Jane feel worse, with his leeching and mercury. Jacob tried to get her to eat rich foods, to gain back her weight and strength, but she took only a bite and then pushed the plate away. During the day she appeared to regain a bit of her health and strength, and the color came back to her cheeks, but in the morning when she awoke she looked paler still, more wasted. Sleep seemed to give her no succor.
The plough ran into a rock, pulling the mule up short. Jacob took out his spade and began digging around the obstacle, loosening it so that he could remove it. Maisy dropped her head and tore off a mouthful of crabgrass.
“You’ll break the plough with that kind of carelessness,” a voice called out.
A man was approaching, riding one of Jacob’s father’s mares. The wild grasses he was riding through reached the horse’s knee. The man’s tricorn hat was angled down over his eyes, so Jacob didn’t recognize Richard Westerbridge until he was twenty feet away. When the mare was ten feet away Jacob straightened up. He hacked some phlegm and spat in Richard’s direction.
“And now you are an expert in farming, as well as shipping, rum production, and the slave trade? Your years away appear to have made you a jack-of-all-trades. No wonder my father prizes your expertise so highly. ”
The setting sun was behind Richard, so Jacob cupped a palm over his eyes to look at him. He certainly was a fine figure of a man, whatever his faults. He had spent ten years on the Continent without appearing to age a minute, a quality he attributed to a French salve he had brought back in ample supply. It contained, among its many ingredients, whale blubber and lavender oil, and the ladies of Providence had been buying it by the gross. Even Jane had been using it before she fell ill and stopped caring about her appearance.
Richard just laughed. He swung his leg over the saddle and dropped to the ground as lightly as a cat. As he approached, Jacob felt his gorge rise. Ever since Richard returned from the Continent, Jacob had felt a strong sense of revulsion whenever the man came near him. It was not a matter of him being a slave trader. Although Jacob was an ardent abolitionist, his father was a slave trader as well, and even though he disagreed with John Eddington, he never felt physically ill in his presence. He had, however, rejected the family business, opening a hole that Richard Westerbridge had neatly filled. As John Eddington’s foreman, there was no job so distasteful that Richard wouldn’t undertake it.
“What do you want, Richard?”
“I came to inquire after the health of your dear wife. We are all so worried about her. “ He lifted a handful of the turned soil and let it slide through his fingers.
“I believe she is improving,” he said.
Richard stayed in a crouch, his hand now on the large rock that had impeded the plough. “Improving, is she?”
“Yes, I believe so. ”
“You’re an abominable liar. “ Richard seized the rock with both hands. Although it must have weighed fifty pounds and was deeply embedded in the earth, he lifted it as easily as pulling a carrot. Tossed over his shoulder, the boulder flew twenty yards through the air before landing with a thud.
Jacob sucked in his breath. The sweat already coating his body turned icy cold. He shivered, despite the warm day.
“What in the name of God are you?” he whispered.
An apparition appeared before Jacob’s eyes, causing his guts to turn to liquid. The man spread his arms like the wings of an eagle. He appeared to grow five feet, his eyes turned black as onyx and his teeth sprouted the fangs of a mountain lion. Jacob blinked. When he opened his eyes Richard had returned to normal.
“I have a proposition for you, Jacob. “ Richard reached into the pocket of his vest. Jacob waited, nerves aflame, but all that emerged from the brocade waistcoat was a cloisonné snuffbox. He took a pinch of snuff and snorted it off the skin between his thumb and first finger. He offered the box to Jacob, who shook his head impatiently.
“Very well, then,” Richard said. “I want you to come with me. In return I will allow your wife to live.”
Jacob laughed, but it came out as a strangled hiccup. “What the devil are you talking about?”
“It is I who drain your wife of her vitality. Night after night she comes to me when I call, and I drain her of her blood.”
Jacob dropped to his knees in the damp earth. The mule turned her head and whinnied, alerted to his distress. He clasped his hands together and began reciting the Lord’s Prayer.
“Our Father, who art in Heaven, hallowed be thy name…”
Richard smacked Jacob across the face so hard that when he hit the dirt he saw his own blood fly in a three-foot arc.
“Stop all that gibberish.”
Jacob felt the dirt clods under his shoulder blades through his worn cotton shirt. The sharp blade of the plough pressed into his scalp. Two inches more and his skull would have been split like a melon.
Richard leaned over the handle of the plough so that Jacob was looking at him upside down. “I’m only going to say this once, so listen carefully. I am going to convert you into a vampire, and you will come and work with me in Europe. Not in slave trading, I know your constitution is too delicate for that. But there are other ways you can assist me.”
“Why would I ever do that?”
“Because in return, I will let your wife and children live.”
“To hell with you,” Jacob muttered.
Richard laughed. “And with you, my friend. That part is not a choice. But you can choose to let your wife and children remain here. Or we can all go to hell together. ”
Tears dripped down Jacob’s cheeks into the dry earth. “Why are you doing this, Richard? I know you loved Jane, and I am sorry, but she never returned your affections! What was I to do, ignore my feelings because of your unrequited love?”
“Yes, that’s exactly what you should have done. I saw her first, after all. If you had not stepped in I believe she would have come around and learned to love me. After all, I am not so unlovable, am I?”
Jacob sat up slowly. He pretended to be reaching into his pocket for a handkerchief, but instead he jumped up and rushed at Richard, screaming like a man possessed. He meant to push him into the plough blade, or strangle him with his bare hands.
Richard caught him by the arm and tossed him to the ground, and then he placed his boot on the back of Jacob’s neck. “You cannot win, Jacob.”
Jacob spat out the blood that had pooled in his mouth from his split lip. “No,” he grunted, “not unless I become a creature like you.”
Richard laughed appreciatively. He took his boot off Jacob’s neck. “That’s right, my friend. Now you’re beginning to see the light.”
Sunni watched Jacob, who had been silent for several long minutes, lost in thought, pain etched across his face.
“I wasn’t always as you see me now.” He waved a hand at the half-empty
apartment. “In my human life, two hundred years ago, I had a lovely wife, and two beautiful children. I was as happy as a man can be.”
“What happened?”
“Richard Lazarus happened.”
She gasped. “You knew him way back then?”
He looked at his hands, cupped loosely in his lap. “I knew Richard Westerbridge very well. He worked for my father, took over the position that I rejected as my father’s heir.”
“Westerbridge?”
“Oh, please, did you think a vampire would really be named Lazarus?” He smiled scornfully. “Even God doesn’t joke like that.”
There was a long pause. Finally Jacob broke the silence. “Richard is my father, in a way. He made me a vampire.”
Sunni was shocked. “Is that what you wanted, to be a vampire?”
Jacob’s eyes flashed with anger. “What I wanted was to stay with my wife, to see my children grow up and have children of their own, and in the fullness of years, to die quietly and be buried on my land. ”
“Why did you let him take that away?” She expected him to turn his anger on her for that question, but he didn’t.
Jacob unfurled his long body from the couch and took a few steps toward the window. “He began to visit my wife at night, drinking her blood and slowly draining the life force out of her. He glamoured me so that I couldn’t remember any of it. She was sick unto death when he appeared to me and offered a trade: my life for hers.” He spoke slowly and deliberately, with no affect, as if reciting words he had learned phonetically and had no idea what they meant.
Sunni followed him to the window. “But why did he want you?”
“Punishment. Back when Richard was human, he fell in love with Jane. He asked her to marry him and she said no. He left after that and traveled for years, working for my father in what they now call the Triangle Trade. After a suitable interval Jane and I announced our betrothal. When Richard came back, he was a vampire, but he had not forgotten or forgiven what he perceived as Jane’s betrayal.”
