by Clare Willis
A collective intake of breath announced the arrival of the bride. Isabel was wearing a strapless ivory Vera Wang original, its shape resembling an inverted calalily. The dress was chosen from a dozen that had been brought to the mansion theday before and tailored on the spot. There had been a discussion as to whether Isabel should walk down the aisle or not, with Dennis encouraging her to just step out the side door used by the priest. Isabel had replied that the people had signed up to see a gimp get married and that was what they were going to get.
But to Sunni’s eyes the crutches were invisible, so radiant did Isabel look as she proceeded down the aisle with her father at her side. She wore no veil, nothing to distract from her face, which was illuminated by love as if there was a candle burning behind her eyes. Sunni let her tears flow, knowing that they’d be misinterpreted as tears of happiness. Isabel had no bouquet, as she didn’t have a free hand to carry it. When she reached the altar she handed her crutches to her father. Dennis and Sunni glanced at each other, but then both quickly looked away. Dennis took his seat in the front pew.
Sunni saw now that what she’d perceived as radiance when Isabel walked down the aisle was in fact the sheen of perspiration. Her face was pale, with a bluish cast that was visible even under the layer of makeup she wore. But her smile was beatific, and Sunni smiled back, even though it pained her to do so. Isabel swayed as she turned around. Sunni put out a hand to steady her, but Richard reached her first, sliding his arm protectively around her waist and holding her other hand. The organ gave one last shudder and wheeze and everyone sat down.
“Dearly beloved,” the priest began in a sonorous tone, “we are gathered here today to witness the holy union of Isabel Agnes LaForge and Richard Lazarus …”
Sunni watched Richard take the vows that she knew he had every intention of breaking as swiftly as possible. He played his part to the hilt, even tearing up a little as he placed the platinum band around Isabel’s ring finger. Isabel repeated her own vows in such a soft voice Sunni could hardly hear her. She could only see the back of Isabel’s head, and beyond her, Richard, wearing a smile that chilled Sunni to her core.
When Isabel reached “until death do us part,” her voice completely faded away. As Sunni stared in stunned horror, Isabel stumbled backward. Her eyes rolled up until they showed only whites, and then her legs crumpled. She hit the floor like a doll tossed by a bored child. Richard caught her head before it hit the marble floor. Sunni heard shouts from the audience. Several people started forward, including Sunni, but Richard waved everyone back.
“Give her some air,” he shouted. “And someone fetch a glass of water. ”
Maribelle Sneed, the novelist, had old-fashioned smelling salts in her purse. Sunni was surprised to see that they proved completely effective in reviving Isabel, although she recoiled from the small bottle as if a skunk had sprayed her face.
The priest stood up, smoothing his cassock. “Do you want to continue?” He directed his question to Isabel.
“Yes.” Isabel nodded emphatically. “Daddy, my crutches.”
Dennis grabbed her crutches as Richard helped her to stand up. She finished her vows, her voice a bit stronger. The priest asked for the ring. Sunni fished it out of her pocket, wishing it was a gun with silver bullets, or whatever kind of bullets might work on vampires.
“Help me, Sunni,” Isabel whispered.
Sunni felt a sudden panic wash over her as she looked at Isabel, whose arms were encased in the crutches. Surely she wasn’t going to ask her to put the ring on Richard? Sunni’s hands were shaking so hard she could barely hold onto the heavy platinum band.
“Hold my elbow,” Isabel said.
Sunni secured her friend, holding her by the elbow and waist, but she couldn’t bear to watch the travesty that was occurring. Her eyes drifted out to the crowd. They were misty-eyed and smiling, all of them blissfully ignorant. She knew Jacob wasn’t there, because she herself had banished him, and yet her eyes still searched, moving to the same spot in the back of the audience where she’d seen him at the last wedding.
“I now pronounce you husband and wife,” the priest said, and Sunni felt Richard pull Isabel away from her.
“She’s mine now,” he whispered, in a voice only Sunni could hear.
The world stopped at that moment, not because Isabel and Richard were married, but because Sunni had seen Jacob. He was standing, as was everyone else, but he wasn’t craning for a glimpse of Isabel. His eyes were focused like a laser on Sunni. What had made her think that just telling him to go away would be successful? He had vowed to watch over her, and here he was. What she felt on seeing him wasn’t anger, it was relief, that she had someone to share this moment with, someone who understood. She gave him a small smile, and he smiled back.
But then two men in dark suits who had been standing nearby grabbed him by the arms and dragged him toward the door. No one else noticed because all eyes were on the wedding couple.
“Jacob!” Sunni screamed. She jumped off the platform, ignoring the tearing sound as her dress ripped up the side. The shocked guests stared as she charged down the center aisle, kicking up a cloud of rose petals.
“Stop them,” she shrieked at the idiots who stood frozen near the door while Jacob was hustled out, but everyone else was moving at human speed and she couldn’t expect them to be able to do anything.
She reached the cathedral steps just in time to see a black SUV tear down California Street. Driving like a stunt car in a movie, it cut off a cable car, plunged into oncoming traffic to sidestep a Toyota, and disappeared down Powell Street.
Chapter 20
Reflected in an ornate rococo mirror on the wall of the marble-lined bathroom of the Presidential Suite of the Mandarin Oriental, Isabel LaForge Lazarus shivered in the gossamer silk negligee she’d chosen for her honeymoon night. Richard watched her from the doorway, trying to tamp down the feeling that it had all been just too easy.
She had just powdered her face, but the dark circles under her eyes were starting to show again. She had visited the doctor for a barrage of tests the day before the wedding, tests neither she nor Richard wanted, but her father was most insistent. They revealed a myriad of symptoms: anemia, jaundice, low blood pressure, high white blood cell count, low T-cell count, and a low grade fever. Obvious causes, such as AIDS, were ruled out. Eventually the doctor said that Isabel was probably having a severe attack of her MS, although a few of the symptoms were simply inexplicable. Four more medications were added to her regimen. A dozen pill bottles were now lined up in a neat row on the bathroom shelf. He recommended bed rest, and of course to cancel the trip to Europe, which was why she was now ensconced in a hotel less than two miles from her house, and four miles from the hospital where she would be rushed if she collapsed again like she did during the wedding.
Which she wouldn’t, not unless Richard made it happen. He wanted Isabel weakened, but he didn’t want her to die. Not yet. And if he needed her to fight for him, which might still be necessary, he might have to build her up again.
Isabel was finishing her ablutions, so Richard glided back into the bedroom and sat on the coverlet, arranging his face into a mask of delighted anticipation. She took two steps into the room and then her crutches got caught on the plush weave of the Aubusson carpet. She started to fall, but Richard scooped her up and, in the blink of an eye, transported her over to the bed. He laid her down and smoothed her hair into a luxurious curtain over the satin pillow.
“There is nothing to be embarrassed about, my darling,” he responded to her unspoken thoughts. “You are beautiful, my Isabel, and desirable.”
She held out her arms and he leaned over her.
She touched his cheek, gazing at him with an expression of wonderment. “Your face is so perfect,” she whispered. “You don’t have a wrinkle or a blemish anywhere. How can that be?”
“I am attended by a very good dermatologist,” Richard answered, although of course he hadn’t seen a doctor since th
ey were known as barber surgeons. He stroked Isabel’s thick blond hair. It was his favorite thing about her, because it reminded him of Jane, the woman who should have been his wife.
Richard met Jane the day before Jacob did, in April of 1769. He had come down to the port to meet a slave ship, which had set out from Providence six months earlier, organized by Richard and bankrolled by Jacob’s father, John Eddington. The ship had not yet set out the gangway, so to kill some time he had ambled into her father’s new general goods store.
Thereafter he had visited the shop almost every day, practically putting himself in the poorhouse buying items that he didn’t need, everything from nails to coffee, in order to have a chance to speak to her. Jane always seemed very happy to see him. She had a wonderful sense of humor, so even though Richard was not generally given to jesting, he tried it with Jane and was rewarded by the musical peals of her laughter. She even put her hand on his wrist once while she giggled at some little joke he’d made.
He had expected to wait a little longer before proposing to her, but when Jacob said at the music recital that she was already spoken for, he knew he had to move quickly, otherwise this misunderstanding between herself and Jacob might go too far to be stopped. So the very next day he dressed extra carefully and took himself down to the port.
∗ ∗ ∗
The bell over the door jangled as he entered the store. He was gratified to see that Jane was alone. Her back was to him as she arranged some fabrics in a fanlike shape so that they could all be seen. All the displays in the store had that same artful touch, and Richard happily imagined what their home would look like with the money he would bring and the taste and refinement Jane would provide.
She turned around at the sound of the bell, wiping her hands on her apron as if she’d been handling something wet.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Westerbridge,” she said.
“As I’ve asked before, please call me Richard. “ He removed his tricorn hat with a flourish and inclined his head in a courtly bow.
She returned his gesture with a shallow bob. “And as I’ve said, once I know you better. I am so new to the town, I certainly don’t wish to take any familiarities. ”
“We’ve been speaking to each other every day for three months, Jane. Don’t you think we might count ourselves as familiar by now?”
Her cheeks flushed a becoming pink. “I suppose so. Good afternoon, Richard. How can I help you today?”
“Would you come and sit next to me? “He indicated the wooden bench at the back of the store, near the unlit stove.
She shook her head. “I’m sorry, I’m the only one here, as my father is making a delivery. I must stay behind the counter. ”
Richard contemplated coming back another time, but he had no time to waste. In addition he felt the need to be reassured that what Jacob had said wasn’t true. He stepped forward and reached across the counter with an open palm, balancing his arm on a wooden display casefull of buttons. Jane looked down, a confused expression on her face.
“Take my hand, Jane,” he entreated.
She laughed. “Oh, Richard, don’t be silly. ”
He leaned a little farther and grabbed her hand. The color in her cheeks darkened, but she didn’t pull away. He took that as a good sign.
“Jane, my association with John Eddington has made me a rich man. I have cash, land holdings, slaves, and have begun the construction of a two-story brick house that will be the envy of all Providence …”
“Please, Richard, say no more. “ She slipped her hand out from under his and began rearranging the fabrics she’d already put in perfect order. She seemed overcome by some strong emotion.
“Perhaps you think, because you are a shopkeeper’s daughter, that you are not worthy of me. I assure you, Jane, I think nothing of the kind.”
Her hands went still. She laughed, but it was not the rich, mellifluous laughter he was accustomed to hearing from her. It was bitter, this laugh.
“I am not worthy of you, is that what you think?”
“No, you misunderstand me, my dear…”
“I am already betrothed to Jacob Eddington, but if I weren’t I still wouldn’t marry you. ”
He stepped backward, clutching his chest as if she’d stabbed him, which he felt she had. “Why do you say such things?”
“You are a loathsome creature, Richard Westerbridge.” Finally she came out from behind the counter, but only so that she could point at his chest with an accusing finger. Her eyes were bright, the color high in her cheeks. He was sad to admit that he had never seen her look so beautiful.
“When your ship arrived from Jamaica, and discharged your ‘cargo’ into the street in front of my store, I could not believe my eyes when I saw that it was human beings! Sick, bewildered, broken men and women, in chains. I shall never forget their pitiful cries. And the way you treated them, worse than cattle bound for the slaughter. ”
“I was doing it for Jacob’s father. He is the largest slaveholder in Providence,” he added, hoping to cast aspersions on Jacob by association.
“Yes, but Jacob has chosen to be a simple farmer. And only because John Eddington’s rightful heir has decided to reject his legacy, has it cleared the way for you to become his aide de camp.”
Richard felt as if all the air had left the room and he was slowly stifling to death. The pain was like nothing he had ever experienced before. “Jane, please reconsider,” he begged.
“Never. I would only marry a man, and you are something else entirely.”
She turned her back on him and began furiously rearranging the store’s inventory of pewter cutlery, her shoulders trembling with unshed tears. Richard plunged out the door and into the dusty street, gasping for breath.
Richard turned to Isabel, who was pulling on his shirtsleeve.
“Are you all right, Richard? You looked so sad for a minute.”
The vampire appraised his new wife coolly. “Would you love me if I were human, Isabel? If I were a man like any other?”
“What?” Her eyelids fluttered as she tried to make sense of his words. “If you were human? I don’t know what you mean.”
Richard shook his head. “Oh, never mind,” he said.
She started to unbutton his shirt but he stopped her.
“Let me pleasure you first,” he said.
He parted her lips with his tongue and kissed her deeply. Her tongue had a mineral tang from the medications she was taking. He felt her body heat increase, heard her heart begin to pound wildly. Her eyes were half open but the irises had rolled back. He pinched her nipple and she climaxed instantly. She bucked, legs going stiff as waves of pleasure rolled through her body. Richard watched her with a mixture of interest and faint disgust. He wondered if Sunni would react in any way the same as a human woman when he touched her this way. Would her dhampir blood dampen her reactions, or make them more powerful? He wasn’t sure which way he wanted it to be. It would be satisfying to pleasure her so extravagantly, but at the same time he hoped it might be a little more difficult, so that he could have the satisfaction of a job well done.
He renewed his ministrations and Isabel purred like a kitten, her eyes rolling back again. Her hips undulated with the multiple orgasms that flowed through her body. He heard two tiny pops, like miniature balloons being punctured, as his razor sharp fangs pierced her resistant flesh. She gasped. At first she moved closer, breathing hard, clutching Richard’s back, but then, as the pain began to seep in, she choked and gasped, pounding his back with her weak little fists, then pushing on his chest. It was as effectual as a gazelle trying to free herself from a tiger. Her heart beat sluggishly against her rib cage, more slowly with every passing moment.
But he was not here to kill her. Just at the moment when she couldn’t possibly give any more, he retracted his fangs and pulled away. Her head lolled to the side, her eyes staring vacantly.
“Sleep well, my bride,” he whispered, as he licked a stray drop of blood from her cheek.
<
br /> Later that night Richard entered the LaForge Building through one of six spotless glass doors and proceeded to the security desk, stopping to admire a Rodin sculpture in the plant-filled foyer. It was one of the lesser works, but still impressive. The security guard looked up from his computer screen. Unlike most of them, this man looked like he might actually be able to provide some security. He was a beefy man, about forty-five years old, with a military haircut, ruddy cheeks, and a gun strapped to his hip.
“Can I help you?”
“I’d like to see Dennis LaForge,” Richard said with a polite smile.
The guard picked up the telephone. “What is your name?” he asked.
When no answer was forthcoming the man looked up and met Richard’s eyes.
“You don’t need to call anyone,” Richard said.
A glaze came over the man’s face.
“When I get into the elevator, you’ll forget you ever saw me,” Richard said.
The guard nodded and Richard walked to the elevators.
The offices of LaForge Realty and Development were empty and quiet. Even though the lights were all on, the darkness outside seeped in through the large windows, giving the place the appearance of being suspended in deep space. Richard circled the perimeter until he found Dennis’s office. It was locked, but that was easily remedied.
Dennis looked up. The color drained out of his face when he saw who it was. “What are you doing here? Why didn’t the guard call me?”
Richard took his time crossing a vast expanse of antique Persian carpet. Dennis watched him, obviously nervous. Richard thought it was admirable that he managed to stay seated.
“Well, Isabel is asleep, bless her heart, and I wanted to talk to you in private.”
