Page 96 of Saint of the Shadows

The stairs unfolded from the plane. Vincent and Marisol descended them as camera bulbsflashed. Her face-swallowing sunglasses blocked the strobing onslaught. The sunglasses were also the most glamorous part of her outfit. Vincent, on the other hand, looked impeccable in a black suit and tie. Reporters shouted as Vincent and Marisol walked to the town car.

“Do you think your stocks will recover?”

“How does it feel to have a company targeted by the Bloodsucker terrorist group?”

“And to have your C.O.O. in cahoots with them?”

“Critics say you’re dating an essential worker to gain the public’s approval after the Ruthven fiasco. What do you say to them?”

Marisol slid into the protection of the car, but Vincent stopped at the passenger door and turned around. He tucked his sunglasses in his suit jacket. “I would tell those critics that I bought the weak shares back from my board to make my company mine again, so that we no longer sacrifice the good of all people for the greedy interests of the few. Our mission will always be for a more just world, and my love is proof of this goal.” He opened the door. “Excuse me, I have a memorial service to get to. Please respect the bereaved and keep your distance.”

Marisol moved over as Vincent entered the car.

His stained-glass gaze moved to Tobias, who snuck in from the other side. “Quinlan.”

“Vinnie.” Tobias’s left eye twitched, and he shifted to show the badge at his hip. He didn’t even need it today when he was off duty.

The two men stared at each other until the pause became nine months pregnant. Tobias blinked, and they shook hands, gripping the other by the forearm. Maybe Vincent should add a sidecar to the motorcycle?

“How was your trip to Thailand?” Tobias asked.

“Not a whole lot of sightseeing. Spent most of our time on the beach.” Marisol and Vincent’s skin were far from sun-kissed. One of those statements was obviously a lie. “Did you hear W.H.O. reported that the missing virus was due to a computer error?” Marisol asked.

Tobias snorted. “And all this time they said it was stolen.”

Marisol dug into her shoulder bag and took out a wrapped box. “Before we forget.” She handed it to Tobias.

With a leery squint that bounced from her to Vincent, he took the box. He ripped open the tissue, and there it was—a tie. Silk, gray, and speckled with navy fleur-de-lis.

“You said I owed you one. Thought it might go well with taking your daughter out for coffee.”

Tobias’s smile faded as soon as it formed. He put the tie on. “I’m a kept man.”

The town car drove them to a brownstone. A small group of people in black dress clothes gathered at the bottom steps in animated conversation.

Marisol practiced the Korean phrase Vincent taught her. How sad it is to lose a daughter.

“Eoyo.” Vincent lifted his slender fingers to accent the final syllable.

Marisol recited it awkwardly and slowly and definitely not with the right syllable accented. The group on the stairs parted, recognizing Vincent. The trio marched up the stairs and entered the home. Hot cooking oil and green onions wafted from inside. Marisol took a deep breath and crossed the threshold; Tobias and Vincent trailed close behind.

Boisterous people gathered on the patio out back and spilled into the hallway. In disheveled dark dress clothes, they ate, laughed, or played cards. To her right, the somber living room felt heavy with reverent silence.

Incense filled the room with sweet air. A gold-framed, poster-sized photo of Annie the day she had become a doctor stood propped on the table. She wasn’t wearing her glasses, and her hair was down and smooth, not in her typical updo resembling a fern. Annie had hated the photo, claiming that the pink blouse and light gray suit jacket made her look like a real estate agent. But her smile and eyes said doctor. For that, Marisol loved the photo. Sorry Annie.

Wreaths of white chrysanthemums surrounded the table. Mourners had piled loose ones on the table under Annie’s photo.

Annie’s parents, eyes outlined with raw pink, stood at the side of the table. Her father wore a striped band on the arm of his suit. Marisol pursed her lips together to stop them from trembling. Vincent squeezed her hand. Tobias gave her a thumbs up. Together, they laid three chrysanthemums at the edge of the mantel, stepped back, and bowed. While tilting forward from her waist, gravity drew the tears from her eyes. Marisol sniffled and wiped her cheek before kneeling and touching her head to the floor, worshiping the ground at Annie’s feet. Marisol stifled a laugh at that notion before standing.

She faced Annie’s parents, handed them the other chrysanthemums, and bowed again. She repeated the phrase she practiced ending with eoyo.

“Thank you,” Annie’s mother said, and she continued in her language.

“We lost a daughter. You lost a friend. How sad for everyone to lose her,” Vincent translated.

So true. Annie longed to help people with her research, but the pinnacle of her work was a rabid mouse and her murderer, frozen in Vincent’s basement. There had to be something else. A better way. A better story.

After an hour, Annie’s parents joined them in the backyard. Pictures of Annie and Marisol hung from clotheslines. Her parents finally had movedeverything out of her apartment and found the pictures of the vacations they took together and the nights out and in they had. The pictures stared at her as she picked at the soup, rice, and pickled tofu the family offered her. Tobias’s bowl never stayed full. He turned a glass of soju liquor but never turned down seconds of food, or thirds, or fourths, or…

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