Chapter 13
Thirteen
Promises
I cradle the cup in my hands and realise I can leverage their interest to protect my friends.
The cup reminds me of Big Wang’s tea set, though this cup is simpler in its lines, with a graceful pedestal.
The deep burgundy of the blood turns the white porcelain a dusky rose that matches Mémère’s velvet chairs.
I think back to that odd conversation with BigWang . . . ‘whether those decisions are the right ones’, ‘I knew . . . worried . . . vampires.’ Was he trying to tell me about these vampires?
The blood in my cup is hot, which enhances its aroma – sun-warmed peaches, tipping into overripe, edged with pepper. My fangs ache against my gums. The blood doesn’t smell poisoned; in fact, the smell is making my head spin with want.
I give in and sip.
Back home, the yaojing always whispered about me behind my back.
Few dared to speak to me, for fear of taint by association.
Those who did, asked me pointed questions, questions that hid their venom behind callous politesse.
How is your mother? It must be so difficult being an orphan, with no one to love you.
Is it lonely being banished from your home?
But Mémère’s question seems straightforward, devoid of traps. Thoughts of my father keep intruding, but I force them back into the shadows where he belongs.
‘The blood . . . ,’ I say, focusing on my friends. ‘Do you always drink it this way?’
Marianne translates for Mémère, then answers. ‘Blood tastes better warm, the way it would straight from the source. We also drink it iced, especially on a very hot day.’
Fortified with the blood, I play my only card: ‘I want to see my friends released safe and unharmed, then I will tell you anything you want to know about me.’
Once Marianne translates, Mémère folds her hands over the lavender jade pommel of her walking stick. Carved peonies in varying stages of bloom cascade down its shaft, painted soft shades of pink and purple. She considers me.
Mémère’s eyes are a clear dark brown, like mine, but her irises are edged in gold. I gaze back impassively. I’m not the kanhoo champion of Hell for nothing; I can hold a glare for days. The curtains billow. The clock on the marble mantelpiece ticks.
Like the others, Mémère smells of camphor and dried roses, but those notes are softened by a woody citrus fragrance, not unlike the sharp green of fresh sap. I find it oddly comforting.
We glare for a little longer; there’s a slow shift in her brown eyes, a yielding softness. I know I’ve won, it’s just a matter of Mémère realising it, too.
She prattles something to Marianne, her gaze never leaving mine. Marianne says, ‘If you will tell Mémère what she wants to know and she is satisfied, she will release your friends into your care.’
The desperation in Mémère’s gaze tells me her desire to know about me outweighs her desire to hurt my friends.
‘I want to see them first,’ I say. ‘And I want your assurance that they are, and will remain, safe and unharmed. Once I have that, you have a deal: I will tell you about myself, after which you will free my friends.’
Marianne translates. Mémère continues to hold my gaze, her eyes hardening slightly but still with that softness around the edges. I see the moment she accepts my terms. It’s another eighteen ticks of the clock before she finally answers.
Marianne translates: ‘House Durand agrees to your terms, but you must remain here, seated with us, when your friends are brought out.’
She gives a nod and Maximilien disappears. He reappears with a host of guards surrounding my friends.
Only Lord Aengus sits pristine in his vase.
Tony and Ah Lang are on their knees. Tony doesn’t look right, his complexion is waxy.
Ah Lang is in even worse condition. Two guards on each side of Ah Lang struggle to hold of him, despite the chains binding him.
His clothes are ripped and bloodstained, his hands a mess of bloody welts and cuts and bruises.
Gigi looks the worst of all. Her hair hangs half undone, only one hairpin remains, dangling at an awkward angle.
Her eyes are wild with rage. Three guards fight to control her.
One of them, a good two heads taller than Gigi, has a long red scratch across his cheek, starting just under his eye and extending to the corner of his lips.
‘What happened?’ My voice comes out strangled.
Mémère barks something at the guards. I stand, and Marianne speaks but I can’t hear her over the buzzing in my head. I’m about to cross the room when Tony makes a strangled sound as his captor tightens his chokehold.
I freeze, understanding the message. We know your weakness.
Mémère glares at Ah Lang and Gigi. She lifts her chin but I don’t give her a chance to speak.
My lip curls. ‘You should be ashamed. Your word?’ I gesture at Ah Lang. ‘You call this safe and unharmed? Threats, assault, coercion? I fully expect House Durand to answer for my friends’ injuries.’
As Marianne translates, Mémère’s grip on the jade pommel of her walking stick tightens until her knuckles go white. There’s a ruthless edge to Mémère’s gaze and I wonder if I’ve pushed too far.
At a word from Mémère, the guards immediately loosen their hold.
Ah Lang lunges for Gigi’s guards, seizes one by the throat. The other guards scramble to pull Ah Lang away, but he is immovable. It makes no difference though because the guard in his grip shimmers into nothing, while another guard appears behind Tony. I glimpse the flash of a blade.
Suddenly I’m reliving that awful moment when Tony Lee was stabbed by my grandmother’s henchmen – his soft gasp, the wet gurgle when he tried to say my name, the helpless way he toppled forward, his muscles so relaxed he might have simply fallen asleep.
I scream No! – it comes out a strange combination of Celestial voice and a tremulous high-pitched screech, a noise I didn’t know I could make.
‘?a suffit.’ Mémère makes a small gesture with her head – up and to the right.
All the guards disappear with a shimmer.
Free from threat, Gigi runs to Ah Lang and cradles him as if he were made of gossamer, though his bruises and scrapes are already fading.
Tony stills for a moment before his whole body folds and he slumps to his knees.
I fly across the room to his side, ignoring Mémère, whose staccato sharp words are no doubt directed at me.
I check him for injuries. Other than his pallor, and a few extra grazes and cuts, he doesn’t seem injured.
He is breathless but breathing and his heart beats strong and steady.
‘Are you okay?’ I help him stand.
He shakes himself. ‘I’m fine.’ He glances at Ah Lang. ‘They tried to take Gigi but she refused to leave us, and Ah Lang wouldn’t let them take her, either.’ He glares at the vampires. ‘Who are they and what do they want?’
Lord Aengus watches us fuss over each other. He lets out a dramatic sigh. ‘I’m fine, really. No need to worry yourselves on my account.’
Maximilien splutters but Mémère gives him an icy look.
When that fails to get the reaction she wants, she slams her walking stick on the floor.
Like a puppy with his tail between his legs, he disappears and shortly reappears with Gigi’s three guards, including scarface.
His scratch has faded, and continues to fade as I watch.
The five of us huddle as far away from the vampires as we can, holding Lord Aengus’s vase tight as we press into the teal silk walls.
There’s a brief discussion between the guards. Scarface steps forward and bows low before Mémère. They speak in a low murmur. Her expression seems pained, but she nods, lips pressed flat.
‘Honour and duty define House Durand. We right our wrongs,’ Marianne murmurs. Her sombre tone prickles the hairs at the back of my neck.
Mémère lifts her face and the man leans down to kiss each cheek – once, twice, three times.
There’s a grim determination in Mémère’s eyes as she speaks, though her words are soft.
The man nods again, expression wistful but resigned.
With slow purposeful movements, he kneels before her, back straight, chin high.
She places her hands either side of his jaw and gently turns his head as she kisses his cheeks – left then right, and left once more.
The guard smiles and closes his eyes. He lets out a long sigh, and his whole body seems to relax.
Mémère moves in a blur of motion. At first, I’m confused. Mémère stands in the same spot, hands cradling the man’s face. He looks peaceful. He sways, and it’s then that I see his head is no longer attached to his body.
The flesh of his severed neck is dark, jagged, and dry.
Mémère places the head on the floor by the man’s knees then grips his shoulder with one hand and plunges the other into his chest. Bone crunches and splinters as she works her hand deeper.
I want to look away, throw up, scream for her to stop, but I can do nothing but stare motionless in mute horror.
Mémère yanks out her hand, clutching a blackened and shrivelled still-beating heart.
Bile crawls up my throat. Tony inhales sharply, Gigi breathes, ‘Tian,’ while Lord Aengus curses in a language I don’t understand.
Mémère opens her mouth wide, wider than should be possible, wide enough to fit the whole heart in her mouth. She closes her eyes as she chews. The body falls forward with a soft thud.
Mémère bows her head and murmurs, ‘Béni soit le coeur qui revient à la chair, dotée par la paix éternelle.’ She turns and says, teeth bathed in tarry black, ‘Mon vassal vous offre ses plus profonds regrets et présente son coeur éternel comme expiation.’
Marianne translates but I don’t hear the words. I can’t tear my eyes from the head and the body lying on the ground. I’ve never killed anyone, or been the reason anyone has had their existence terminated.
‘Jing?’ Gigi’s voice sounds far away.
I can’t look away from the headless remains of the guard. To my horror, my eyes go hot and blurry. ‘I didn’t know she would . . .’
I did this, I asked for assurances. That death is on me. I double over, dry-retch.
Gigi squeezes my hand, so tight it hurts, snapping me out of my dark spiralling. When she is sure I’m not going to vomit on my shoes, she turns to Mémère, still holding my hand.
‘We are representatives of the Pantheon of Tian,’ Gigi says, her tone and manner as regal as Mémère’s, every inch the Jade Emperor’s daughter. ‘I demand an explanation.’
Marianne and Mémère confer. Maximilien paces beside them, interjecting with angry outbursts, until he slumps, defeated in a nearby armchair.
Mémère makes her way to a sideboard on which sits a carafe and silver urn and pours herself a glass of water.
She swishes a mouthful and with impressive precision, spits a perfect arc into the silver receptacle.
‘Wah, her aim is better than mine.’
‘Tian, Jing, focus, that is not what is important right now,’ Gigi says under her breath.
‘I didn’t mean to say that out loud,’ I murmur back.
Marianne gestures at the chairs by her grandmother. ‘Mémère invites you all to sit.’ When none of us move, her voice hardens. ‘Lady Hu Xian Jing, did we not have a deal?’
‘What deal did you make with these yaoguai, Jing?’ Lady Gi whispers urgently.
‘They are vampires, like me. They want to know my history,’ I say. ‘They promised to free us if I answered their questions.’
Marianne nods. ‘Once we have fulfilled our bargain with Lady Hu Xian Jing, we wish to parlay with you, Divine Goddess of Heavenly Peace, Imperial Princess of Jade, Lady Gi of the Silver River.’
Gigi has few tells; her mahjong face is nearly as good as mine, but the stillness that comes over her is a dead giveaway. She is as shocked as I am that they used her full title: they know exactly who she is.
Marianne glances at the body on the floor, now covered in a silvery mist. ‘House Durand keeps its promises.’