Chapter 17
Seventeen
The Manor of Gathering Elegance
The Paris streets pass by in a blur. So much has happened in the last twenty-four hours I don’t know which way is up anymore. So many revelations. Too many. We’re all in a state of shock.
All my life I’ve avoided asking about my father.
My mom often had ‘bad spells’ – nights when she cried herself to sleep and days when she’d disappear; and when she returned, nothing I did or said could get her attention.
Her mind was somewhere I couldn’t go. I knew she was like that because of him and I hated him for it.
I also ended up hating her because I thought she too had abandoned me.
I got everything so wrong.
Gigi gently squeezes my hand. It’s only then I notice my face is wet with tears. I quickly swipe them away with the back of my sleeve. Tony sits on my other side, head against the window, face pinched and pale, eyes shut. A migraine, he said earlier. I let him rest.
We drive along wide leafy avenues that could have been plucked from the French Concession in mortal Shanghai. Grand buildings glide past, each carved stone doorway more beautiful than the last – some adorned with ornate sculptures, while others striking for their simplicity and gentle curves.
As we approach a massive bridge spanning the width of a sparkling brown river, Ah Lang breaks the silence. ‘Rune, please tell us, exactly how does Gigi’s uncle’s neighbour’s niece know your father?’
‘Who on earth is Rune?’ Gigi says.
‘That would be me,’ Lord Aengus says from the front seat. Ah Lang helpfully turns his vase to face the back seat. ‘The Tuatha Dé and House Durand know each other; to avoid my father the Dagda hearing about my illness, I hid my identity.’
‘They know each other?’ I ask.
Lord Aengus heaves a sigh. ‘There’s some connection that dates back to Aliénor de Durand’s mortal days when she stayed in Tuatha Dé territory. After she became vampire we lost track of her until a few centuries ago when House Durand began to make waves among the French elite.’
‘So it’s true? Mortals can be made vampires?’ I can’t hide the excitement in my voice.
‘Yes,’ Lord Aengus says. ‘But we don’t know how. House Durand does not consort with outsiders, and commands great loyalty among their vassals; that we were privy to La Grande Morte is quite extraordinary.’ He glances sideways at me. ‘It must be a shock to discover your long-lost family this way.’
‘I can’t believe they thought kidnapping us would make us want to help them,’ Gigi says.
‘That’s not fair, Gigi. They were desperate.’ I try to keep my tone from getting defensive.
‘That was their own doing,’ Gigi drawls, inspecting one of her nails. ‘Oh drat, I broke one.’
‘How is Maximilien lying to them, their own doing?’
Gigi turns slowly to face me. ‘Jing, it’s been an emotional day for all of us, and especially you.
I can’t imagine what it must feel like to find family you thought were lost forever.
I am not diminishing the worry and pain they’ve experienced.
But worry and pain doesn’t justify dishonourable behaviour. ’
‘But—’
‘Why are you arguing, Jing? Even the vampires admitted they were in the wrong and kowtowed in apology.’
It annoys me that she’s right. I cross my arms and stare out the window. But Gigi won’t let it go.
‘The instinct to protect your family is only natural,’ she continues. ‘But your need to belong is clouding your judgement.’
When I don’t answer, she sighs – a mixture of disappointment and frustration – like I’m some hopeless fool.
I turn to tell her she’s wrong, only to see in her eyes the thing I cannot stand: pity.
‘You—’ I snarl.
Before I can say anything more, Ah Lang says, ‘Lady Jing is right.’
Wait, what? I replay his words to make sure I hadn’t misheard.
‘House Durand is Lady Jing’s family, Petal,’ he says calmly. ‘Of course she will want to learn more about them and herself.’ He sets his clear gaze on me. ‘Lady Jing, this is your heritage. Do not feel ashamed to claim it.’
We roll to a stop outside a building that in height and breadth is a sibling to all those surrounding it.
Five storeys high, it stands alone on the arrow point of two adjoining streets.
But the similarities end there. The other buildings are a harmonious light grey or beige stone.
This one, however, is a brilliant, firecracker red.
Manor of Gathering Elegance is carved into the sign over the matching red gate.
Curved eaves and green glazed tiles ripple across the roof, each corner guarded by a pair of gilded qilin.
Wooden lattice balconies run the length of each floor, and the windows are covered with more of the same lattice.
Though its height and proportions are unmistakably French, in colouring and adornment it reminds me of home.
Ahn pulls open two huge bronze doors and we step over the raised threshold into the shadowy cool of the receiving hall. The doors clang shut as my eyes adjust to the dim interior.
A woman clad in a flowing white dress turns at our arrival. A mane of flame-red curls cascade to her waist. She has a strong jaw and luminous jade green eyes.
‘Thank you for your patience,’ Ahn says to the stranger. Turning to us, she says, ‘Please wait here. Do not open the front door.’ She hurries down the hall and disappears through a hidden door.
The redhead’s gaze lands on Ah Lang, then slides to the blond head protruding from the vase in his hands. Exasperation pinches her expression.
‘A dheartháir, an bhfoghlaimeoidh tú riamh?’ she says.
The lilt to her words reminds me a little of Shanghainese, with a dash of Beijing er. I wonder what—
‘Irish,’ Tony whispers in my ear, answering my unspoken question.
Lord Aengus gives her a pained smile. ‘Let me introduce my healer, my sister Lady Brigid Iníon Dagda of the Tuatha Dé.’
Lady Brigid smiles in greeting. She takes Lord Aengus from Ah Lang, sets him down and immediately launches into what sounds like a very angry, very fed up, scolding.
We leave them to their privacy and move to the other end of the entrance hall where portraits of senior ministers of Tian adorn the lacquered walls. The lantern light flickers across the gleaming surface, giving the paintings the illusion of movement.
Tony rubs his temples, brows pinched together.
I don’t like how pale he is. ‘Does your head still hurt?’ I ask softly.
He nods. ‘Overtired,’ he says. ‘It’ll be gone tomorrow, I’m sure.’
‘Isn’t that Big Wang?’ Ah Lang gestures at the cluster of portraits.
‘An excellent likeness,’ Gigi says. ‘But the clothes are all wrong.’
Big Wang wears ceremonial robes and a futou hat – tall and black with two stiffened ribbons extending outwards from either side. I snigger.
‘I’ve never seen him wear a futou hat,’ Gigi says.
‘He loathes those things,’ I say. ‘Your father sent him one once. Big Wang burned it so he wouldn’t have to wear it. He also hates those formal robes. You know how he is about making sure his bits can breathe.’
‘Do you have to be so vulgar, Jing?’
‘It’s not my bits that need to breathe,’ I say, the constant sniping grating on my already frayed nerves.
‘That has to be Lord Black.’ Tony’s arm presses comfortably warm against mine. He nods at the portrait beside Big Wang’s.
In the angle of his head and the hint of a cheeky smile, it’s Lord Black through and through.
Though the four dragon uncles are depicted side by side – and wearing identical finery – it’s easy to tell them apart by expression and body language alone.
Lord Bai’s posture is all pomposity, while Lord Vermilion watches his brothers with amusement.
The fourth dragon uncle I have not met – Lord Chun.
He’s standing slightly apart from the others, gazing dreamily at the stars.
He has a kind face, patient, and serene.
Next to them is the portrait of a deity who seems familiar, but I can’t place her.
She has a pleasing elegance in the way she holds herself.
A comfortable stillness. I’m a little jealous; Horsey says I’m as fidgety as a flea-ridden monkey.
Though I don’t resent this deity. She too seems kind, and the way she looks at her viewer, the mirth in her gaze, reminds me strongly of Lord Black.
‘Gigi, who—’
‘You’ve met her. That’s Lady Longnu,’ she says.
I’d only met her dragon form, but her human form captures her essence well.
Gigi gazes critically at the portrait. ‘The artist is very talented – but they are definitely taking artistic licence with clothing. I’ve known Lord Black a long time – he’d never be caught in anything that fancy.
And Lady Longnu only wears men’s robes. She has a preference for the loose, baggy ones from the Yulong mountains where she grew up. ’
‘No one criticises her for that?’ I ask.
Gigi scoffs. ‘Would you dare criticise a dragon king for their choice of robes?’
Lady Longnu might look demure and elegant, but I remember the rage and violence in her gaze when Niang Niang tried to contradict her. ‘Definitely not,’ I say.
Ahn returns. ‘Help me,’ she says, handing us each thick wads of yellow paper. ‘Paste them in the centre of each window, and at each corner of the room. About this high.’ She gestures at Tony Lee’s chest.
The paper is painted with red ink in what looks like anti-demon talismanic script. Fulu. Anti-demon talisman used by mortals to ward against yaojing. I stumble back, bracing myself for pain.
When the expected welts and blistering don’t happen, I press my fingers to the paper. The red ink smears on the rough surface and my fingertips come away like they’ve been dipped in blood. There’s no burning. My eyes aren’t itching or watering either.
‘Ahn, what—’ I say.
‘Hurry, please. We will answer all your questions later, but now we must complete our wards.’ The slight panic in her voice gets me moving.
It doesn’t take long for us to complete the job. I press my fulu to the windows nearest me, then the corner, and we’re all done. Ahn inspects our work, and nods in satisfaction.
One of the internal wood doors swings open and out sashays someone I swear smells exactly like Willie, Big Wang’s man in mortal Shanghai. But this person has the ample curves of the great beauty Yang Yuhuan. I never knew the simple act of walking could look so sensual.
‘You’re not Willie,’ I say, befuddled by the battle between my nose and my eyes.
She holds up a plump finger, prettily adorned with spiralling rings, and waggles it at me. ‘Most definitely not Willie! I am his twin sister, Yue Gui. You must be Lady Jing.’
On closer inspection, she does look like Willie – the same moon round face, with strong graceful brows arched over a pair of bright, observant eyes.
She bows to each of us in turn. ‘Lord Aengus mac Dagda of the Tuatha Dé, or should I say Rune, Lady Brigid Iníon Dagda of the Tuatha Dé, Lady Gi, Ah Lang, Lady Jing and Tony Lee, we are most honoured to welcome you to the Manor of Gathering Elegance.’ She takes a moment to inspect the room.
‘This was the last part of our wards. Well done. Ahn my love, please show Lady Brigid to the library where she can wait until we’ve had our debriefing. The rest of you, come with me.’