Chapter 29
Twenty-Nine
Gigi seems to be in a better mood. She twirls around my room in her new slinky sequined dress, cut low in the back, glittering like a human sparkler, ready for tonight’s party.
‘Your turn, Jing. I won’t let you show up looking like some disreputable newspaper reporter.’
‘I don’t look like a newspaper reporter,’ I mutter, looking down at my outfit.
Gigi’s right, but I don’t care. An old shirt of Tony’s, nice and soft from repeated washing, paired with Western-style trousers is my favourite combo.
Even so, I give in to keep the peace and follow obediently to her room.
She rummages in one of her trunks and pulls out half a dozen dresses. ‘Try these.’
None of the dresses are cut low. In fact, they cover so much I know Gigi would never wear them.
She tries to stop me from looking in the trunk, but I’m faster than she is.
I pull out dress after dress. There are at least thirty in there with matching shoes.
The shoes are my size and the dresses . . . every one of them is for me.
‘Gigi,’ I say, overcome.
‘Don’t you dare!’ She dabs my eyes with a handkerchief. ‘Your nose will get all swollen and red. You really will be ugly and I won’t have that.’
‘You didn’t have to bring all these.’
‘Yes, I did. You are also my family, you know. My little sister. Of course I’m going to take care of you.’
I move to hug her but she waves me away. ‘Aiya, I’ll cry if you hug me then my make-up will be ruined and your eyes will get all puffy and all my efforts will be wasted.’
She hands me a deep crimson red silk gown and I put it on without protest. Though the neckline cuts straight across my collarbone, it’s slinky and long and stunning.
Thinking back to Mémère’s salon though, I wonder if there’s any point in dressing up.
Will the vampires even be wearing clothes?
Gigi seems so pleased with her outfit and we’ve finally stopped sniping at each other, so I don’t say anything.
We head downstairs to the receiving hall and find Ah Lang and Tony chatting with a painfully thin blond man.
The man wears an electric violet dinner jacket made of lush velvet with matching trousers and waistcoat; Tony’s complexion is almost waxy compared to the lustre of the blond man.
I wonder if Tony should stay home. He doesn’t look well.
‘Lady Jing,’ the blond man says in impeccable Mandarin, then bends into a low bow.
The voice is unmistakeable. ‘Lord Aengus!’ I say. ‘You’ve recovered so quickly!’
Running a bony hand down his jacket lapel, the newly restored Tuatha Dé envoy says, ‘Not quite back to my old self, but it’s a damn sight better than being in that thing.’ He points with his chin at the vase sitting by the door.
‘Is Lady Brigid not here?’ Gigi asks. ‘I thought she might like to come out with us tonight.’
‘That’s very kind, but she really doesn’t enjoy crowds,’ Lord Aengus says.
‘Is it alright that you’re coming?’ Tony Lee asks. ‘Wouldn’t it be safer to sit this one out?’
‘I am not one to sit out an experience!’ Lord Aengus says. ‘Besides, what could possibly go wrong?’
Bar 228 turns out to be inside a stately hotel with arched colonnades spanning the entire ground floor.
The doors swing open at our approach. Inside, the scent of dried roses and camphor hangs thick and pungent.
Tendrils of pine, fresh green walnut and slightly overripe persimmon add to the olfactory cacophany.
The place reeks of vampires and mortals.
I lace my arm through Tony’s. ‘There are a lot of vampires in here.’
‘Mortals, too?’
I nod. In response, he slips me a handful of caramels. ‘Have some, just in case.’
Gigi and Ah Lang must have also noticed the smell as Gigi sidles up on Tony’s other side, while Ah Lang positions himself at our back, keeping Lord Aengus close.
‘I told you we shouldn’t trust them,’ Gigi hisses.
I keep my tone even. ‘Tony’s safe, they won’t touch him. Remember what they did to the vampire who hurt you?’
That shuts Gigi up.
One of the hotel staff bustles towards us. Tony greets him in French, and I catch the word Durand.
The man smiles unctuously and escorts us through the hotel to a pair of discreet doors. ‘Welcome,’ he says.
The doors open to a large room with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking a manicured garden.
It reminds me strongly of the Cathay Hotel’s Horse and Hound bar in mortal Shanghai, all deep burnished wood and mahogany leather chairs.
The bar area is lit with a mellow red light, an entire wall of mirrored shelves filled with glowing bottles.
The bar is teeming with mortals and vampires in varying state of undress. I quickly scan the room and am relieved to note no one is fornicating, yet.
‘Tian, Jing, you really weren’t making it up,’ Gigi breathes.
Tony radiates disapproval; I don’t dare look at him. Lord Aengus’s eyes light up, greedily taking in the room.
We move through clusters of people; the scent of vampires and blood and a salty musky undertone is overwhelming.
We pass a pair of women kissing and petting each other, then a man who lazily strokes himself as he watches a vampire feeding from a pursuivant. My neck goes hot and Tony clamps his hand over my eyes. ‘Jing this is unseemly! How—’
‘Mémère is over there,’ Lord Aengus interrupts cheerfully.
Mémère, Marianne, and surly Maximilien, sit at a table next to the window. They alone, in the entire bar apart from us, are fully clothed.
Mémère and Marianne stand to greet us, delighted to see Lord Aengus no longer in a vase. Maximilien makes the barest effort to rise before he’s seated again.
I bow. ‘Thank you for inviting us, Mémère.’
Marianne translates. ‘Ma petite fille, welcome. Everyone here is a loyal vassal of House Durand. They are here at my invitation to celebrate your return to the sangue.’
I glance at my friends. ‘Most venerable Mémère, contain my rudeness. By your favour this humble one entreats you to allow my friends to understand they are safe here, especially Tony Lee who is mortal. His life is fragile and that much more precious.’
Marianne speaks quickly. Maximilien smirks, but Mémère gives me a reassuring smile. She greets me with bisous, then faces the room.
Mémère speaks, her voice hardly above a whisper, but it reverberates through the room, tickling the insides of my ears.
Marianne translates, her high trill accompanying Mémère’s throaty rumble.
‘Let it be known that Lady Gi, Lord Lang, Lord Rune, and Monsieur Tony Lee are my personal guests tonight. They are under the absolute protection of House Durand, now, and always. No one may harm them or interfere with their well-being in any way.’
Everyone in the room bows their head at the same time, murmuring, ‘Oui, A?eule Durand.’
Mémère continues. ‘Tonight we celebrate the return of my own darling, long-lost petite fille. Treasure of my heart, sangue of my sangue, flesh of my flesh, Lady Jing, the heir of House Durand.’
Maximilien slumps deeper in his chair, glaring at the table. I want to protest, but everyone is watching; I’ll discuss this with her later.
Mémère presses a hand to her heart and then lips and back to her heart again as she says, ‘Blessed is the blood, heart of hearts, flesh of flesh, bestower of life everlasting. Blessed is the heart that returns to the flesh, bestowed with rest everlasting. Benesangue.’
The room echoes her in eerie unison, finishing the litany with the same gesture, pressing their hands to their naked chests, then lips, then back to their heart once more.
Do they practise that? I turn to ask Marianne, but she’s already seated, as is Mémère who pats the empty seat next to her. I slide between her and Marianne, while the others also sit, leaving a gap between Ah Lang and Maximilien.
‘About being heir – we never discussed it,’ I say, while Marianne translates. ‘It’s not something I can accept; the responsibility is too great. Besides, I know next to nothing about being vampire.’
Mémère tuts with a smile, as if I’m spouting the most amusing nonsense. ‘You are Romain’s child, therefore you are heir. Do not worry, we will teach you everything you need to know.’
Crap. ‘Let’s talk about that later, okay? More urgently, Big Wang has a lead,’ I say. When Marianne translates, Mémère’s eyes widen. ‘He’s asked us to return to Shanghai so we can investigate.’
‘When?’ Marianne asks.
‘As soon as the Immortal Express is repaired, we can leave.’
Mémère’s eyes well with pink tears, Marianne translating in her bright voice. ‘We cannot thank you enough. Tonight is a double celebration that calls for our best fée verte!’
A lift of her chin brings a parade of waiters.
We are each presented stemmed crystal glasses with an unusual bubble-like reservoir below the cup, filled with a luminous green spirit, and a slotted silver spoon laid across the rim.
Bowls of sugar cubes accompany the glasses.
Placed in the middle of the table is a water urn, but like nothing I’ve ever seen before.
The bottom is a silver statuette of a winged woman – a fairy, Marianne says – her arms extended, as if she holds the glass urn aloft.
Six metal spouts protrude from the bottom of the urn.
‘We call this la fée verte,’ Marianne explains.
‘It’s Mémère’s favourite drink. Place a sugar cube on the spoon, add water, and wait for the magic.
’ She places her glass under a spout and opens it so that water drips onto the sugar cube.
Sugared water then passes through the spoon into the green liquid, which smells strongly of aniseed.
‘What happens now?’ I ask.
Marianne smiles. ‘Keep watching.’
When the glass is nearly half full, the green liquid turns a creamy white.
‘Oh!’ I say.
Marianne nods. ‘La louche. Now take your sugary spoon, stir, and drink.’
We raise our glasses and clink them delicately.
I sip.
‘Bon?’ Mémère says.
‘Bon,’ I repeat with a smile.
‘I like this,’ Gigi declares.
Most of the tables in the bar also have the water fountains.
Tony Lee inspects his glass, sipping thoughtfully. ‘Isn’t absinthe banned in France?’
‘Perhaps for France,’ Marianne says, ‘but not for House Durand.’