‘Charming,’ Gigi says.
I ignore her and pull the flute towards me, excited for the blood.
‘I don’t know how you manage with the crowds – all that yang qi is making even me salivate,’ Gigi says.
Ah Lang’s eyes widen. ‘My petal, you mustn’t indulge in yang qi. It will make it harder for you to return to the Celestial realm.’
I pluck the Suffering Bastard from the table, and offer it to Ah Lang, giggling to myself. ‘This one’s for you.’
Mr Lee picks his own drink before I can choose for him. ‘I’ll take the Stengah.’ He raises the whisky soda. ‘To new friends.’
Gigi and Ah Lang raise their glasses and we clink before downing our drinks. I’m sorely disappointed to find Oxblood is not really blood at all. It’s champagne and red wine and something sweet and earthy. Not quite the liquid dirt of beets, but it makes my tongue feel furry. I grab another drink – the green and frothy Grasshopper.
‘Rrrousdavyeno,’ I say, raising my glass.
‘Na-zda rro-vya,’ Mr Lee corrects, but the way he says it and the smile he gives me, doesn’t make me feel bad about my mistake. I feel... cherished. The feeling buoys my already light spirits.
I laugh. ‘What he said.’ I chase the weird earthy flavour away with mint.
Gigi surveys our empty glasses, then stands and says, ‘More!’ infusing her voice with the multi-layered whispers of Celestial command. She always uses it when she’s trying to throw me off my game. While I’m not totally inured to its effects, after all that practice I do a good job pretending the voice doesn’t scrape down my back like a shard of ice. The waiter she singled out, however, looks like he’s about to dabian his smart black trousers.
‘Don’t pull that Celestial crap,’ I say. ‘It’s one thing on me, but the mortals can’t take it. Look at Mr Lee.’ He’s staring at Gigi, white as a lady ghost. All he needs is a head of long messy hair. ‘And you made our waiter cry.’
Sure enough, the poor man is weeping behind the bar, pouring out measures of whisky.
Gigi looks suitably chastised. ‘Contain this worthless one’s thoughtlessness.’
‘Oh for the love ofTian, none of that claptrap,’ I moan, gearing up to make my play. I am going to get them to come to Zhabei with me whether they want to or not. ‘New rule. If you utter that flowery shit, you drink.’ I consider her. ‘And whenever you push your ta-tas out, you drink.’
Gigi’s fingers fly to her throat, her jaw drops in mock offense. ‘Fine. But ifyoucurse, you drink. And every time you mock me, you drink.’
‘Ha. Fine,’ I say, pretending to rise to her challenge. ‘Let’s make this fun for everyone. If he’ – I point at Ah Lang – ‘calls you petal, or makes those rotted doe eyes at you, you both drink.’
Gigi laughs, waving away Ah Lang’s sputtering objections. ‘Done. And if he’ – she points at Mr Lee – ‘gives you soft gooey eyes, or any time you touch, you both drink.’
‘Whatever,’ I scoff. Mr Lee tries to interrupt but I hold a hand to his face, being mindful not to touch him. ‘This is the wager. If I’m the last one standing, you all come to Zhabei with me tomorrow. If I lose, we’ll go lipstick shopping instead or whatever it is you want to do.’
Gigi tosses her hair. ‘I accept your challenge. May the strongest goddess win.’
I hold my hand out to her.
She looks at it, then up at me, confused. ‘What is that?’
‘It’s how we agree things here in yang Shanghai. Hold my hand.’
She extends her hand.
‘No, the other hand,’ I say.
She does, and I shake her hand, much to Mr Lee’s bemusement and Ah Lang’s fascination.
‘There. Deal done. Now let’s drink.’ I raise my glass and the other three follow.
We demolish two more trays of cocktails. Gigi at some point manages to get her hands on a full bottle of vodka, ‘to catch up’, she says.
Gigi holds herself back from the flowery claptrap, but Ah Lang can’t help giving her those doe eyes.
‘Drink!’ I shout every time I catch him looking at her.
