Gigi doesn’t respond to the lavish praise, not even a tiny lift of her cheeks. She only turns away again, back to the window. I’ve never seen her ignore a compliment.
‘I’m not letting you sit in a hotel room either, Jing,’ Gigi says to the window. ‘Big Wang said we had to show you how to have fun.’
I feel a pang at manipulating her when she’s feeling low, but I blame it on the lack of blood. If I don’t make sure to clinch the deal, Gigi might still change her mind.
Another deep breath of fresh air and I pull my head inside the car. Wrinkling my nose, I aim for her weak spot. ‘It’s too mafan. I didn’t bring anything fancy and besides, I don’t even know how to dance. Let’s just forget it. Or better yet, why don’t you go without me.’
‘Big Wang was clear that we go where you go. Do not for the love of Tian make me spend my time in yang Shanghai cooped up in a hotel room.’ Her voice trembles like she is about to cry. I am horrified by the notion of dealing with a weeping Gigi and nearly abandon my plan.
Ah Lang hears it too, and turns those rotted dark eyes on me, gooey and pleading, and I want to turn away at their sappy theatrics, but I cannot deny I have been dealt the perfect cards. Pushing down my thirst, I sigh, let my disgust show and play my ace. There’s no way Gigi will back out now.
‘Alright,’ I say, ‘I’ll go with you, but I’mnotgetting dressed up.’
Gigi turns in her seat, high colour on her cheeks. ‘I am not letting you waltz into the Paramount looking like some bedraggled half-deity,’ she says, tone sharp enough to slice through stone.
The truth of her words has an unexpected sting. ‘That’s what I am, Gigi.’ I sound ridiculously maudlin, and I remind myself that I am getting what I want without anyone knowing it. Yay me.
As we pull up to the Cathay Hotel, she huffs, turns to look at me. Her gaze is hard. ‘That may well bewhatyou are. But that is notwhoyou are. You are Lady Jing of Mount Kunlun and you are going to look like a goddess tonight, so help me Tian.’
She’s in a full-blown mood. Normally I’d enjoy provoking her, but she’s too pathetic right now. Goading her wouldn’t be fun so I leave her be. Besides I can’t speak while I’m holding my breath.
Satisfied she’s made her point, she nods stiffly at Willie and sweeps out of the car. Ah Lang hurriedly offers Willie a fist palm salute, then scurries after Gigi.
I follow, only to stop when I notice Mr Lee isn’t with me. I turn and find him walking behind me by a few steps. I am grateful for the distance because,Tian, he smells good. I lick my lips, only to realise with a start that he’s watching me.
He steps back. ‘You go on up,’ he says. ‘I’ll join you later.’
My fangs scrape the inside of my mouth. I nod, and head to my room.
It’s the smell that draws me from sleep. I wake with a burning throat, and those creepy baby angels staring down at me. My fangs are already out, my gums throbbing. The air is heavy with the aroma of over-ripe persimmon. I climb out of bed and follow my nose to the sitting room.
Mr Lee looks up as I enter. He’s pouring dark red liquid from a bottle into a crystal flute with a pleased expression.
‘Good sleep?’
I nod, shocked by his good humour. Watching him for signs of stress or fear, I slip into the chair. He’s humming to himself, clearly at ease. He doesn’t smell of fear, though there is a sharp alcoholic smell clinging to him. Snacks fill the table – profiteroles and strawberries – and tea.
Mr Lee pushes the flute towards me, and then sets to pouring himself fresh tea. I waste no time, picking up the blood and inhaling. This blood smells different to what I usually get. I frown. There’s a crispness to it – like finely sliced apple layered over the flesh of a persimmon so ripe it’s softened into mush. Usually, the sweetness is cloying. Not this time. This blood is more like honeyed ginger syrup with heat and kick. I feel floaty and parched.
‘Is something wrong?’ Mr Lee asks, his brows pulling together.
It takes a moment for the words to register. I suck in a shuddering breath. ‘I’ve never had blood that smells this way.’
With a stricken expression, he sets his teacup on the table. ‘Is it that bad?’
The tone snaps me momentarily from the fug. This blood is a gift, and I feel compelled to acknowledge his efforts. ‘No, not at all,’ I say, wanting to reassure. ‘It smells amazing.’
He seems to puff up at this. ‘Really? You seemed so unwell earlier, I couldn’t bear to see you suffer.’ His sincerity slices at my heart.
I swallow down the lust pressing up in my throat and focus on getting my words out. ‘But you seemed so scared about the blood. Why would you make yourself uncomfortable?’
He chuckles. ‘A wise woman once told me that mild discomfort is nothing to whine about.’
‘Ha,’ I manage before the bloodlust takes hold and I shove the glass to my face and drink.
Mr Lee continues to speak, but his words are drowned by the rushing in my ears. I try to savour it. Try to make the blood last. But it slips down too smoothly. It’s liquid sunshine – the warmth zings through my body like a lit fuse. There is yang qi in this blood, something the blood Big Wang got me never had. How? But the question is drowned by the rich tang of persimmon, refreshing apple – sharp with an edge of citrus – and a gingery kick which dances across my tongue. There’s something else too... crisp, fresh, familiar... but the rush hits before I can identify it. I groan.
In three gulps, the glass is empty. I try to put the flute back on the table – but my hands are shaking. My breathing hitches. Mr Lee catches the glass as it slips through my trembling fingers. That shining amorphous cloud is back – the golden glow is everywhere. I wave my hand and leave gold streaks in the air. When I touch them, glittering strands stick to my fingers like sugar taffy – growing finer as I pull.
