Her tone is imperious, like she expects me to comply immediately. Joke’s on her – I haven’t a clue what she’s saying and have no intention of making things easy for her.
‘Where are my friends?’ I say.
Marianne murmurs something. The woman considers me, then raises a hand and beckons Marianne, as if she were calling a dog.
She speaks, then turns away, returning to her armchair.Click, click, click.
Marianne says, ‘We are House Durand.’ She gestures to the old woman. ‘My grandmother Aliénor de Durand. We call her Mémère.’ With her chin she points to the man. ‘Maximilien is my brother. You, Lady Hu Xian Jing, appear to be vampire. Yet you travel with Celestials from Tian, and claim connection with the Hulijing Court. Mémère demands you explain how this came to be.’
The woman called Mémère sits gracefully in her armchair and rests her walking stick in its stand. She nods almost imperceptibly to the chair beside her.
‘Mémère invites you to sit, Lady Hu Xian Jing,’ Marianne says.
‘I prefer to stand.’
‘Do not mistake Mémère’s intention. It was not a request,’ Marianne says.
Mémère says something to Maximilien, who balks, but at a single raised eyebrow from his grandmother, he goes to the sideboard and pours a cup of cloyingly fragrant blood from the eggshell porcelain teapot. I swallow. Maximilien places the cup on the table next to the proffered armchair. The smell is intoxicating. I can’t help the rumble my stomach makes, but I stay where I am.
Mémère speaks again, and Marianne translates.
‘Mémère says you must be tired and frightened. We did not know you were our own. Explain. Perhaps we may help each other.’
‘You must have rotted turd for brains. There’s no way I’ll help anyone who hurts my friends,’ I say.
‘Qu’est-ce qu’elle a dit?’ Mémère asks.
As Marianne answers, Mémère’s elegant eyebrow rises higher and higher. We watch each other warily. Outside, a crow caws. And then Mémère laughs. The sound is husky and deep. When she looks at me, her gaze sparkles. Though my hackles are raised, I’ve had a lifetime of parsing when someone means me harm. They meant me harm when I woke in that room, even when I was brought here. But now, as sudden as a stray finger of sunlight on a cloudy day, the intentions rolling off this woman have shifted: she is bemused.
‘Montre-lui,’she says.
The three turn their heads in unison, as if choreographed. They smile. Wide.
What in the rotted turds? They look like a trio of creepy porcelain dolls. I step back. It only makes them smile wider. I am seriously wondering about their sanity. Are they trying to smile me into submission? But then, I hear a familiar sound. A soft, slightly wet,snick. In each of their smiles, small white fangs appear in their upper and lower gums.
Just like mine.
The realisation hits me with the force of a thunderbolt. Vampires. They’re vampires.
I’m not alone in this world. My heart tips in my chest. I can hardly breathe.
I don’t remember approaching them. I simply find myself with a finger on Mémère’s upper right fang. Maximilien moves to grab me but Mémère raises a hand. I can sense that he’s not happy but he obeys. From her dusky pink velvet armchair that might as well be a throne, Mémère gazes up at me with an indulgence that reminds me of Madame Meng.
What if they know my father? The excitement turns sour. He didn’t want me, why would these vampires be any different? But I can’t ignore the tug of curiosity. It feels wrong to want to know so badly, even while my friends are in danger, but the compulsion is overwhelming.
‘You are vampire?’I say, my confused emotions making the question sound more like an accusation.
Marianne translates. Mémère says something that sounds likevang-pi-rrr.
‘Just like you,’ Marianne says.
Mémère nods at the teacup of blood. ‘Assieds-toi.’
I hesitate. She pats the chair beside her. It’s as if she’s used Celestial voice to compel me. At least, that’s what I tell myself, because inexplicably I find myself sinking into the soft velvet ofthe armchair. She hands me the teacup and saucer. Instead of flinging it on her, or refusing it, I reach for the cup. I am so pathetically enchanted by her interest I don’t even try to fight the compulsion.
Marianne and Maximilien sit on the sofa across from us. We would have made a cosy group if not for Maximilien’s malice and Marianne’s wariness.
Mémère speaks again, and Marianne translates. ‘Tell us about yourself, little one.’
