Thirteen
Promises
I cradle the cup in my hands and realise I can leverage their interest to protect my friends. The cup reminds me of Big Wang’s tea set, though this cup is simpler in its lines, with a graceful pedestal. The deep burgundy of the blood turns the white porcelain a dusky rose that matches Mémère’s velvet chairs.
I think back to that odd conversation with BigWang... ‘whether those decisions are the right ones’, ‘I knew... worried... vampires.’Was he trying to tell me aboutthesevampires?
The blood in my cup is hot, which enhances its aroma – sun-warmed peaches, tipping into overripe, edged with pepper. My fangs ache against my gums. The blood doesn’t smell poisoned; in fact, the smell is making my head spin with want.
I give in and sip.
Back home, the yaojing always whispered about me behind my back. Few dared to speak to me, for fear of taint by association. Those who did, asked me pointed questions, questions that hid their venom behind callous politesse.How is your mother? It must be so difficult being an orphan, with no one to love you.Is it lonely being banished from your home?
But Mémère’s question seems straightforward, devoid of traps. Thoughts of my father keep intruding, but I force them back into the shadows where he belongs.
‘The blood . . . ,’ I say, focusing on my friends. ‘Do you always drink it this way?’
Marianne translates for Mémère, then answers. ‘Blood tastes better warm, the way it would straight from the source. We also drink it iced, especially on a very hot day.’
Fortified with the blood, I play my only card: ‘I want to see my friends released safe and unharmed, then I will tell you anything you want to know about me.’
Once Marianne translates, Mémère folds her hands over the lavender jade pommel of her walking stick. Carved peonies in varying stages of bloom cascade down its shaft, painted soft shades of pink and purple. She considers me.
Mémère’s eyes are a clear dark brown, like mine, but her irises are edged in gold. I gaze back impassively. I’m not the kanhoo champion of Hell for nothing; I can hold a glare for days. The curtains billow. The clock on the marble mantelpiece ticks.
Like the others, Mémère smells of camphor and dried roses, but those notes are softened by a woody citrus fragrance, not unlike the sharp green of fresh sap. I find it oddly comforting.
We glare for a little longer; there’s a slow shift in her brown eyes, a yielding softness. I know I’ve won, it’s just a matter of Mémère realising it, too.
She prattles something to Marianne, her gaze never leaving mine. Marianne says, ‘If you will tell Mémère what she wants to know and she is satisfied, she will release your friends into your care.’
The desperation in Mémère’s gaze tells me her desire to know about me outweighs her desire to hurt my friends.
‘I want to see them first,’ I say. ‘And I want your assurance that they are, and will remain, safe and unharmed. Once I have that, you have a deal: I will tell you about myself, after which you will free my friends.’
Marianne translates. Mémère continues to hold my gaze, her eyes hardening slightly but still with that softness around theedges. I see the moment she accepts my terms. It’s another eighteen ticks of the clock before she finally answers.
Marianne translates: ‘House Durand agrees to your terms, but you must remain here, seated with us, when your friends are brought out.’
She gives a nod and Maximilien disappears. He reappears with a host of guards surrounding my friends.
Only Lord Aengus sits pristine in his vase. Tony and Ah Lang are on their knees. Tony doesn’t look right, his complexion is waxy. Ah Lang is in even worse condition. Two guards on each side of Ah Lang struggle to hold of him, despite the chains binding him. His clothes are ripped and bloodstained, his hands a mess of bloody welts and cuts and bruises.
Gigi looks the worst of all. Her hair hangs half undone, only one hairpin remains, dangling at an awkward angle. Her eyes are wild with rage. Three guards fight to control her. One of them, a good two heads taller than Gigi, has a long red scratch across his cheek, starting just under his eye and extending to the corner of his lips.
‘What happened?’ My voice comes out strangled.
Mémère barks something at the guards. I stand, and Marianne speaks but I can’t hear her over the buzzing in my head. I’m about to cross the room when Tony makes a strangled sound as his captor tightens his chokehold.
I freeze, understanding the message.We know your weakness.
Mémère glares at Ah Lang and Gigi. She lifts her chin but I don’t give her a chance to speak.
My lip curls. ‘You should be ashamed. Your word?’ I gesture at Ah Lang. ‘You call this safe and unharmed? Threats, assault, coercion? I fully expect House Durand to answer for my friends’ injuries.’
As Marianne translates, Mémère’s grip on the jade pommel of her walking stick tightens until her knuckles go white. There’s a ruthless edge to Mémère’s gaze and I wonder if I’ve pushed too far.
At a word from Mémère, the guards immediately loosen their hold.
