Ah Lang lunges for Gigi’s guards, seizes one by the throat. The other guards scramble to pull Ah Lang away, but he is immovable. It makes no difference though because the guard in his grip shimmers into nothing, while another guard appears behind Tony. I glimpse the flash of a blade.
Suddenly I’m reliving that awful moment when Tony Lee was stabbed by my grandmother’s henchmen – his soft gasp, the wet gurgle when he tried to say my name, the helpless way he toppled forward, his muscles so relaxed he might have simply fallen asleep.
I screamNo! –it comes out a strange combination of Celestial voice and a tremulous high-pitched screech, a noise I didn’t know I could make.
‘Ça suffit.’ Mémère makes a small gesture with her head – up and to the right.
All the guards disappear with a shimmer.
Free from threat, Gigi runs to Ah Lang and cradles him as if he were made of gossamer, though his bruises and scrapes are already fading.
Tony stills for a moment before his whole body folds and he slumps to his knees. I fly across the room to his side, ignoring Mémère, whose staccato sharp words are no doubt directed at me. I check him for injuries. Other than his pallor, and a few extra grazes and cuts, he doesn’t seem injured. He is breathless but breathing and his heart beats strong and steady.
‘Are you okay?’ I help him stand.
He shakes himself. ‘I’m fine.’ He glances at Ah Lang. ‘They tried to take Gigi but she refused to leave us, and Ah Lang wouldn’t let them take her, either.’ He glares at the vampires. ‘Who are they and what do they want?’
Lord Aengus watches us fuss over each other. He lets out a dramatic sigh. ‘I’m fine, really. No need to worry yourselves on my account.’
Maximilien splutters but Mémère gives him an icy look. When that fails to get the reaction she wants, she slams her walking stick on the floor. Like a puppy with his tail between his legs, he disappears and shortly reappears with Gigi’s three guards, including scarface. His scratch has faded, and continues to fade as I watch. The five of us huddle as far away from the vampires as we can, holding Lord Aengus’s vase tight as we press into the teal silk walls.
There’s a brief discussion between the guards. Scarface steps forward and bows low before Mémère. They speak in a low murmur. Her expression seems pained, but she nods, lips pressed flat.
‘Honour and duty define House Durand. We right our wrongs,’ Marianne murmurs. Her sombre tone prickles the hairs at the back of my neck.
Mémère lifts her face and the man leans down to kiss each cheek – once, twice, three times. There’s a grim determination in Mémère’s eyes as she speaks, though her words are soft. The man nods again, expression wistful but resigned. With slow purposeful movements, he kneels before her, back straight, chin high.
She places her hands either side of his jaw and gently turns his head as she kisses his cheeks – left then right, and left once more.
The guard smiles and closes his eyes. He lets out a long sigh, and his whole body seems to relax.
Mémère moves in a blur of motion. At first, I’m confused. Mémère stands in the same spot, hands cradling the man’s face. He looks peaceful. He sways, and it’s then that I see his head is no longer attached to his body.
The flesh of his severed neck is dark, jagged, and dry. Mémère places the head on the floor by the man’s knees then grips his shoulder with one hand and plunges the other into his chest. Bone crunches and splinters as she works her hand deeper. I want to look away, throw up, scream for her to stop, but I can do nothing but stare motionless in mute horror.
Mémère yanks out her hand, clutching a blackened and shrivelled still-beating heart.
Bile crawls up my throat. Tony inhales sharply, Gigi breathes, ‘Tian,’while Lord Aengus curses in a language I don’t understand.
Mémère opens her mouth wide, wider than should be possible, wide enough to fit the whole heart in her mouth. She closes her eyes as she chews. The body falls forward with a soft thud.
Mémère bows her head and murmurs, ‘Béni soit le coeur qui revient à la chair, dotée par la paix éternelle.’She turns and says, teeth bathed in tarry black, ‘Mon vassal vous offre ses plus profonds regrets et présente son coeur éternel comme expiation.’
Marianne translates but I don’t hear the words. I can’t tear my eyes from the head and the body lying on the ground. I’ve never killed anyone, or been the reason anyone has had their existence terminated.
‘Jing?’ Gigi’s voice sounds far away.
I can’t look away from the headless remains of the guard. To my horror, my eyes go hot and blurry. ‘I didn’t know she would...’
I did this, I asked for assurances. That death is on me. I double over, dry-retch.
Gigi squeezes my hand, so tight it hurts, snapping me out of my dark spiralling. When she is sure I’m not going to vomit on my shoes, she turns to Mémère, still holding my hand.
‘We are representatives of the Pantheon of Tian,’ Gigi says, her tone and manner as regal as Mémère’s, every inch the Jade Emperor’s daughter. ‘I demand an explanation.’
Marianne and Mémère confer. Maximilien paces beside them, interjecting with angry outbursts, until he slumps, defeated in a nearby armchair. Mémère makes her way to a sideboard on which sits a carafe and silver urn and pours herself a glass of water. She swishes a mouthful and with impressive precision, spits a perfect arc into the silver receptacle.
‘Wah, her aim is better than mine.’
