‘Tian, Jing, focus, that is not what is important right now,’ Gigi says under her breath.
‘I didn’t mean to say that out loud,’ I murmur back.
Marianne gestures at the chairs by her grandmother. ‘Mémère invites you all to sit.’ When none of us move, her voice hardens. ‘Lady Hu Xian Jing, did we not have a deal?’
‘What deal did you make with these yaoguai, Jing?’ Lady Gi whispers urgently.
‘They are vampires, like me. They want to know my history,’ I say. ‘They promised to free us if I answered their questions.’
Marianne nods. ‘Once we have fulfilled our bargain with Lady Hu Xian Jing, we wish to parlay with you, Divine Goddess of Heavenly Peace, Imperial Princess of Jade, Lady Gi of the Silver River.’
Gigi has few tells; her mahjong face is nearly as good as mine, but the stillness that comes over her is a dead giveaway. She is as shocked as I am that they used her full title: they know exactly who she is.
Marianne glances at the body on the floor, now covered in a silvery mist. ‘House Durand keeps its promises.’
Fourteen
About Me
I sink into my chair, Tony beside me. There’s so much spinning in my head. I want to tell Tony I’m not alone in this world, about the naked, fornicating yaoguai; I need to know why these vampires are targetting Gigi, why they kidnapped us, why they want to know about me... but it’s too much all at once and makes my head hurt.
Ah Lang leads Gigi to the seat next to mine. Even with her hair a lopsided rats’ nest, her dress shredded and splattered with blood, Gigi carries herself with poise. She lowers herself elegantly into her seat and smooths a non-existent crinkle from her tattered dress. Ah Lang sits next to her, watches protectively as Gigi fusses with her waterfall sleeves, pulling them up to cascade over her forearms, then dropping them so they puddle on the parquet floors. She only does that when she’s really worried.
A strange silvery fog now entirely shrouds the corpse at Mémère’s feet. Lord Aengus sits on the floor between Ah Lang and Tony, uncharacteristically quiet. It occurs to me Lord Aengus might have useful intel, being familiar with Paris and no doubt its yaojing. But, first things first, fulfil my deal, and get everyone to safety.
A maid brings out a gilded teapot, tall, shaped more like the long-necked pots used for baijiu. Tea steams from the spout; Pu-erh, from Yunnan, if I’m not mistaken. Over-steeped. The cups, shaped like small urns with a single handle and gilded at the edges, sit atop matching saucers, similarly frilly looking.
Mémère has Marianne pour me another cup of blood,to help settle my nerves, she says.
The maid offers cups of tea to Ah Lang, Gigi and Tony, but on seeing Lord Aengus shudders and turns away.
‘Rude,’ he mutters.
While the others accept the tea, they don’t drink it. My fangs ache for the warm, aromatic blood in my cup, but, to show my solidarity with the others, I refrain.
Mémère nods at me, that softness once more in her gaze. ‘Dis-moi.’
‘Go on,’ Marianne says, unnecessarily. While I don’t understand Mémère’s words, the tone of them is easy enough to grasp.
I chew my lip. This is not how I would have chosen for Gigi, Ah Lang, Tony, and certainly not Lord Aengus, to learn about my less than idyllic childhood.
Heat rises up my neck, and the tips of my ears burn. It’s suddenly too stuffy, too dry in the room. My words lodge in my throat; even at the best of times I hate talking about my time in Turquoise Hills. I stare at the cup in my hands. A little blood rush might help the words flow easier. I blow out a deep breath.
‘I was born in Turquoise Hills...’ My voice splinters like dried kindling. I try again. ‘I...’ My voice fails me, and to my horror my eyes have gone hot.
Rotted turds.I can’t cry in front of all these people. Desperation eclipses caution and I down the entire teacup.
It’s not a lot, maybe two mouthfuls, but it’s enough of a blood rush to smooth the barbs in my throat.
Despite our situation as hostages, despite my head telling me in no uncertain terms that these vampires are foe, despite the horror of the fog-shrouded corpse at our feet, I feel the tightness in my throat ease. Perhaps it’s the blood rush, the wonder of meeting other vampires, the novelty of drinking blood out ofa teacup as if it were the most normal thing in the world. Or perhaps it’s Mémère’s seemingly genuine interest in me that makes the words flow.
In a monotone, my gaze locked on the crimson smears at the bottom of my teacup, I begin at the beginning: ‘I was born in the Hulijing Court in Turquoise Hills...’
The memories normally shoved away in the darkest crevices of my mind spill from me in a torrent. I recount Niang Niang’s casual cruelty, her hatred of my vampire heritage. How my father abandoned us, and how I thought – how everyone thought – my mother had sold me to Big Wang, the King of Hell, for a canary-yellow diamond the size of a quail’s egg. Thankfully, in my woe-is-me tale, this last detail was only a ruse Big Wang devised to keep me safe from my grandmother’s infanticidal tendencies. He bundled me secretly out of hulijing territory, adopted me, raised me in Hell under the watchful eyes of Horsey, Bullhead, and the Kitchen God, Old Zao. I don’t mention my inheritance, a priceless dragon pearl gifted by Lady Longnu, Lord Black’s cousin.
I pause and look up. Tony’s jaw is clenched hard, the muscle twitching. He knows most of the story. But the others don’t. Gigi’s eyes are wide, shimmering as if she might cry. Ah Lang and Lord Aengus look so alike in their pained expressions that I might have laughed, but the mix of shock, sorrow, and the thing I hate most – pity – makes me turn away.
Mémère stares at me, her brown eyes wide, so still she looks as if she’s carved from stone. ‘You are a child of a vampire and a hulijing?’
