I turn to Tony, to check whether what they are saying tallies with what he heard. He and Lord Aengus share a look before they both drop their chins: a single nod.
My mahjong face is in tatters. How is this real? I never thought, not in ten thousand years, I would come face to face with my vampire family. A terrible, wistful longing grows inside me as I stare at Mémère’s hand patting mine with such tenderness. A longing for a childhood that never was, where my father hadn’t abandoned me, where I had a loving grandmother and siblings, and where I wasn’t ashamed of the blood I needed to survive. I shove those traitorous thoughts into the darkest corners of my mind.
‘But, if this is true, what happened to Rom— I mean, my father?’
Marianne lays her hands in her lap, fingers worrying at a thumbnail. ‘Papa hadn’t been himself for a long time. He used to laugh easily, but he lost his spark. Stopped talking, spent time alone, became secretive, paranoid, and bad-tempered. One morning, he announced he was going to China. When he returned, he was more himself than he’d ever been. He insisted we must all go with him, that he had a wonderful surprise for us.’
Mémère weeps softly, her cool hand still patting mine.
Marianne seems not to notice. She continues, ‘We did not go. Paris was in the midst of great upheaval; Mémère did not feel it safe to leave our people unprotected. Besides which, Mémère abhors sea voyages. There was... an argument. Papa left in anger. We thoughthehad abandonedus.’
‘Just like he abandoned my mom and me,’ I whisper, unsure where this is all going.
When Marianne translates my words, Mémère squeezes my hands, shakes her head frantically. ‘Non, non,’ she says. She speaks quietly, quickly.
Marianne translates, her birdlike trill a melodic counterpoint to Mémère’s throaty tenor, like the sizzle of a cigar: ‘He did not abandon you, ma chère.’
That traitorous yearning buzzes in my ear. I want to believe them, but... it’s taken a long time to let go of the hurt and anger. I swallow, afraid to speak.
Mémère cups my cheek, bloodied tears streaming down her face: ‘Iam to blame. My pride, my fear. You see, I was so angry, it never occurred to me that my Romain, even in his darkest days, would ever intentionally hurt us. Five years after he left us, we received half of one of his journals in the post. There was no letter, but I knew what his journals meant to him. I also knew he had been in such a poor state of mind it had been many years since he’d last written in them. To see his journal so full of his thoughts and observations, of his sketches and paintings mademy heart swell with joy. It meant he was well and happy. Romain sending us his precious journal could only mean one thing: he was coming home. Or so I thought.
‘But five more years passed and we heard nothing. I realised how foolish I had been, stewing in anger instead of trying to understand the situation with clear eyes. My Romain would never have simply cut us off, no matter how disappointed or angry he might have been with me. He would never intentionally cause me pain. Maximilien and Marianne immediately travelled to China. But the Pantheon of Tian inexplicably took offence at their presence’ – at this, Marianne grimaces briefly before continuing with her translation – ‘resulting in the Jade Emperor’s edict banning vampires from the lands of Tian.
‘Last year, we received a hand-delivered letter from La Poste. Imagine our surprise to find it was from Romain, written in August 1835. Lost for nearly a hundred years. In it, he apologised for leaving in anger and said he understood and respected my decision. He promised he would bring his life’s joy to France. But he never explained, never said what his life’s joy was. We never understood what he meant, until today. He didn’t abandon us. He meant to bring his family here, but something kept him from returning home.’
The revelation is a bomb to the heart, blasting away the fear and doubt. August 1835 was a month before I was born. He didn’t abandon us. But what happened to him? I pull my attention back to Marianne, who continues to translate for her grandmother.
‘My son is somewhere in the Celestial lands, I am certain of it, but we can no longer enter China, much less search for Romain, without the Jade Emperor’s leave. So we’ve been searching for a way to petition the Jade Emperor.’
Marianne turns to Gigi. ‘Your Imperial Highness is our only hope. We wish to petition you, so that the Jade Emperor might reconsider our case.’
Ah Lang narrows his gaze at Maximilien. ‘I thought I recognised you.’ The edge of contempt in his tone is so unlike the gentle Ah Lang I know. ‘The Jade Emperor did notinexplicably take offence. Tell your grandmother what you did in Shanghai.’
Marianne’s eyes go wide. She translates in one rushed breath, her gaze darting between Ah Lang and her brother.
The three vampires speak quickly, Marianne in short neutral bursts, Maximilien in longer, more plaintive tones. Mémère’s brows are high and arched at first – surprise, I think – but as Maximilien speaks, low and urgent, her brows furrow and her lips pinch tight. Her last words make Maximilien grit his teeth.
Mémère lifts her chin, gestures to Marianne who seems to sit straighter in her chair. She crosses her legs, interlaces her fingers on her knee, and waits.
Maximilien stands as if to leave, but at a word from Mémère, sags back into his chair.
Staring morosely at his feet, he speaks in a monotone while Marianne translates his words: ‘During the long sailing, I heard an interesting tale about deities and demons frequenting the Old City of Shanghai. When my clipper was diverted from Hong Kong to Shanghai, I thought perhaps the deities and demons might assist me.’
‘Ask him what happened then,’ Ah Lang prods, Marianne’s clear voice murmuring along.
Maximilien turns an unflattering shade of puce. He shifts in his seat. ‘I found nothing and returned to France.’
Ah Lang smiles. It’s wolfish. ‘That’s strange. I remember an incident around 1845 in Shanghai. Resulted in a ban on all vampires from the Tian. Quite a serious incident, to warrant such an extreme edict.’
On hearing the translation, Mémère turns her head to Maximilien, frowning. ‘Comment ça? Tu m’as dit qu’ils étaient obtus et qu’ils avaient refusé de te rencontrer.’
Maximilien licks his lips nervously. He speaks, but Mémère cuts him off.
Marianne translates the short exchange: ‘Please, Mémère, let’s discuss thisprivately.’
‘No, we will discuss this here and now, with all. If you ever had any love for your papa, or even a shred of honour left in your sangue, then youwilltell me the truth.’
Maximilien throws Marianne a dirty look, but Mémère bangs her cane, and Maximilien’s gaze drops to the floor. I could swear Marianne is enjoying herself. There’s a lilting melody to her voice, and a slight dramatisation of her brother’s words, especially the whining parts.
