Mémère kowtows, forehead to ground. Stays there until her grandchildren do the same. Maximilien waits until the last moment, his shoulders shaking, but with a defeated slump, he touches his forehead to the ground. Only then does Mémère straighten. She gives Marianne an imperious nod.
‘House Durand begs the noble Celestial deities to contain our abundant apologies,’ Marianne says. ‘House Durand was labouring under a terrible misapprehension. We have been at fault this whole time. We humbly offer ten thousand regretsfor any harm to your venerable persons.’ The vampires kowtow again.
I glance at my friends – their expressions are hard, but in that instant something in me shifts, a protectiveness for these people, especially Mémère. She isfamily. My grandmother and an elder. I cannot let her stay on the ground so I hurry over and gently try to pull her up but Mémère will not be moved.
‘Please, get up,’ I say. ‘There’s no need to be so formal.’
‘Jing, they hijacked our train and kidnapped us. Scared us half out of our minds,’ Gigi says. ‘The apology is correct and appropriate.’
The vampires kowtow a third time.
‘House Durand deeply regrets the injuries suffered by her Imperial Highness and her friends. To right this dishonour, my chevalier requested La Grande Morte, offering his immortal life as recompense. If her Imperial Highness does not consider our offering sufficient, all of my chevalier present on the train will submit to La Grande Morte.’
Allof them? I glance at the corpse, or what’s left of it – a smallish puddle of silver mist.
‘Gigi, please,’ I manage to say before bile pushes up my throat again; I cover my mouth and retch.
‘There is no need for that,’ Gigi says, her voice impressively even, though I can tell from the wrinkle in her pretty nose that she finds the violence of this punishment distasteful. ‘Please, rise. That’s enough.’
Marianne nods, and Mémère, with a look of satisfaction, stands. Maximilien stands, too, his face twisted. When he looks at me, his grey eyes burn with hate.
‘I do not like your way of getting attention,’ Gigi continues. ‘Iammoved by your story and by your kinship with Lady Jing. I shall consider your petition and speak to my father, but I make no promises. His counsel is his own.’
Fifteen
The Heir Apparent
Maximilien leads the mortal Tony Lee down the marble staircase to their newly installed dial telephone off the entry hall. The mortal keeps Maximilien in his line of sight at what he must believe is a ‘safe’ distance, his back to the alcove wall, his gaze never leaving Maximilien even as he puts the receiver to his ear.Fool.
Dialling 1-1, the mortal murmurs ‘Maison Loo’ to the operator. Maximilien wonders briefly what connection the Celestials have with the inhabitants of Maison Loo, that hideous red building known to locals as la Pagode de Paris. The mortal speaks quietly and quickly in Chinese. The sound of it sours Maximilien’s already lousy mood. He turns away and slips around the corner, out of the mortal’s sight.
Saving that stray, Marianne, was bad enough, how could Mémère betray him like this?
He, Maximilien, is the one Mémère hand-picked from among a pool of the most promising high-born nobles. The one Mémère raised and educated in politics and business. The one she herself anointed as heir of House Durand. At least Marianne was never a threat to his position as heir. Their grandmother barely acknowledges her. Mémère’s approval, her tender look of pride, was reserved for Maximilien alone.
But now... He remembers the disappointment and revulsion in Mémère’s eyes as Marianne laid bare his unfortunate missteps. He will admit it was a lapse in judgement, but he was weak with fatigue and hunger! Mémère had refused to listen,though; he begged and pleaded to no avail. The indifference with which she regarded him, then told him he was not fit to lead House Durand and forced him to kneel... He seethes at the memory. Bitterness consumes him.
It’s only a matter of time before Mémère formally announces hishalf-sister –he sneers at the word – as the heir of House Durand.
To distract himself, Maximilien inhales deeply, savouring the crisp, sweet scent of the mortal’s sangue. On the tongue, the sweetness is even more pronounced. His lips curl into a vicious smile as he anticipates his next taste.
Relaxing every muscle, he allows his body to dissipate into mist, returning unseen to the mortal, who keeps careful watch of the hall, unaware of the danger above.
The first time Maximilien fed from the mortal was on the train while the Celestials were busy fighting off House Durand’s chevaliers. He was annoyed by Marianne’s attitude and needed a snack to feel better. To his delight, the mortal’s blood turned out to be rich and complex, far more delicious than his usual pursuivants.
As he watches the mortal shift the receiver from one ear to the other, a nagging voice reminds him of House Durand’s rules on tasting mortals; overfeeding is a threat to their safety.
But Maximilien is too steeped in his sense of outrage and injustice, too certain of his entitlement, too hungry for vengeance, and too confident of House Durand’s extensive safety measures, that he simply dismisses the risks. The scent of the mortal’s blood, concentrated by the small half-enclosed alcove, goads him on.
Moving too fast to track, he strikes. If onecouldtrack the movement, one might see two needle-tip indentations in the throat turn into red pinpricks, with a near undetectable flash of white in the centre – reformed fangs which dissipate almostimmediately into mist. A skilled taste is undetectable by mortals, and Maximilien is an expert. He takes a few leisurely sips before misting away.
With his thumb, he swipes away a stray drop of blood from the corner of his mouth and strolls back to the entry hall. He leans against the bannister and waits for the mortal to finish his call.
Sixteen
Coeur et Sangue
Max returns to the salon just long enough to deliver Tony – who returns to Jing’s side looking pale and murmuring about a headache – before slipping away. Marianne wonders what he’s up to.
