One of the internal wood doors swings open and out sashays someone I swear smells exactly like Willie, Big Wang’s manin mortal Shanghai. But this person has the ample curves of the great beauty Yang Yuhuan. I never knew the simple act of walking could look so sensual.
‘You’re not Willie,’ I say, befuddled by the battle between my nose and my eyes.
She holds up a plump finger, prettily adorned with spiralling rings, and waggles it at me. ‘Most definitely not Willie! I am his twin sister, Yue Gui. You must be Lady Jing.’
On closer inspection, she does look like Willie – the same moon round face, with strong graceful brows arched over a pair of bright, observant eyes. She bows to each of us in turn. ‘Lord Aengus mac Dagda of the Tuatha Dé, or should I say Rune, Lady Brigid Iníon Dagda of the Tuatha Dé, Lady Gi, Ah Lang, Lady Jing and Tony Lee, we are most honoured to welcome you to the Manor of Gathering Elegance.’ She takes a moment to inspect the room. ‘This was the last part of our wards. Well done. Ahn my love, please show Lady Brigid to the library where she can wait until we’ve had our debriefing. The rest of you, come with me.’
Eighteen
Thwarted
Maximilien waves off the taxi driver and strolls into an alleé near Parc Monceau. Moments later, he re-emerges as mist, floating undetected down the otherwise sedate street towards the building no one can miss: Maison Loo. Just after it was built, the neighbours mounted an unsuccessful petition to demolish it, but just as the iron folly Gustav Eiffel built still stands, so does the garish eyesore with its glazed green cylindrical roof tiles and yellow latticework windows.
At least all those windows provide a welcome entryway into the house. Maximilien mists towards the first floor, finding a suitably empty room. A few inches from the window, a searing pain lances through him which causes his mist to contract. He nearly collapses into his body, right there in the front garden, in plain view of the entire street. Forcing his mist to expand, he frantically searches for safe shelter.
The door to the neighbouring building swings open, a woman in a hat steps smartly onto the pavement. Maximilien mists through the closing door into a small vestibule.Benesangue,the vestibule and hall are empty. When the door opens again, Maximilien steps out, safely back in his body, grey eyes flat.
Hopping over the iron fence, Maximilien ducks behind a tall bamboo grove on the side of the house which shields him from passers-by. He twists off a section of bamboo and prods at the red wall. Nothing happens. He tosses the bamboo and carefully pats the air, inching closer until he feels a slight resistance, not unlike the hum of electricity. He presses against the resistance;immediately his insides cramp, but he doesn’t let the pain stop him. From ten years old, until he was gifted benesangue at twenty, the Durand’s mottoperfer et obdura,endure and persist, was drilled into him in every lesson and every test. He presses harder. The cramping intensifies until he can barely breathe. A ward. Rage incinerates logic.How dare the Celestials presume to bar his entry.He slams his hand against the wall.
White-hot pain explodes inside him and he’s thrown backwards.
Curled on his side, head spinning, he fights for breath. He doesn’t notice the subtle sheen clinging to the zinc tiles on one side of a neighbouring turret. He’s in too much pain. Everything hurts, like he’s been set on fire. He tries to undo the bottom of his cuff, to check his arm, but it’s all he can do not to scream as the cotton of his sleeve grates against his skin like sandpaper on a sunburn. In humiliation and fury and pain, he staggers from the front garden and hails a passing taxi home, followed at a safe distance by a subtle shimmer on the wind.
Nineteen
Debrief
We follow Yue Gui deeper into the residence. The way she moves is mesmerising; her hips sway as if half dancing, half floating and I make an effort not to stare. She takes us through a small courtyard with a gnarled plum tree whose golden canopy reaches the third floor windows. Beneath it is a silkwood altar with a bronze joss urn – probably where they send their missives to Tian. Re-entering the private quarters of the house, the lacquered walls with their gilded paintings are replaced with simple, and more homey, waxed wood. Here too, the yellow fulu are never out of sight.
‘What exactly do the fulu ward against?’ I ask.
‘I am sorry to put you to work,’ she says, embarrassed, ‘but we’re short-handed this morning and needed to make sure we were properly warded against the vampires. I will explain when we’re all sitting down.’
We head up a narrow set of creaky stairs, through yet another long hallway, and finally into a large airy room. Eight huali horseshoe-back chairs surround a low table with the signature clean lines Big Wang favours in Ming furniture. The windows are proportionate to the high ceilings; tall, rectangular, and like the ones in the entry hall, each is warded with a square yellow fulu. Ah Lang places Lord Aengus on one of the chairs while Yue Gui shutters the windows before moving around the room to light the lanterns.
Seeing us hovering just inside the doorway, Yue Gui gestures to the chairs. ‘Please, sit.’
Belatedly, the significance of Tian’s diplomatic outpost having fulu to ward against vampires hits me. ‘You also know of House Durand?’ I ask Yue Gui. Then, ‘Does Big Wang know there are vampires here?’
Yue Gui searches my face before nodding. ‘Yes, Big Wang knows. As for Aliénor de Durand, she is well known among the French elite. A formidable woman.’
I slump into a chair. Seems I’m the only one in the dark about vampires.
‘Formidable, yes. But I hadn’t expected her to be quite so brutal. La Grande Morte’ – Lord Aengus’s head shudders – ‘the name makes one think it ought to be fun and naughty.’ He screws his eyes shut in distaste. ‘No amount of soap will ever wash those images from my eyes.’
Thinking of how Mémère spoke to the chevalier with such tenderness and affection, calling her brutal doesn’t sit right. ‘The chevalier looked peaceful in the end. He didn’t seem scared at all.’
‘Being decapitated and then having your still-beating heart yanked out of a gaping hole in your chest isn’t exactly peaceful, Jing.’
Remembering Mémère’s tarry teeth, I can’t deny Gigi has a point, so I change the subject. ‘What do the fulu do?’
‘It stops vampires from entering and eavesdropping,’ Ahn says as she enters the room.
‘I’m vampire but the fulu don’t affect me,’ I say.
‘That’s because they were created specifically with you in mind,’ Yue Gui says.
‘Me?’
