I stand in a forest clearing. Fronds of bracken cradle my bare feet while the steady drizzle susurrates a wordless song. Droplets splatter my eyelids, drip down my cheeks. I stare at my hands, giggle as raindrops fall from my fingertips.
‘What’s he done to her?’ Gigi doesn’t sound happy.
Raised voices between father and son. I want to tell them not to argue, but in order to speak I’d have to stop listening to the rain and why would I do that? I close my eyes and drift back to the clearing.
The whisper of rain slowly fades, replaced by loud, grating voices.
‘Jing!’ Gigi shouts right in my ear.
I jerk away, wincing. ‘What the Hell, Gigi—’ I’m about to berate her when I notice the Dagda watching me. Those green eyes remind me of leaves... and rain.
I blink. The rain. The music. The Dagda works his jaw but I can’t let him eviscerate my thoughts again.
‘Stop,’ I say in Celestial voice at the same time Gigi and Ah Lang also shout, ‘Stop!’ in Celestial voice.
The command reverberates through the room with the force of a cannon, echoes skittering off the walls and tables like swarming insects. The effect on Lord Aengus is immediate: he collapses, his body spasming as he dry-retches. Ah Lang crouches next to him, a firm grip on his shoulder while murmuring reassurances.
The Dagda however, stands tall, shoulders back, feet firmly rooted as if immune to Celestial voice. The only tell is the furrow between the Dagda’s blond brows. He sways gently, then pitches forward, toppling like a great oak.
Shit sticks.I lunge and manage to just keep his face from breaking his fall.
There’s a shimmer in the air and Marianne, Mémère and a chevalier appear.
Ah Lang positions himself protectively in front of Lord Aengus and Gigi. I join him.
‘Where’s Tony?’ I demand. I remember the chevalier’s shout. ‘What’s le douleur?’
Mémère does her best not to react, but she flinches ever so slightly at my words. The chevalier doesn’t have as good a mahjong face and she pales noticeably.
‘Your friends should return to Maison Loo,’ Marianne says. Her voice is flat, bled of emotion.
‘Why?’
The look she gives me – eyes swimming with remorse and pity – sends a chill down my spine.
‘Tony is very sick. I’ll take you to him.’
Thirty-Two
The Deal
The chevalier heaves the Dagda over her shoulder and mists away with Mémère. The others head back to Maison Loo, their eyes full of questions.
Marianne mists us into a low-ceilinged stone chamber, small enough to be lit by a single lantern’s anaemic light. On a thick stone slab in the centre of the room lies Tony. He’s shirtless, shivering violently and glistening with sweat, his ragged breathing loud in this tomb-like space.
I drop to my knees and press a hand to his clammy cheek. ‘He’s burning up. We have to get him to a hospital.’
Marianne doesn’t move. ‘He has sangue poisoning, Jing.’
Sangue poisoning.I remember Marianne saying it was caused by overexposure to pathogens in vampire saliva. But that doesn’t make sense.
‘There must be a mistake. I’ve never fed from Tony. Today was the first time I’ve ever fed from a mortal.’
‘I’m so sorry, Jing. I didn’t know – I never thought he would stoop so low—’
He?‘What are you saying?’
She exhales, unsteadily. ‘We are extremely vigilant when it comes to the health of our pursuivants. When Mémère saw how unwell Tony had become over the course of the evening, she called her chevalier to check him over, as per safety protocols. Symptoms are similar to the flu and come on quickly – headache, fatigue, fever. But there is also a telltale smell, a sweet rotting scent, unique to le douleur. Tony had them all. We hadno choice but to enact our quarantine protocols. There was no time to explain. Our doctors examined Tony again to be certain, which delayed our return. They identified the scent marker of the vampire responsible. Max has been secretly feeding from Tony without our knowledge.’
