Alone in the corridor, in the quiet of the night, I allow myself to forget, just for a moment, my guilt and sorrow and doubt. I sink into his scent like he’s still mine.
Eyes shut tight, I conjure details to make the lie feel real: his breath against my hair, the heat of his body warming the air between us, his heart beating against mine, undivided. Even his scent grows strong enough I can almost feel his arms wrapped around me.
The deceit is so comforting, I don’t open my eyes again until I’m safely back in my room.
Tony lays in bed; sleep evades him. His senses are so heightened his brain is overstimulated and he can’t relax, exhaustingly alert to each new scent. The constant assault of smells makes his sinuses hurt. Footsteps in the corridor distract him from his litany of complaints. Strange, as everyone is usually fast asleep at this time of night. He plays the game of identifying the person by their smell. It’s still indistinct, but as the footsteps grow closer, the smell becomes clear: the bright citrus scent of calamansi, a woody oud undertone, a hint of chilli.
Jing.
Thinking about her gives him a headache. He misses her dearly, but he’s also angry, and embarrassed by his behaviour, too. She gave him a second chance; a rare gift. A gift he was very clear he did not want. Now that he’s vampire though, he realises he never truly understood what vampires were; only what he perceived them to be. Talking to Mémère, learning how to be vampire from her, their protocols, rules, and basic values, he misjudged them. Worse. He misjudgedher.
He mists to the corridor, the way Mémère showed him.
Jing sits huddled on the floor, hugging her knees to her chest, head on her arms. He hovers around her, unseen. Her eyes are closed, a small furrow between her brows, like she’s concentrating hard. Slowly, she smiles.
He reforms, and crouches in front of her. He’s never seen her thi pale, her cheeks hollowed. She’s thin. Too thin. Ah Lang said she hasn’t been eating. He worries; Jing needs five meals a day, at least.
She stands and Tony collapses into mist, clinging to the ceiling, but he needn’t have worried. Her eyes are still closed.
Forty
Reunion
After a week of travel, we burst through the thick fog into the blue-tinged twilight of home. Familiar sights flash by, like flipping through pages of a picture book: a yaojing pulling a wagon piled high with cabbage; a row of weathered warehouses; an arched entrance to shikumen guesthouses; a trio of ghosts, bathed in neon lights, waving at us as we speed past. I wish the train would slow down so I could linger on every detail.
‘What are you grinning at, Jing?’ Gigi asks, closing one of her many suitcases.
‘We live in a pretty great city.’
Gigi mirrors my smile. ‘That we do. We’re almost there. Let’s go wait by the door.’
With a screech of metal and a long, loud whistle, the train pulls into the platform where Big Wang, Horsey, Bullhead, and even Old Zao await us.
‘Welcome home, Little Jing,’ Big Wang says. He puts his giant hand on my shoulder, squeezes gently, an effusive display of affection for Big Wang.
‘Thank goodness you’re back, Lady Jing,’ Horsey says. ‘The days have been very dull without you.’ With a great sniff, Horsey bursts into tears. His reaction is both touching and ridiculous.
I laugh, but am somehow crying. ‘I’ve missed you, too.’
Bullhead says nothing, but there’s a telltale shine to his eyes.
‘I’ve missed you, too, Lord Nioh.’
‘Mmmgh,’ is all I get in reply.
‘Don’t let Lord Nioh’s stoicism fool you,’ Old Zao says. ‘He’s been very morose. Lord Ma is right, we have missed you, my dear.’
At Old Zao’s nudging, Bullhead gifts me a shy, gap-toothed smile.
The others disembark behind me. Ah Lang and Gigi are followed by Lord Aengus, who elicits a startled hiccup from Horsey, and finally, Tony.
Big Wang’s gaze swings between Lord Aengus, who I was supposed to deliver to his healer in Paris, and Tony. A brief pucker appears between his brows. I wonder if Big Wang senses the change in Tony, but I don’t have time to ponder that question because the Durands step off the train.
‘Big Wang, let me introduce you to my vampire family,’ I say. ‘This is my grandmother, Aliénor de Durand, my half-sister, Marianne, and half-brother, Max.’ I turn to the Durands. Max gapes at Big Wang, while Marianne’s eyes are wide. Mémère, however, takes his girth and height with aplomb. I nod in approval, and say, ‘This is Yan Luo Wang, my adoptive father, and King of Hell.’
Marianne translates, trilling like a songbird.
Mémère folds at the waist, honouring Big Wang with a low bow. Marianne and Max follow suit.
