While I don’t love the language that makes it sound like my moli is a mass nerve agent, I can’t disagree with the premise. I should have kept this to myself. I knew it. I double down, simply to be contrary. “I think it’s fine.”
“It’s not. Luling, you can fight about this, or you can solve a problem that could wreck innocent people’s lives.”
She goes in and I stay back to do some deep breathing to try to find enough calm to deal with her. When I finish the last of about thirty breaths, and then put my hand against the wall because I made myselfdizzy, I go into the vault to see Mom on her knees in front of one of the shelving units, pulling some dusty boxes out of the way. “What are you doing?”
“Moving boxes.”
I asked for that one. “I see. Why?”
She reveals a small safe I haven’t noticed in all the times I’ve been here. I’m fascinated. Mom mutters to herself, I assume reciting the code to the lock, and backs out holding a small tray filled with sealed beakers, like a chemistry experiment.
“What are those?” She takes the tray to the main lab, me trotting behind like a puppy. “Mom? What are they?” All my annoyance has disappeared.
It’s not until she squares the tray on the table that she answers. “Hua Pixin’s fragrance.”
“Pixin?” I frown, thinking through the register. “I don’t remember reading her chapter.”
Mom doesn’t look at me, instead riffling through the bottles. “She’s not in it.”
“Then how do you know?”
“It’s information shared directly from mother to daughter.”
“You didn’t think it important to tell me this until now?”
“There was no need for you to know,” Mom says, looking at me. Her eyes are darker than mine, almost black. “You never showed an interest in your history once you left.”
That hurts, but it cuts deeper because she’s right. I didn’t deserve access to these secrets because, although I’m a Hua, I didn’t put the work in.
She pulls out a stoppered vial, and I pause my introspection to read the label. “Ghost scent? Dramatic.”
“It’s a dampener.”
“A what?” I reach out to one of the vials, but my mother’s warning expression causes me to drop my hand.
“Pixin was one of a set of twins. Her sister made moli scents to reduce embarrassment, which was perfectly suitable and popular enough to bring in money to the family. Pixin was the younger and thought to be empty of moli, but she wasn’t. Her gift was unlike any in the family, and it took years for them to learn what it did.”
“Which is what? Stop our moli?”
“It negates the power.”
“How?”
“The scent reduces its immediacy, the same way perfume fades if you wash your skin with water. The scent lingers, but its edge is gone.” She lifts the tray. “They made the decision to not write this into the register for fear that one day an enemy would read it and use Pixin’s power against us. She was a smart woman and made batches for future use in case there was another Haifen.”
“The one who could create debilitating fear.” I’d read her chapter a while ago.
“Pixin knew there might be more negative gifts in the family. She thought ahead. They would have used it against Miaoyu’s moli had events not moved so quickly.”
I look at the tray. There are about six jars labeled with Pixin’s name in tiny characters, and another character etched into the side that I assume is her huo. “The moli fades with the scent. How old is this?”
“Extremely, but since she created them as incense, they’ve lasted longer.” She points to the safe. “The cold maintained their longevity as well. It should still be adequate if we let it sit in oil, then add it to a perfume Kelsey’s clients will find appealing.”
That’s great news, but I’m battling a sense of hurt that this has been kept from me. “You should have told me.”
Mom tucks a stray hair behind her ear where it belongs. “Why, Luling? Do you think you should have access to privileges that are to be earned through trust and commitment? You wanted to be left alone. You wanted nothing to do with your moli. I respected that.”
“Like hell you did,” I snap. “All those phone calls?”
