Page 39 of Our Violent Ends
“To Kunshan,” the compartment loudspeaker emitted in English. “Welcome aboard.”
Roma dropped into his seat. He didn’t shed the gray coat over his suit. “What’s the next language coming?”
“French,” Juliette replied immediately, a second before grainy Shanghainese blared over the loudspeaker. Her eyebrows lifted. “Huh. Interesting.”
Roma leaned back, the smallest smile playing on his face. “Ye of little faith.”
That barest glimpse of humor came and went in a flash, but it was enough to make Juliette go stock-still, her stomach clenching. For the smallest moment, Roma had likely forgotten. And when the train started to move, when Roma turned his gaze to the scene outside and the glass reflected back the sudden hardening of his expression, Juliette knew that he remembered again—who she was, who they were, what she had done, what they were now.
The train rumbled on.
Shanghai to Kunshan was not a long journey, and the window view quickly turned rural, passing dilapidated houses on dirt roads. Swaths of grass stretched on beside the train tracks, flat and even and eternal—more natural green than Juliette had ever seen inside city limits, discounting what the foreigners cultivated in their parks.
Juliette released a soft breath, leaning her cheek upon the window. Roma was doing the same, but she resolved not to look at him any longer than necessary, lest he catch her staring. Her head turned, finding entertainment in the compartment instead, eyeing the dozing passengers as the train continued chugging, chugging, chugging.
When Roma broke the silence, enough time had passed that Juliette startled, doing so well at ignoring him that his voice was a shock.
“Assuming we do find the blackmailer”—no prelude, no overture, merely jumping directly to the point—“I gather we need a plan of attack.”
Juliette drummed her fingers on the table. “Shoot to kill?”
Roma rolled his eyes. She was rather aggravated that he looked so beautiful in the midst of the action, the dark shadows of his eyelashes flickering up like a dusting of kohl.
“And after?” he asked. “It is no different from when we thought we were chasing the Larkspur. If we kill the blackmailer, how do we get to the monsters?”
“Itisdifferent this time,” Juliette countered. She felt a chill brush through the train car, running goose bumps up her arm. When she shivered, Roma’s frown deepened, his gaze tracing along the dip of her neckline. It was hardly appropriate for winter, she knew. She didn’t need his judgment.
“How so?”
Juliette reached for her coat. “There was nothing that linked Paul Dexter to the Communists because he met with Qi Ren once and then chanced the chaos on random transformations. This blackmailer, however”—she stood up so she could swing her coat back on, the long fabric brushing the backs of her knees—“I doubt is many steps removed from their monsters. Not when the monsters are being sent out like little servants doing the blackmailer’s bidding. That requires personal instructions. Constant meetings.”
“That sounds like a guess,” Roma remarked.
“This entire mission is a guess,” Juliette replied, popping her collar. “I—” She stopped, her eye catching down the aisle just as she was preparing to sit again. The French White Flower was in this compartment too, sitting some rows away.
And he looked... in pain.
“Juliette?” Roma prompted. He ducked his head out into the aisle, trying to spot what she was looking at. “The hell is going on?”
The White Flower grabbed the glass he had in front of him and threw the liquid in his own face.
“Fire!” Juliette screamed suddenly.
The man roared with pain as Juliette yanked Roma by the arm, ignoring his utter confusion while he searched for the nonexistent fire. Others were not as doubting—they shot for the compartment door immediately and hurried into the next one over. This was the trouble with being at the tail of the train. There was only one direction to go.
“What the hell, Juliette?” Roma asked again as she pushed him hard against the bottlenecking passengers, toward the door. “What’s—”
Juliette gasped, hearing asnap!by the windows, the tearing of clothes. In the next moment there was no man hunching over his seat but a monster, so tall that it crushed against the ceiling, chest heaving, nostrils flaring. Its green color seemed even more grotesque by the clear daylight, faintly transparent and revealing motion just beneath its skin: little black dots, rushing toward its spine.
They were nearing the door, but half the compartment was still behind her. If she tried to usher everyone through, the insects would dive forward into the rest of the train, infecting every soul on board. But if she stopped it now...
The insects tore outward from the monster with one colossal burst.
So Juliette pushed Roma across the threshold and slammed the door closed between them.
Roma whirled around with his breath caught in his throat, thudding his fists against the door. Was it amonsterthat had just come to life inside the compartment? Was it theWhite Flowerwho had just transformed into the monster?
“Juliette!” he roared. “Juliette, what thehell?”
