Page 23 of Our Violent Ends
Juliette drummed her fingers against her knee. She wished he wouldn’t make some lesson out of thisnow, when the boundaries were evidently black and white. Once, she would have been rather pleased to see a lessened hatred for the White Flowers, but at present it didn’t seem like her father was ignoring the blood feud. It seemed like... like he didn’tcare. Like something else was more important.
“We hate those who harm us,” Juliette said, an echo of the words her father had given her long ago. “We do not hate senselessly.” She shook her head. “It is a pretty idea, but the White Flowersdowant to hurt us.”
“Needs and desires change as fast as the breeze.” Lord Cai rolled down a window, and the cold flooded in. She was starting to think he had gotten too accustomed to the biting temperatures of his office. “So long as we do not lose face, if the leadership of the White Flowers requests a quiet cooperation so that both gangssurvivea second monster reckoning, what is the issue?”
There was more to it. It could not be that simple, because her father was not that easily swayed.
“What are we getting out of it?” she asked directly.
Lord Cai’s response was to start the engine. Slowly, they reversed from the alleyway, merging back into the pandemonium that rumbled ever constant in the hub of the city. Through the open window, the aroma of deep-fried street food wafted in, a decent companion to the frigid cold.
Minutes later, when they stopped at the signal of a police officer running traffic control, Lord Cai said: “Keep them distracted.”
Juliette blinked. A rickshaw halted to a stop outside her window, and from the corner of her eye, she watched the runner of the rickshaw let go of the poles, mop his forehead free of sweat, and eat a whole meat bun—all within seconds.
The officer signaled for them to move. The car crept forward.
“Distracted?” Juliette repeated.You have a spy. One of ours has infiltrated your inner circle. And whoever it is has talked your father into this.“From what?”
But Lord Cai only drove onward, giving a nod to the officer as they passed. It was another bout of silence, entirely typical for her father, before he said, “Some things you do not yet understand. Ting huà. Do as you’re told.”
Juliette could hardly argue.
Nine
When the last of the maids closed their doors to retire for the night, Juliette slipped out from her bedroom, clutching her basket to her chest. She made good time tiptoeing down the hallway—her mind singularly focused on making it out of the house—only then she passed Rosalind’s bedroom and noted the glow of light underneath the door.
Juliette paused. This was strange. “Rosalind?”
A rustling came from within the room. “Juliette? Is that you? You can come in.”
Juliette set her basket down against the wall and opened Rosalind’s door before her cousin could change her mind, letting the gold light of the bedroom flood out into the hallway. When Juliette remained at the threshold for a long moment, taking in the scene, Rosalind looked up from her desk, her thin brow arching smoothly. Her face was still made up despite the late hour. The curtains of her windows were left undrawn, the half-peeking moon shining through the clouds and upon the bed.
“It’s so late,” Juliette said. “You haven’t retired yet?”
Rosalind set her pen down. “I could say the same to you. Your hair is still done up as neatly as mine.”
“Yes, well...” Juliette did not quite know how to finish that sentence. She hardly wanted to say it was because she was on her way out. Instead, she zeroed in on Rosalind’s desk and changed the subject. “What has your attention?”
“What has your curiosity?” Rosalind replied just as quickly.
Juliette folded her arms. Rosalind smiled, indicating her tone to be a joke. The moonlight dimmed, passing entirely behind a cloud, and the room’s lamp bulb seemed to hesitate along with it.
“Your sister wanted me to speak with you, actually.” Juliette inched a few steps into the room, her eyes scanning the desk. She caught sight of flyers from the burlesque club, as well as one or two pieces of notepaper torn from whatever ledger it had come from. “She’s worried about you.”
“Aboutme?” Rosalind echoed. “Whatever for?” She leaned back, eyes wide. As she did so, there was a glint from her collar—metal catching light.A new necklace,Juliette noted. Kathleen always wore her pendant, but Rosalind had never been one for jewelry. She said it was dangerous to wear valuables on the streets of Shanghai. Too many pickpockets, too many eyes.
“No concrete reason; call it intuition.” Whip-quick, Juliette strolled closer, then pinched her fingers around a slip of paper, pulling before Rosalind could stop her. Juliette pivoted on her heel, turning her arms the other way in case Rosalind was to snatch it away, but her cousin only rolled her eyes, letting Juliette look.
Pierre Moreau
Alfred Delaunay
Edmond Lefeuvre
Gervais Carrell
Simon Clair
