Benedikt was breathing hard enough to be heaving. Only one other person remained standing in the alleyway: the messenger, fully crying now, his fists clenched so tightly that they were white and bloodless. He didn’t look injured. He was only bloody, as splattered as Benedikt was.
“Go,” Benedikt managed. “Run, in case there are more of them.”
The boy faltered. Perhaps it was a thank you that hovered on his tongue. But then there was a shout from the market, and Benedikt snapped, “Kuài gˇun! Before they come!” The boy took off, not needing to be told another time. Quickly, Benedikt staggered to his feet, following his own advice, knowing that those shots had been loud, and any Scarlets nearby would arrive immediately to investigate the cause.
But as he stood there, his whole body trembling, it struck him that with the speed those bullets had come, whoever had saved him had been waiting, poised to enter in rescue. He eyed the buildings, the evenly constructed rooftops separated only by alleyways that were narrow enough to leap from one to the other. Someone had been watching—perhaps for a while, tailing him through the market.
“Who would bother?” Benedikt whispered aloud.
Six
The second floor of the teahouse had been booked out tonight for the Scarlet inner circle meeting. All its square tables were pushed to the wall, making way for the large round one installed right in the center of the space.
Juliette thought it looked a little like a barricade. She took a sip of her tea, peering over the rim while she eyed the setup, wary that some poor waiter was going to trek up the stairs to check on the Scarlets only to ram right into the table that was blocking the end of the stairs. All the windows had been left untouched—though for teahouses like this, “window” was hardly the right word when they never installed glass. They were merely closed using wooden shutters, drawn when the teahouse went dark for the night and pulled open during its operating hours. The frigid cold blew in every so often, but alcohol was flowing at the table, and the oil lamps in the corner were buzzing with warmth.
Still, for whatever reason, Juliette’s eyes kept being pulled back to the barricade of tables pressed to the walls, and then up, where the walls gave way for the rectangular cutouts that let in the night. In here, there was the illusion of comfort and safety. But all that stood between them and the lurking unknown was a thin teahouse wall. All that stood between them and five monsters prowling the city was . . . well, nothing, really.
“Juliette.”
Lord Cai’s summons drew Juliette’s attention back to the Scarlet dinner, to the cigar smoke that wafted in gray plumes above them and the clinking of chopsticks upon porcelain bowls. Her father tipped his chin at her, indicating that he was finished with his agenda and she could speak now, as she had requested earlier today.
Juliette set her teacup down and stood. The tablecloth stirred, but before it could get caught on her dress, Rosalind reached over and yanked it down.
“Thanks,” Juliette whispered.
Rosalind responded by flicking a single grain of rice off the tablecloth, aiming it at the seats directly across from them. She almost hit Tyler, although he wouldn’t have noticed a puny piece of rice landing in his lap when he was eyeing Juliette so intently. Perhaps it was only his bruised nose causing the scrunch in his expression. Perhaps he was already preparing himself for a fight, and the distaste was showing through.
“Here.” From Rosalind’s other side, Kathleen passed the stack of papers she had been holding on to. Juliette received the papers, then set them carefully onto the spinning glass, on an empty spot right between the sauce-soaked crabs and smoked fish.
“I’m sure by now you have all heard about the attack on the White Flowers.” The table hushed at the mention of the White Flowers. “And I’m sure you’ve wondered if we are to be next, again at the mercy of another monster.”
Juliette spun the glass. The feast swirled under the lights: shimmering green qīngcài, deep brown hóngshāo ròu, and the plain black-and-white ink of what could save them.
“This is the last vestige of research that Paul Dexter left behind. You might also know him as the former Larkspur—now dead from my bullet.” Juliette drew herself taller, though her spine was already as straight as a blade. “It may be some time before we can stop whoever has resurrected his work. But in the meantime, I propose we use his work. We allocate our resources toward research, mass-produce a vaccine, and distribute it through the whole city. . . .” Now came the part where Juliette actually needed support, past merely making a case with her father. “For free.”
Eyebrows shot up immediately, teacups freezing halfway to mouths as Scarlets stalled and blinked, wondering if they had misheard her.
“It is a preemptive measure before the Scarlet Gang can be attacked,” Juliette hurried to explain. “Regardless of who you are—Scarlet or White Flower, Nationalist or Communist or nonaffiliated—if we all stand immune to the madness, then whichever fool is trying to play at the new Larkspur loses every shred of power. In one fell swoop, we protect the city and keep everything the way it is, at no threat from a destroyer.”
“I have an alternate proposal.” Tyler stood. He rested his knuckles on the table before him, his body relaxed, an utterly casual picture compared to Juliette’s stiff composure.
Rosalind leaned forward. “Why don’t you—”
“Rosalind, don’t,” Kathleen hissed, closing a hand on her sister’s shoulder. Lips thinning, Rosalind sat back again, and Tyler went on as if nothing had happened.
“If we can truly create a vaccine, it is in our best interest to charge anyone who is not a Scarlet. The Larkspur was a fool in many things, but in this, he was not. The people are scared. They will do anything for a solution.”
“Absolutely not,” Juliette snapped, before any of the Scarlets could decide that Tyler’s interruption meant their opinion should be heard by the whole table too. “This is not a show ticket. This is a vaccine that decides between life and death.”
“And what about it?” Tyler asked. “You wish for us to protect the White Flowers? Protect the foreigners who do not even see us as people? The last time the madness went around, Juliette, they did not care until it was them who were dying, because a Chinese collapsing on the streets may as well be an animal—”
“I know!”
Juliette inhaled sharply, regaining her poise. She had to get her points in quick. Her mother’s jaw was tight, watching the argument spiral, and if it deteriorated any further, Lady Cai was going to shut this down.
Juliette breathed out. Let the brief silence ebb around her, so that she was in control of the conversation and not desperately chasing the end of it.
“It is not about extending our kindness to those in the city who don’t deserve it,” she said. “It is about mass protection.”
Tyler pushed off from the table and plopped back onto his seat. He hung an arm along the back of his chair while Juliette remained standing.
“Why do we need mass protection?” Tyler asked, scoffing. “Let us make money. Let us rise so impenetrably to the top that we are untouchable, and then, as we have always done, we extend protection to our people. To the Scarlets. Everyone else falling away matters not. Everyone else dying out is to our advantage.”