The man nodded eagerly, seeing it was this information getting the two gangsters off his back. “I was hoping to collect offers from foreigners, then sell to the highest bidder. I am low on cash, you see. It is not easy running a húntún shop in Kunshan, and when my cousin from Shanghai passed along this vial he had held on to—”
“Oh, stop talking, I do beg,” Juliette interrupted, holding a hand up. This was not a vaccine center at all. This was an auction.
With a sigh, Roma withdrew his revolvers, shoving them back into his jacket. He was visibly annoyed. This had been a waste of time. What could they do with one vial? They had already asked Lourens at the White Flower labs to test the vaccine the last time around in an effort to re-create it, but he had not been successful.
Juliette’s eyes widened suddenly.
Lourens had failed in the past . . . but the Scarlets had Paul’s papers now.
“I’ll take it,” Juliette said, her declaration coming so loud and so abrupt that the man jumped. In a smooth motion, Juliette bent and swept up the flyer, then plucked a fountain pen from the side of the register, scribbling down a number. “My offer.”
The man peered at the sum, his jaw dropping immediately. “I—I cannot simply agree. I must send telegrams in case there are higher bidders—”
“Double it,” Roma cut in. When Juliette’s gaze shot to him sharply, he smiled, the expression mocking. “We will share, won’t we, Miss Cai?”
“What do you think you’re doing?” Juliette demanded in Russian. She pasted on her own smile, so that the shop owner would not realize they had switched to a different language to argue. They didn’t need the shop owner deciding his vaccine was in high demand. “You already ran tests, remember? Lourens couldn’t reengineer it; he could only determine that it was true.”
“Yes,” Roma agreed. “That time we did not have materials from Paul Dexter. Remember, we can still steal them from you. And if you want this vial that badly, I am sure you think having it will cause a breakthrough alongside the papers.”
Juliette almost started vibrating with her new irritation. He had read her through and through. He always did.
“If shàoyé and xiǎojiě each want their own . . . ,” the man supplied, hands wringing in front of him. There was a new nervousness in his air. He had figured it out, then. Connected the dots on Juliette’s and Roma’s identities, for as soon as Roma had called her Miss Cai, it was not hard to see that the heirs of the Shanghai-native Scarlet Gang and Russian White Flowers stood before him.
“There were two in circulation after the Larkspur went under.” He reached for another slip of paper, and with the same fountain pen Juliette had been using, quickly began scribbling. “The second is in Zhouzhuang, so this is the seller and address—”
“Forget it,” Juliette said. “We only need one, so don’t think you can siphon double the money from us. Take it or leave it.”
The shop owner paused. Juliette could imagine the cogs turning in his head, calculating the chances that there could be a higher bidder, and the risks he would invite if he turned down Shanghai’s gangsters.
Without a word, the man dropped into a crouch and started to enter a combination into a safe under the register, one that Juliette had not even noticed. She frowned, and he seemed to sense it, because as he twirled the combination dial, he said, “People get desperate, and I cannot afford guards.”
The safe hissed open. The man reached in, and out came the vial, glistening the same lapis lazuli blue that Juliette remembered. She shuddered.
“I don’t suppose you have cash on you, do you?”
“We’ll sign IOUs,” Roma replied without missing a beat. The shop owner knew who they were, after all. He knew they were big and mighty enough to keep their word; the Scarlet Gang and the White Flowers had the money.
All they had was money, really.
“Well, thank you for your business,” the shop owner said gleefully, watching Roma and Juliette scrawl their names on the same sheet Juliette had scribbled her offer on. He was right to be gleeful—he had just become very, very rich. The two gangs would feel the effect of this payment, but it was nothing they couldn’t recover from. The Scarlets had recovered time and time again after paying the blackmailer.
“I will be holding on to this,” Juliette said, gesturing for the vial and shooting Roma a warning glance.
Roma did not complain. He let the shop owner press the vial into Juliette’s hands, and while her palm was out, the man tucked in the slip of paper with the address of the second seller.
“You should take this anyway.”
Juliette shoved both into her pocket. Roma only watched the motion warily, his eyes glowering black, like he suspected she would perform a magic trick to make the vial disappear. She wouldn’t be surprised if he tried to make a grab for it at some point on their way back into the city.
Don’t even think about it, she mouthed.
Wouldn’t imagine it, he mouthed back.
“So,” the man said into the silence that had fallen. “Would you two like a bowl of wontons?”
Sixteen
The last train back to Shanghai had been canceled.
“What do you mean it’s been canceled?”
Roma and Juliette jolted and glanced at each other, disturbed by the unison in which they had spoken. The worker behind the ticket booth didn’t notice. She was more occupied by the book open on her lap.
“It has been canceled,” she repeated. “The train scheduled to arrive at nine o’clock was operating earlier and encountered some trouble. It has been rerouted for maintenance.”
Juliette pinched the bridge of her nose. That was the very same train that had brought them here then, the one with the last compartment soaked in blood from a monster attack. Maintenance. She hoped they had some heavy-duty bleach.
“Don’t tell me,” Juliette managed tightly, her breath fogging the air around her, “we just missed the previous one?”
The worker peered at the timetable board. Juliette could have sworn she was holding back an amused grin. Rural dwellers were without doubt sadistic when it came to the misfortunes of city folk.
“By ten minutes, xiǎojiě,” she confirmed. “Next one is tomorrow morning.”
Juliette made a noise at the back of her throat and paced away from the booth, stomping along the platform.
“All the local cars have stopped for the night,” Roma said, following after her, “but we can call one from Shanghai.”
“By car, the two cities are almost four hours apart . . . one-way,” Juliette replied. She stopped, observing the empty station. “It would be morning before we return if we call a chauffeur. We may as well remain here until the train comes. At least it is relatively warm.”
Roma stopped too, pensive as he turned to face her. His mouth hovered open to speak. Only then his eyes widened at something over her shoulder, his whole expression turning stricken.
“Get down!”
Juliette hardly had a moment to register his command before he had grabbed her arms and yanked her to the ground. Her breath snagged in her throat, her knees scraping hard against the platform. With his hands circling her wrists and her gloved fingers curled up against the edge of his sleeves, the thought that it would be so easy to draw him close whispered through her mind, but that was all: a whisper. Easily quieted, easily snuffed out. Before she could do or say anything preposterous, Juliette shook out of Roma’s grip and turned around, trying to catch whatever it was that had incited such a reaction.