“What gives?” she demanded.
Roma’s eyes remained narrowed, searching the dark. “A shooter,” he said simply. “A shooter who decided not to shoot, it appears.”
Juliette saw nothing, but Roma had no reason to lie. There had been a strange, watchful feeling following her all afternoon, and she had thought it to be discomfort—that prickle up and down her spine only natural in a place so quiet. But maybe it had not been in her head. Maybe as she had suspected earlier, someone had been on their tail since they disembarked the train.
“Come on,” Juliette said, getting to her feet. “We cannot stay, then. Not in the open.”
“Where else is there to go?” Roma hissed. After a delayed beat, he hurried up too, brushing the dust off his trousers before it could stain. “Do you know how early people go to sleep around these parts?”
Juliette shrugged, forging ahead. “We are charming people. We can charm some doors open, I am sure.”
But as it turned out, Roma was right. They trekked to the nearest residential block of Kunshan and started to knock on doors, making their way down the narrow streets. By the time they had twisted around and along each building, smacking their palms against every front gate, there was still no answer from anyone.
And it was miserably cold.
And Juliette was getting a prickly feeling again.
She palmed a knife, stopping at the end of the road. When Roma finally trudged over after giving up on the final building, she held out her hand, asking for him to stop too.
“It’s freezing, Juliette,” he managed, teeth chattering. “This was not a good idea.”
“It is still better than the station,” she whispered. They were surrounded by darkness, for streetlamps in a city like this were few and far between. Perhaps that was why nobody came out so late, because they had nothing to guide their way save the sliver of the moon peeking through the thick clouds. It was hard to see what was lurking out there.
“We’re being followed,” Juliette stated.
Roma pulled out one of his revolvers. It almost looked comical—him, aiming at nothing. “Shall I fire?” he asked.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” she said, pushing his arms down. Her eyes snagged on a blip of light in the distance. “Look—someone is awake over there.”
Juliette started off immediately, the knife still clutched in her hand in case anyone was to jump out from the darkness. She didn’t understand how they could possibly have a pursuer, though her certainty was growing stronger and stronger. All around them, there was nowhere to hide: the residential street stretched on with another thin stream flowing on one side and a dense cloister of bamboo forestry on the other.
“Do you think,” Roma said, catching up with her, “that perhaps ghosts are real?”
Juliette shot him an incredulous look. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
“Why?” he demanded. “Once, we didn’t think monsters were real either.”
He had her there, but still, Juliette rolled her eyes and slid her knife into her sleeve, at last coming in view of the illuminated building. She made a tense inventory of the nearby darkness, and when it seemed there was no movement, she hurried up the steps to knock.
Juliette’s hand came down once, then froze, hovering an inch away from the folding doors. Its frames were paneled with fabric—the style of buildings from the imperial dynasties. Above the doors, there was an engraving of three characters, usual for places of business to declare their function. Now, with the light beaming out from the doors, Juliette could read it.
“Juliette,” Roma said, coming to the same conclusion.
An unbidden snort escaped her. “It’s a whorehouse.”
She hadn’t said it with derision: it was truly the term most suitable. The door swept open, and a woman peered out, her robes flowing for what seemed like miles behind her. This was not like the brothels of Shanghai, not a little back area in someone’s fabric shop or the top half of a restaurant. This was a magnificent structure going up at least three floors, varnished wood banisters looping in circles around each level and a fountain pumping at the very center, wafting with the sweetest floral scents.
“Hello,” the woman said, tilting her head. “I’ve never seen you before.”
“Oh,” Juliette said. “We’re, uh—” She cast a glance back at Roma. He pulled an anxious expression, beseeching Juliette to handle this. “We’re not customers. We’re stranded overnight and were hoping for a place to stay.”
At this, Roma finally cleared his throat. “We have cash to pay, of course.”
The woman observed them for a moment longer. Then she swept her arms up, the sleeves of her hanfu billowing with the wind. “Come in, come in! We welcome all wayward travelers, of course.”
Roma and Juliette didn’t have to be encouraged further; they darted out of the cold and entered, sparing the night a warning glance in case it was watching. Roma shut the door firmly, and Juliette nodded, signaling to him that they were safe now, out of the watchful eyes of whoever—whatever—had been on their tail.
“If you’ll follow me, children!” The woman was already walking off, her steps light. There was a dance to the way she moved, exchanging entertainment for attention, making every second captured upon her worthwhile.
“Thank you,” Juliette called after her. “How do you prefer to be called?”
There was a sudden burst of giggling from the far corner, and Juliette’s eyes landed on a kaleidoscope of colors: of flying silk and lace fans, held by delicate figures dressed in various shades of high-end qipao.
They almost sounded happy.
“Call me Miss Tang,” the woman said over her shoulder. She pointed at the staircase. “Shall I put you up high?”
Juliette lifted her head and examined the higher floors, eyeing the men leaning over the banisters, girls on every side of them. Their slouches were casual, looking down and watching the rest of the house as if there were no hurry to their night. She knew that appearances were deceiving. She knew that every place had its dark side, that perhaps these girls were merely better at hiding their bitterness. The girls of Shanghai did their jobs like their life had already been sucked out of them.
But the glamour here was seductive, and nothing was more surprising than making the find in a city not renowned at all for it, not like Shanghai was. Beauty here was an art—something to perfect, and wield, and make a performance out of. In Shanghai, beauty was a transaction for one end or another.
“Whatever you have free,” she sighed in reply. “We really don’t mind—”
“Ah!”
Juliette whirled around, hearing Roma’s yelp. She hadn’t noticed that he wasn’t beside her anymore. Nor had she noted when exactly he had fallen out of step. Her pulse ratcheted up, fingers immediately twitching for the blade still hidden by her wrist.
Then she caught sight of him and realized there was no need to reveal the weapons under her coat. Roma had merely been snagged off by three of the girls. He was struggling to get freed, by the looks of it, because both his arms were caught and the girls were not going to release their catch so easily, already pleading for an audience. Juliette bit down on her cheeks.