The intrigue only seemed to thicken. Juliette shuffled back on her bed, drawing her leg up and pressing her chin to her knee. For three long seconds, she stared into space, trying to make sense of what Kathleen was saying.
If he is a White Flower, Juliette had asked on that train platform, then why does he look rather murderous toward you, too?
“What do you mean by a sect?”
Kathleen shrugged. “I mean exactly what I think Da Nao meant. A group within the White Flowers seems to have enough power and influence to be making agreements with the Communists on their own. They may have been working together for quite some time now—it is only that the information has recently slipped to the Nationalists.”
And just like that, the connection snapped in place.
“Huh.”
Kathleen blinked. “Huh?” she echoed, mimicking Juliette’s casual tone. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Juliette drew her other leg onto the bed too. If any of her relatives saw her right at this moment, they would surely chastise her for sitting in such an appalling manner.
“The blackmailer was asking for money and money and more money, and then suddenly weapons? Why weapons?” She inspected her fingers, the varnish on her nails and the barely visible chip on her pinkie. “What if it’s the Communists? They need weapons for revolution. They need money and weapons to break from the Nationalists and take the city.”
The Communists working with a sect of the White Flowers who did not heel to Lord Montagov’s nor Roma’s word. It made perfect sense. It was why, for months, the monetary demands had only come to the Scarlet Gang before ever approaching the White Flowers. Because they were already siphoning resources out of the White Flowers.
“Slow down,” Kathleen said, though Juliette was speaking plenty slow. “Remember what happened the last time you accused a Communist of the madness.”
She remembered. She had accused Zhang Gutai and killed the wrong man. She had been led astray by Paul Dexter.
But this time . . .
“It makes sense, does it not?” Juliette asked. “Even if the Communists have their revolution, even if they get rid of us gangsters, they cannot overthrow their Nationalist allies. The only way they can win this revolution without the Nationalists swooping in afterward and claiming that Shanghai has been taken for the entire Kuomintang to enjoy”—Juliette splayed her hands out—“is by preparing to fight a war.”
Silence swept into the room. All that could be heard were the sprinklers outside watering the gardens.
Then Kathleen sighed. “You better pray it is not. You may be able to kill a monster, Juliette. You may purge all the insects that a foreign man has brought in. But you cannot put yourself in the middle of a war.”
Juliette was already scrambling up, opening her wardrobe. “If the Communists are using these monsters to start the war, then I sure can.”
“I fear you will kill yourself trying.”
“Kathleen, please.” Juliette poked her head into her hangers, searching the floor of the wardrobe. She caught sight of a few revolvers, discarded necklaces, and a shoebox—which contained a grenade, if she was remembering correctly. At the back of the mess, her lightest coat had fallen into a bundle. She retrieved it and shook it out, then held the garment in the crook of her elbow. “I’m not that easy to kill.”
Kathleen was trying her best to pull an angry face. It wasn’t as effective when she was smoothing a hand along her softly curled hair, twisting a strand along her finger.
“A secret White Flower working with the Communists still doesn’t add up,” she argued. “This all began with Paul Dexter’s note. In the event of my death, release them all. He wrote to someone he knew. He wrote into the French Concession.”
“A French White Flower,” Juliette replied in answer. “It still tracks.”
“But—”
“I have someone who might know something. I’ve got to go now so I can get back before our trip with Māma this afternoon.”
“Hold on, hold on, hold on.”
Juliette halted, the door half-open under her hand. Quickly, Kathleen hurried over and pressed the door closed again, waiting a second after the soft click to ensure no one was outside.
“It’s about Rosalind.”
Oh. Juliette wasn’t expecting that.
“She’s coming later, isn’t she? To the temple?”
Lady Cai had insisted upon it. She needed an entourage, and her usual crowd couldn’t offer accompaniment when the temple only allowed women. Juliette and her cousins had been gifted the honor of playing bodyguards. It was unlikely that there was any need for protection at a women-only temple, but such was life as a figurehead of a criminal empire. At the thought, Juliette walked back to her vanity and slotted an extra knife into her sleeve.
“Yes, I expect so, but that’s not what I’m talking about,” Kathleen said, waving the question away. “Were you aware she has some secret lover in the city?”
Juliette whirled around, her mouth parting. A hint of glee slipped out as she exclaimed, “You’re joking.”
Kathleen propped her hands on her hips. “Can you sound a little less excited about this?”
“I’m not!”
“Your eyes are glowing!”
Juliette tried her best to school her expression, feigning earnestness. She pushed her coat farther up her arm before it slipped from her elbow. “I didn’t know about this, but it’s not so bad. You were worried about Rosalind falling into trouble with merchants. Isn’t a lover better in comparison? Now, I really have to go—”
Kathleen held her arm out, physically preventing Juliette from leaving. With the way that her cousin was eyeing the coat on her arm, she wouldn’t be surprised if Kathleen stole it next, just so Juliette couldn’t walk out.
“Allegedly, the lover is a merchant,” Kathleen said. “You’re not the least bit concerned why Rosalind hasn’t told us?”
“Biǎojiě”—gently, Juliette eased Kathleen’s arm away from the door—“we can ask her about it when we see her. I have to go. I’ll meet you later?”
With a grumble, Kathleen stepped aside. Juliette thought she had finally gotten through, but as she stepped into the hallway, unfolding her coat, her cousin said, “Don’t you get tired of all this?”
Juliette paused in her step, pulling her coat on. “Tired of what?”
Kathleen’s lips curved up. She squinted into the doorknob, its golden gleam bouncing her reflection back at her in miniature.
“Chasing answers,” her cousin replied, dabbing a finger at the corner of her mouth. The line of her lipstick was already a perfect bow. “Eternally running around trying to save a city that does not want to be saved, that is hardly good enough to be saved.”
Juliette hadn’t expected such a question; nor had she expected to reel from trying to answer it. Down the hallway, the voices were still communing in their meeting, leaving her out of whatever plan would soon beset the city. The men who governed this place did not want her help. But she was not doing it for them; she was doing it for everyone else.
“I’m not saving this city because it is good,” she said carefully. “Nor am I saving this city because I am good. I want it safe because I wish to be safe. I want it safe because safety is always what is deserved, goodness or wickedness alike.”