“Xiao Wang, stand down.”
At Lord Cai’s call, the Scarlet who held the whip frowned. Droplets of blood were splattered across the front of his shirt, but he seemed not to notice. He didn’t stand down. His arm pulled back, half-prepared to strike again, as if he would release the whip.
“Go ahead,” Juliette said, her words curling into a sneer. “Whip me, and see how many pieces I’ll cut you into afterward.”
“Xiao Wang.” That was Lord Cai again, his voice rising over Rosalind’s whimpers. “Stand down.”
The Scarlet listened. He lowered the whip, and Juliette spun around, hands outstretched for Rosalind. As soon as the Scarlets released their hold on her, she collapsed, and Juliette scrambled to catch her cousin, softening her fall onto the stage. By then Kathleen had reached them too, cursing and cursing under her breath.
The burlesque club was silent. Waiting.
“Rosalind,” Juliette said. “Rosalind, can you walk?”
Rosalind mumbled something beneath her breath. Juliette couldn’t hear what Rosalind was saying, but by Kathleen’s stricken expression, she had understood immediately.
“Deserve what?” Kathleen asked, her voice a mere rasp. “Why would you say that?”
It was only then that the mumble registered to Juliette. I deserve it, I deserve it.
“Because she does.”
Juliette’s head snapped up, seeking her father. He had spoken in such plain declaration, without room for dispute nor debate.
“Bàba,” she whispered, horrified. “You know Rosalind. You know who she is.”
“Indeed,” Lord Cai replied. “And so she should have known better. She should have had more loyalty, but instead she has been feeding Scarlet information out.”
Juliette felt her throat grow tight. When she shifted her hold on her cousin, her palm came back entirely slick with blood, the mangled gashes in Rosalind’s qipao weeping bright and red from her wounds. Juliette was torn between the same indignation that had dragged her father out here to make an example out of Rosalind and utter outrage that this was Rosalind—no matter what she did, where was her chance to explain herself?
“Is this about her lover?” Kathleen asked quietly. Her voice shook. “He is a mere merchant. She said he would soon leave the White Flowers.”
“He is no mere merchant,” Lord Cai replied. With disconcerting speed, he leaned off the couch, grabbing a stack of papers upon the table. In his hand, he flipped through them, then selected one to pass to a Scarlet beside him, indicating in Juliette’s direction. “He is no merchant at all. According to the letters we found, he is a White Flower through and through, and he has been siphoning our clientele lists through Lang Shalin for months.”
What?
The Scarlet presented the single piece of paper. Juliette scanned the Russian script briefly, reading a report about the members of the inner circle. This was one among hundreds. One day logged out of months.
“Who?” Juliette demanded. “Who were these letters being sent to?”
“Well—” Lord Cai gestured toward Xiao Wang, toward the whip that trailed blood across the stage. “That’s what I wanted to know too.”
By now it seemed that Rosalind was close to losing consciousness, her body growing still. Juliette tapped her face, but her cousin’s eyes had fallen shut, thick lashes fluttering up and down each time Juliette urged for a response.
“Come on, Rosalind,” Juliette hissed. “Stay awake.”
Lord Cai arose from his seat suddenly, and panic surged through Juliette’s every cell in response. She had never responded like this before when it came to her father, whom she had always seen as fair, even when he was the one holding the whip. Nothing had changed. Her father was and had always been the leader of a ruthless gang, the head of a criminal empire. He had never hesitated to give punishment where punishment was deserved, and Juliette had never blinked until now—now, when punishment was still fair, but fair brought the blood of one of her best friends.
“We are done here, I suppose,” Lord Cai said. “If you want to interfere, Juliette, you can help by getting a name out of your cousin. She protects him even now, and it will not stand.” He waved at the men around him. “Help her home. Call a doctor.”
Kathleen made a noise of protest as they leaned over to grab Rosalind, but Juliette relinquished her hold. The time for punishment had passed, and the Scarlets weren’t fond of unnecessary cruelty. They were careful, avoiding Rosalind’s injuries.
This whole event wasn’t about hurting her; it was about making a point.
“Juliette,” Kathleen whispered when the Scarlets started to clear out from the club. “Did Rosalind lie to us?”
“Yes,” Juliette replied, certain. She squeezed her hands, and blood crusted into the lines of her palms. Rosalind had lied, had betrayed the Scarlets for whatever reason, and Lord Cai had not hesitated to make her answer for it.
Juliette looked at the bloodred stains on the stage. The men were moving the tables into their original formation, glasses clinking together, voices yelling at one another to summon the car out front. She could feel her father’s eyes on her, calm in inspection, digesting her every reaction. She needed to keep her expression composed—no particular horror at the violence, no undue sympathy for a traitor.
But all she could think was: if Rosalind was whipped like this for leaking Scarlet information and protecting an ordinary White Flower, then what was Juliette’s fate if they were to ever find out about her past with Roma Montagov?
Benedikt wouldn’t have run the message himself if it weren’t such a late hour, but the clock was nearing midnight, and he doubted any of the White Flowers were sober enough in the main headquarters to be summoned to a task. This was urgent.
Though these few months, he supposed just about everything in this city was.
“I cannot concentrate with you hovering over me like this.”
Benedikt heard Lourens’s booming voice before he saw him, pushing through the lab doors and scanning across the few technicians working overtime. Eventually, he sighted Lourens and his cousin near the side tables, both of them squinting at something under a microscope. Or technically, Lourens was the one with his face pressed to the eyepiece. Roma was looming over him and invading the scientist’s personal space.
“Is that the vaccine?” Benedikt asked.
“Stolen right from the Scarlets,” Roma answered, having recognized Benedikt’s voice without bothering to look up as he approached. “But Lourens is saying he doesn’t think he can re-create it.”
“I cannot read any of these papers,” Lourens shot back. “Moreover, this sample is not pure. It has been manipulated for additional solubility . . . or flammability. One or the other, I’m sure.”
“Well,” Benedikt interrupted, “it just became a lot more valuable. The Scarlets had their entire supply stolen. By monsters.”
Roma finally looked up, taking a step away from the microscope. “What? I was there only a mere hour ago.”
“I know.” Benedikt nudged a thumb toward the doors, indicating the rest of the city outside. “That’s why there are rumors that you orchestrated it. White Flower credibility went up. Scarlet security went down. There will be blood feud fights on the streets tonight, I’m sure.”