“Who did this?” she asked. “Police or Scarlet?”
“What’s the difference?” the man retorted. “But neither. White Flower.” He pulled his knees closer to his chest and spat on the concrete beside him. “We’re close to taking almost all territories except Zhabei. The Russian bastards are putting up a hell of a fight there.”
Kathleen prodded his cheek. It was bruised too, but he would survive. Head wounds bled more seriously than they actually were.
“Are we really?” she remarked casually.
The man grew more wary then. He looked her up and down, a slower appraisal than the initial quick scan when Kathleen crouched beside him.
“You don’t look like you’re a part of the cause.”
Kathleen stood, brushing her hands on her skirt. She gave a thin smile. “And what do people of the cause look like?”
The man shrugged. “We don’t have clothes that nice, that’s for sure.”
When the sun went down on the city, the alley felt it immediately, felt the chill sweep in and set into the bones of those already hungry and tired. This was a place of final destinations. A place people were tossed when they could go on no longer, the fire dampened in their heart.
“And what do you have?” Kathleen asked. “Impatience? Exhaustion?”
The man jerked back, his head almost colliding with the rough brick of the wall. “How dare you—”
“Stand up,” Kathleen snapped. The night stirred around her, prickling to life by the bite of her voice. “You are sitting ducks here, waiting for slaughter.”
“But—”
“Stand up.”
Without her noticing, the rest of the alley had fallen quiet. The injured and tired were listening, watching Kathleen, watching this girl who had come out of nowhere but sounded just like one of them. She swiveled a slow turn on her heels, and though the moon was yet to grace the skies, her eyes could pick out each and every one of their expressions.
The man stood.
“Good,” Kathleen said. Her ears perked, hearing the sound of striking batons. Police—no matter under which jurisdiction, no matter under whose control. They were coming, and coming fast.
“Now.” She looked at the alley full of workers. “Are we going to lie down and die, or are we fighting to live?”
The gunfire continued into the night. Juliette had figured it would surely come to an end by twilight, but the sounds did not stop even when the candle burned out and the room fell into darkness, matching the dusk outside.
“It’s likely your White Flowers who are holding the fort here,” Juliette whispered, blowing at her hands. Her fingers were ice cold, but at least they were clean now, the blood scrubbed away.
“It’s a lost cause,” Roma said quietly. The thick of the fighting echoed from the north, which was White Flower territory. “The workers are armed. They outnumber the gangsters, and judging by the sounds outside . . . there could be hundreds of thousands throughout the whole city.”
Juliette leaned her head against the wall behind her. She and Roma were seated on the mattress, huddling among the blankets to brace against the cold. Through the boarded-up window, there was only a sliver of glass uncovered, letting in a beam of light that cut a line between the two of them.
She hoped her father and mother were safe. She hoped that the house was far enough in the outskirts of the city that it went unharmed, that the workers wouldn’t think to target the Scarlet Gang there and cut down the head of the dragon. It seemed unlikely, even if the workers hated gangsters. The Scarlet Gang had their alliance with the Nationalists, and the Nationalists and Communists were still allied on paper. If the Communists had a say in it, they would instruct the workers to stay far, far away from harming the Cais.
At least that was what Juliette was telling herself so she didn’t lose her mind from worry.
Juliette blew another hot breath onto her hands. Noting her discomfort, Roma shifted onto her side of the light beam and grasped her fingers. Juliette’s first instinct was to hold on to him. When Roma gave her a wry look, biting back his amusement, she loosened her grip, letting him rub her hands to get some warmth into them.
“Roma,” she said. “The chaos outside . . . It won’t just end tonight as it always does. It won’t go back to the way it was.”
Roma smoothed his thumb across her wrist. “I know,” he replied. “While we weren’t watching, we have lost power.”
While the Scarlet Gang and White Flowers were busy chasing a blackmailer, busy maintaining their business to stay atop each other, a third threat had risen quietly among the noise.
The gangsters still had weapons. People. Connections. But they would not have land to operate on. If the revolt outside was victorious, come morning, Shanghai would be a workers’ city. No longer under a false government, lawless for the gangsters to run amok. No longer a self-contained paradise for trade and violence.
“It seems so fruitless,” Juliette grumbled. “The Communists are armed, the workers are taking the city. There has been no monster attack, no madness. Perhaps it will come once the Communists clash with the Nationalists, but for all we know, this blackmailer was never even a threat upon our people. We kept chasing after monsters, and politics was what swept the rug from right under our feet.”
Roma’s hands stilled. By now Juliette’s fingers were plenty warm. Still, Roma didn’t let go. He held on.
“It’s not our fault,” he said. “We are heirs of a criminal underworld, not politicians. We can fight monsters, not the turning tide of a revolution.”
Juliette huffed, but she hardly had anything worthy of argument. She leaned toward Roma, and he let her settle against his chest.
“What are we to do, Roma?” she asked, her voice careful. “What are we to do when we get out of here?”
Roma made an inquisitive noise. She felt the vibration against her ear. “We survive. What else is there?”
“No, that’s not what I meant.” Juliette lifted her head, blinking into the hazy darkness. Roma smiled the moment he peered down and met her gaze, like it was an instinct. “What are we to do? On two sides of a feud, in a city that might crumble before our families stop killing each other.”
Roma was silent for a moment. Then he wrapped his arms around her and collapsed the both of them backward—him with a firm plop and Juliette with an ungainly noise, taken by surprise.
“This is warmer,” Roma explained, yanking the blankets over them.
Juliette lifted a brow. “Trying to get me into bed already?”
When Roma let out a soft laugh, it almost felt like the world would be okay. Juliette could fool herself into thinking the rounds of gunfire outside were fireworks, the same sort of celebration that had hurtled through the city during the New Year. They could pretend it was January again, revert back to a time when the city was still.
But even when it was still, it had been teetering toward something, on the brink of metamorphosis. Nothing was going to remain idle and unchanging when there was so much anger lurking just beneath the floating surface. The gangsters would no longer be the power in charge when the city outside fell quiet again, but the Scarlet Gang and the White Flowers would still be at war.
Juliette felt her heart sink right down to her stomach. She retrieved her hand from inside the blankets and brought it to Roma’s cheek.