Hidden: A Crossroads Tale

by Lori Saltis

  Hidden

  A Crossroads Tale

  Lori Saltis

  To Brian Mathis, my dear friend and fellow wanderer, who left this world too soon.

  Contents

  Introduction

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Afterword

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Cat Lau's world turns upside down when her father and brothers return home without her mother. Life on the Crossroads is always perilous and sudden death a constant threat. Her mother died in battle, but no one will tell her how or why. Her father consoles himself in the bottle. One brother prepares for an arranged marriage while the other plays vengeful games. As her family falls apart, an enemy within uses secret passion and a powerful weapon to manipulate them. Cat is determined to learn the truth, but will she discover that some things are better left hidden?

  1

  Dear Mom,

  This feels stupid, but I don't know what else to do. I need to talk to you.

  I need to see you!

  I can't believe I won't ever see you again. It doesn't feel real. I know you're dead, but I still can't believe it. As long as I can write to you, maybe it doesn't have to be real.

  Dad and the twins came back from London and you weren't with them. I asked where you were and why you stayed behind, and they wouldn't answer. Dad had turned to stone and George was like a whipped dog, while Mike was cold and mean to everyone but me.

  I tried calling you about a hundred times, but you didn't answer. Finally, Mike sat me down and told me you that you'd died in battle saving someone’s life, but he won't say why you fought or who you saved. Dad made him and George swear an oath to keep everything that happened in London hidden. I begged and even screamed, but all he said was, "Look, Cat, Dad's the Dragon Son. If he wants something hidden, it stays hidden."

  I’ve set up a shrine for you in the alcove because no one else will. I’ve left fruit, lit incense and candles, and prayed as hard as I could. The only thing I haven’t done is cry, not even at your funeral. I can’t, not until I know how you died.

  I set down my journal and rub my forehead. My head hasn't stopped aching since Dad and the twins returned to San Francisco. I’m sitting at the top of the stairs, staring down into the black hole that’s become our home. Dad wakes up around noon and heads straight for Marshes, the Crossroads bar in Chinatown, and doesn’t come home until it closes. Whenever I try talking to him, he waves me away. Mike and George are usually gone, too, except for this morning. Thumping and scraping sounds have been coming from below for almost half-an-hour. Are they fighting? Rearranging the furniture? It sounds more like that, but why?

  “Motherfucker,” Mike shouts.

  I jump to my feet, clutching my journal to my chest.

  “I don’t care what Mother says or does. This is on you.”

  I grimace, but don’t head downstairs because that’s nothing I need to get involved with. Their mother, Dad’s First Wife, has always been a bone of contention between them. When he left her to be with my mother, he took Mike with them to San Francisco, but left George behind in Hong Kong. I don’t know how anyone thought that was a good idea, splitting up twins. They’re fraternal, not identical, but still. It’s been hardest on George. He was born two minutes after Mike. Two minutes between him and being the Dragon Son’s Heir and head of the Crossroads. They spent their summers together, one month here and two months there, but that’s not enough time to get close, especially with parents who hate each other.

  How could Dad have been so selfish? Is it that selfishness now that’s allowing him to drink away his grief while I suffer alone in silence?

  I sit back down and lean against the wall, resting my head against its cold, smooth surface. I close my eyes and think about the last time Mom and I sparred. It was an early Saturday morning and she'd driven us to a remote beach on the Marin coast. It was low tide, but the sand was still wet and clumps of seaweed lingered, their smell growing stronger as the sun pierced the fog. I'd finished learning the movements for the Phoenix Defeats Dragon sword form more than a year ago, but Mom continued drilling the variations into me. Only women in the Two Dragon Clan are taught this form and its secrets of harnessing yin to defeat yang energy, and Mom was an expert.

  I take after Dad in height, so I'm way taller than her, but I still felt like a child when she set down her sword and came behind me, placing her hands over mine and demonstrating how to swing the sword.

  "You're still slicing. Don't slice. Flow. Feel the flow your opponent's energy. That's how you'll anticipate his every move, match and overcome them."

  Flow. I need to flow. But how the hell can I flow when I don't know who my enemy is or what I'm fighting against?

  Arguing voices float up from below, but it’s not my brothers this time. They're coming from the ground floor. It's Peter Chan, head of security, and a woman... I don't recognize her voice. Both are speaking Cantonese, but my mind is too weary to translate. With a sigh, I heave myself up and head downstairs.

  We live in the kongsi, the San Francisco headquarters of the Two Dragon Clan. The top floor is reserved for the Dragon Son and his family, while the second floor is for his adult offspring, like Mike and George. The ground and first floors are for general clan usage. The kongsi is in Joseph Alley on the outer fringes of Chinatown and nowhere near any hotels or shops. The entrance, though, is decorated with an ornate awning that attracts the occasional tourist.

  The front door is wide open and several men are hauling in a bunch of luggage. A young woman is standing beside the security desk, hands on hips, her chin lifted so her arrogant glare can pierce any opposition. She's wearing a bright red dress and matching heels, and her long hair has red highlights and thick curls. As I get closer, I see she isn't young and I wonder if she realizes her thick makeup only works at a distance.

  I roll my eyes. I'm not in the mood, but I'll be nice and set her straight. "Hi. Can I help you?"

  Her nostrils flare. She looks me up and down like I'm a homeless person reeking of urine. "You're The Girl."

  Oh my god. It's Tiffany. My skin crawls. What the hell is she doing here?

  She turns to Peter Chan and snaps her fingers. "Where are my sons?"

  Holy shit. I have to get her out of here, but how? Dad. I turn and run upstairs.

  As expected, he's sprawled across the bed, clutching Mom's pillow to his chest, sleeping it off. In the dim light, with the curtains drawn and his eyes closed, he looks so young, like a sorrowful child. Then I yank open the curtains and harsh daylight etched lines on his face that hadn't been there before Mom died.

  "Dad? Dad." I repeat that several more times before shaking him.

  He groans as if in pain before blinking open red-rimmed eyes. They fill with tears as he stares at me and whispers, "You look so much like her."

  I don't. I look like him. Everyone says so. Why is he acting this way? A commotion comes from the stairs, voices arguing and stomping feet. Is she coming up here? "Dad, you have to wake up. Tiffany is here."

  "What?" He frowns as if I'd told a bad joke. "What do you mean she's here?"

  "She's here, in the kongsi. Tiffany. Your First Wife. I think she's coming upstairs to see you."

  Dad rolls into a sitting position and sways before putting his head between his knees to dry heave. I step back, my stomach twisting. What happened to my brave father who faced any adversary with a devilish smirk?

  Finally, he stands. He's wearing only boxers and a stained white T-shirt, but at
this point, I don't care. I follow as he staggers out of his room. Down the hall, Tiffany is stepping out the elevator, accompanied by the twins. The guards are hauling her luggage to the top of the stairs. Dad stops and straightens as his blurry face sharpens with fury. He strides over and starts kicking her suitcases downstairs. Each kick widens my smile. I almost want to hug Tiffany for waking him up.

  The guards flinch, but she doesn't. She stands there like a high-fashion model in a fixed pose, her lips moving as she mutters something under her breath. Mike leans against the wall with his arms folded and face frozen. Only George tries to intervene, waving his arms at each kick and saying, "Dad, stop. It's not helping."

  After the final bag goes sailing downstairs, Dad turns to George, shakes his fist and shouts, "Why is she here?"

  George holds up his hands. "I didn't ask her."

  Tiffany squeaks out a snort. "I'm here because I'm the Dragon Son's wife."

  My heart lifts as Dad's smirk returns. He laughs before looking at her with stone cold eyes. "My wife is dead. You're nothing to me."

  "I am the First Wife of the Dragon Son and mother of your sons. No one has taken my place, dead or alive."

  My heart starts pounding because, as much as my parents tried to protect me from it, I know what she said is true. Dad never divorced Tiffany because he couldn't, not without alienating her family. So, he made Mom his Second Wife, like back in the day, to keep the peace in the clan.

  "You’re nothing to me," Dad repeats before shouting, "Get out!"

  "You can't make me leave." Tiffany reaches into her enormous purse, pulls out a makeup compact and starts checking her face in the mirror. As she does, she starts muttering again.

  I chew my lip, waiting, praying, but Dad's face drains of emotion. Even his voice sounds weaker as he states, "You set foot on this floor again, I'll push you down the stairs and make sure you're dead by the time you reach bottom."

  My mouth hangs open as I watch him turn and stagger back to his room. No. No! He was supposed to kick her out and go back to being his old self. Why is he letting her stay? She hates Mom and me. She's the reason I've never been allowed to train at clan's main compound on Chisel Knife Mountain in Hong Kong.

  Tiffany's face pinches with disgust. She snaps her fingers at the guards. "Take my things to the master bedroom on the second floor."

  The guards turn blank faces to my brothers. Mike peels himself off the wall and motions them to follow him downstairs. George holds out his arm to his mother and escorts her into the elevator. As the door closes behind them, I realize I'm not alone. A girl about my age is tucked into a doorway. She steps out and stands before me.

  "Hi. I'm Leung Si Man," she says in Cantonese, before switching to English, "You can call me Sylvia." Her hands smooth nonexistent wrinkles from her dress. She's dressed in the same mold as Tiffany, though in a more subdued blue. Even her hair has the same red highlights and thick curls. "I'm George's fiancé."

  I blink several times before saying, "What? I didn't know George was engaged."

  Her eyes go hard and narrow in a way that gives me the creeps, despite her sweet voice. “Actually, I was Michael's fiancé. We've been betrothed since we were children. Then, last year, Head Elder decided he wanted the Dragon Son's Heir to marry his daughter, Michelle, who was betrothed to George. Our parents came to an agreement and we were..." She bites her lip as if about to say an offensive word. "Switched."

  I shake my head. “Dad said he’d never arrange marriages for us, that it’s the ‘90s and we should be free to choose for ourselves”

  "Your stepmother arranged their marriages," says Sylvia, "not the Dragon Son."

  "She's not my stepmother. And I can't believe my brothers agreed to that."

  "George agreed. Michael didn't."

  "When is the wedding?"

  "The middle of August. I don't know the exact date. No one tells me anything."

  I sit on the stairs and cradle my spinning head. I know why Tiffany is doing this. To show everyone that she's the Dragon Son's true wife and Mom was nothing. Not even someone worth mourning. If she held the wedding banquet in Hong Kong, she would still seem the unwanted, exiled First Wife. In San Francisco, at a huge occasion, she's forcing everyone to acknowledge her position.

  Sylvia settles beside me, her legs primly folded at an angle as she smooths her dress again. "I'm sorry about your mother. This really wasn't my idea. I hope we can be friends."

  I sigh. I didn't want to talk to her or be her friend, but she's right. This isn't her fault. I clear my throat before saying, "I'm Catherine, but you can call me Cat."

  "Cat." Her smile makes her look a lot more like a cat than I do. She curls in closer to me and whispers, "I don't want to marry George. Can you talk to Michael for me? Remind him that he was promised to me?"

  I blink. Wow. I can see why Tiffany switched Sylvia to George. Of course, she wants her favorite son to marry a manipulative bitch, just like her. I get up and walk away. When I get to my room, I close the door and lean against. My legs are shaking so bad, I can’t walk a step further without collapsing.

  I thought my life couldn’t get any worse. I was so wrong.

  2

  I'm sitting in a pew at Old Saint Mary's Cathedral. When I was a kid, I thought it was named that because Saint Mary was an old woman. Actually, it's the cathedral that's old, as in, there's a newer, bigger Saint Mary's Cathedral in San Francisco, though that one's kind of old, too. I'm not Catholic, so it's confusing.

  Old Saint Mary's has a grand, gothic tower with a Roman numeral clock and a plaque that reads: Son, Observe the Time and Fly from Evil.

  That's what I'm doing here. Flying from the evil that's become my home. Plus, it's the one place in Chinatown that isn't claimed by either the Crossroads or the gangs. It's dark and peaceful, aside from the tourists, but they tend to be quiet. There's this smell of incense, candle wax, and mildew that comforts me. No one bothers me or asks me to leave. I come here so often, I've started leaving money in the collection box. Sometimes I write in my journal, letters to Mom or rants about how much my life sucks, but that gets tiresome. So, I stare at the stained-glass windows and zone out. I close my eyes and hope people think I'm praying.

  My pager beeps. I snatch it out of my purse while silently cursing myself for not turning it off. I stare at the message. It's from Mike.

  where u at

  I don't answer. I don't want anyone to know I'm here.

  going 2 SFO want 2 come

  I chew my lip. I'm so sick of Chinatown right now. I wouldn't mind leaving, even if it is to go to the airport. I text back.

  ok meet @ dragon gate

  I slip out of the pew and thread my way through a tour group whose leader speaks in a hushed tone about the fire that destroyed Old Saint Mary's, and much of San Francisco, after the 1906 earthquake. Maybe that's why I like it here so much. I feel like I barely survived one disaster, only to be engulfed in another.

  I hurry across California Street and head past the tourist shops lining Grant Avenue until I reach the Dragon Gate. It's a stone arch that spans the width of the street and marks the official entrance to Chinatown. Two giant stone lions guard either side of the street while a pair of dragons face off atop the pagoda-style roof. Beneath them is a plaque with Chinese characters that read: All Under Heaven is for the Good of the People.

  Yeah, I'm not feeling that. Nothing good has happened since Mom died and nothing will until that bitch leaves our home.

  Mike pulls up in his red Camaro and I hop in. He got this car for his twenty-first birthday, while George got a silver BMW. Those two in a nutshell. I recline the leather seat all the way back. It's almost as comfy as a bed. If I could get a spare key, I’d sleep in here instead of the kongsi.

  "What have you been?" he asks.

  "None of your business."

  "You're gone a lot. What's going on?" He stops at a light and turns to me with a frown. "You seeing someone?"

  "Still none of your busi
ness." Yeah, with a pillow and a blanket, this would be perfect. Too bad Mike would never go for it.

  "Cat, this is serious. You can't date outsiders."

  “You do.”

  “That’s different.”

  “How’s it different, Mr. Double-Standard?”

  “I’m playing around. I’m not going to marry any of those girls.”

  I pull the seat upright. “Are you really going to marry Head Elder’s daughter? I mean, it’s the 1990s, not the 1890s. You should be able to marry whoever you want.”

  “The Crossroads exist outside of time, Cat. You know that. We don’t live by the rules of the world. We live by our own laws, and according to the laws of our clan, marriages are arranged.”

  “So, I have to marry some random dude picked out for me?”

  “No.” He raises his voice as he says this. “I won’t let that happen to you. I’ll make sure you marry a good man.”

  I roll my eyes. “Gee, thanks.”

  “Are you seeing someone?”

  "No. Unlike you, I’m not a player.” I don't want him or anyone to know I'm at the church. That's my sanctuary. Where else would I be? “I don't want to be home. I hate it there. I go to the library or, I don't know, walk around. Whatever."

  His face softens. "I'm sorry Mother is being such a bitch to you. I told her to stop calling you The Girl. "

  I shrug. Since I hate Tiffany, I don't care what she thinks or says about me.

  "And that it's wrong to forbid you to attend George's wedding banquet."

  "Like I want to be there."

  "Yeah, I don't want to go either. It's disrespectful. Mother should've waited until we had time to mourn."

  I don't tell him that Tiffany purposely said in my presence, "I'm not halting my son's wedding over the death of a mere concubine. She's nothing to him or me."