by Lori Saltis
"Saw what?" asks Roy. The lump in my throat won't let me speak.
"A Two Dragon Clan dagger. I mean, there were a lot of daggers and other weapons, but this particular dagger was one of ours. The blade had the Two Dragon Clan stamp at the base of the hilt. The handle, though, was completely different. It had been swapped out for a handle with a red Templar cross and an embedded pearl. I have to give George credit for a good eye. I wouldn't have noticed, even though it was in the section of relics looted during the Opium Wars."
I'm not surprised since George went the scholar route in the clan rather than the warrior route, like Mike. Clan scholars are tasked with keeping our knowledge and secrets intact, and with finding the clan treasures that disappeared during the Taiping Rebellion, which coincided with the second Opium War. "So, the Templars had one of our daggers. That's not that big of a deal, is it? Unless, the pearl..."
"Exactly. George told me to touch it and I could feel its power. It was definitely one of the missing dragon pearls."
Roy and I exchange startled glances. This is big news. After Jade Dragon, the founder of the Two Dragon Clan, died in his human form and once again became a dragon, he left behind pieces of his great pearl, which is the source of his power. We still have the Yang Pearl, which the Dragon Son wears around his neck and uses to enhance his chi abilities. The Yin Pearl and the Wisdom Pearl were lost, along with the other treasures, during the chaos of those wars.
"What did you do?" I ask.
Mike sucks in a hard breath. "I told the little asshole to calm the hell down. That when we got a chance, we'd tell Dad and he’d negotiate with the Templars to get the dagger back. But he was all hyper and insisted that the Templars won't give it to us if they know we want it. We had to take it now, which was completely idiotic. We were surrounded by Templars who'd come to watch the bout and we couldn’t possibly get out of there without a fight, which would cause war between our clans. I told him again to calm down, that we’d figure it out.
“So, we're led into this gym with mirrored walls and even more weapons. Grandmaster points out the training swords and asks Dad to take his pick. Dad gets that twinkle in his eyes and does his thing, saying he can't fight because he's sick and his wife will fight in his place."
It is his thing and the Grandmaster probably expected it and even trained for it. I hug my knees to my chest. "Mom lost the bout? Is that how she died?"
"No. It never came to that. While Meghan was choosing her weapon, a couple of Templars hauled George in. One of them was holding the dagger. They claimed he was trying to steal it. George insisted he was going to give it to Meghan to use for the bout since it's a Chinese weapon, which is obviously bullshit since it's a dagger." Mike gives his head a contemptuous shake and mutters, "Dumb fuck." He huffs as he continues. "The Grandmaster doesn't believe that, of course, and says the penalty for stealing their sacred relics is death. He took a sword from one of the stands and started to swing it at George."
He pauses to wipe his brow. "Damn. It happened so fast. Dad was about to use the Yang Pearl to stop him, but Meghan leaped forward with her sword to deflect the Grandmaster. Thing is, she had a practice sword and he had the real thing." He closes his eyes and says through his wince, "He sliced off her arm."
I press my forehead to my knees as nausea rises from my stomach to my throat. No. Not Mom. Not like that. "Did she suffer?" I don't realize I said that aloud until Mike answers.
"She was unconscious, but still alive. Dad scooped her up and we ran out of there. The Templars didn't try stopping us. It wasn't until we got in the car that I realized George had managed to get the dagger back and bring it with him. I wanted to slit his throat with it, but I was too busy trying driving. Dad was in the back seat, trying to keep your mom from bleeding out, but it was too late. She died before we reached the hospital."
I still can't cry. I'm more angry than sad. How could Mom die like that? It can't be real. She can't be dead. Not like that. Roy sits beside me and puts his arm around me. I collapse against him, letting him hold me up because I just can't. My voice comes out in a husky whisper, "Why couldn't you tell me any of this?"
Mike sighs. "George has done a lot of research on all the pearls, and he confirmed the one on the dagger is the Wisdom Pearl. And if you remember from history, the Wisdom Pearl is the scary pearl, the one that gives the wearer the power of persuasion. Dad said it's too dangerous for anyone to wield. He ordered a new vault and put the pearl in it. Only he and I know the combination. He even decided to keep the vault in London so neither he or I can access it on a whim. He made me swear never to use it. He made both me and George swear to never tell anyone what happened to Meghan or about the pearl."
"What about the Templars?" asks Roy.
"I thought Dad might seek revenge, but he blames George more than them. All he required was their silence. He even sent the dagger back to them with a different pearl attached. If they noticed, they didn't say."
I clear my thick throat so I can speak. "Dad still sounds like Dad during all that. When did he change?"
Mike's brow furrows. "Yeah, it's weird. I mean, he was angry and grieving, but not dysfunctional. Not until we got home." He looks down. "So, I guess I should say, and you can think of me however you want, but that's why I'm messing around with Sylvia." He lifts defiant eyes. "It's my revenge against George. I don't believe his bullshit story. He was going to take that dagger and leave me, Dad, and Meghan in the hands of the Templars. He wanted all the glory of finding the missing pearl. Instead, he's going to have a wife that's already been used by his brother."
I shudder, because his words and actions are so awful, but also because I kind of understand. I want George to pay, too, but like that? And what about Sylvia? Yeah, she's a manipulative bitch, but she didn't do anything to hurt us.
"That's messed up," says Roy. "You need to cut that shit out. Seriously. Not just because it's wrong, but you're being played. You think Cat and I wound up in the alley by accident?" He tells Mike about Tracksuit Guy.
Mike shakes his head. "Doesn't surprise me one bit. She told me she's on the Pill, but I don't believe her, so I'm using a condom. She keeps trying to get me not to, but," He shrugs. "Not falling for that."
Is it really worth it, having sex with someone you don't trust? Does that add to the thrill or make the revenge sweeter? I don't ask because I don't want to know. I'm feeling sick enough already.
"Okay, I told you two the truth. Now, you have to hold up your end of the bargain and swear not to tell anyone about me and Sylvia."
Roy and I exchanged glances as our minds touch.
We have to, he says.
I know, I reply, but it’s still the worst because now we have to live with it.
Not like he has to.
I don’t know about that. From where I’m sitting, Mike looks like he’s living with it just fine.
"On my honor," says Roy.
"On my honor," I croak out.
As if honor has anything to do with all this.
6
Dear Mom,
Now I know what happened. I don't want to be angry, but I am. My hand is shaking as I write this. How could you, Mom? George wasn't worth your life. He wouldn't have done the same for you. He left you to face the consequences. He didn't love you. His mother hates you and is happy you're dead.
Why?
Why?
WHY?
I throw the journal across the bed and sit with my arms folded tight. I'm not crying. I'm too mad for tears. Why did I think I'd find some relief or closure? I should've known from the way Dad and the twins are behaving that the truth would lead to bitter anger and more questions.
I'd feel better if I could believe that Mom had died retrieving the Wisdom Pearl. Anyone in the clan would be willing to die to recover our lost treasures. Am I a bad person that I think she wasted her life on George? Would I die to save him? Absolutely not. I had to stop myself from telling Mike to carry on with Sylvia.
I close my eyes
and picture Mom. She never said anything bad about Tiffany, at least not in front of us kids. She went out of her way to make George feel at home and part of the family whenever he visited. I said he didn't love her, but maybe he did. I remember that time when he was thirteen and I overheard him begging Dad not to send him back to Hong Kong. I reach for my journal.
Did you love George? Is that why you did it? Or did you do it because you love Dad and didn't want him to lose a son? Maybe that's what makes me so angry. It's like you were thinking of them, but not me. I shouldn't have had to lose you, Mom, not for any reason, and especially not because George wanted glory. I guess there's some consolation that no one will ever know and George is covered in shame instead.
I set down the book this time and close my eyes. I picture Mom in a myriad of images: lighting the candles for my sixteenth birthday cake, helping me with calculus, exchanging a quick kiss with Dad. I inhale to capture the memory of how she smelled. I rub my hand to remember her touch. These memories are more precious than diamonds, but how long until they start to fade?
Tears leak through my closed lids as I finally start to cry.
7
Dear Mom,
George's wedding is tomorrow. I can't be happy for him. I'm trying to forgive him. I wonder if he'll forgive me if he ever finds out about Mike and Sylvia, and that I knew and didn't tell him. I also wonder if he'll care. He escorts Sylvia when required, but otherwise doesn't hang out with her or try to get to know her. I overheard Mike and George talking about the bachelor party tonight. From what I could tell it involves strippers and getting them both "laid." Nice.
If it weren't for Roy, I wouldn't want to get married. In fact, I know I won't marry anyone but him. I know what you'd say, that I'm too young, I need to wait and meet more men. You even hinted that I didn't need to marry within the clan. I understand now you meant that, despite being the Dragon Son's daughter, I'm not a desirable wife. And that's okay. I'd rather be your daughter than be someone desirable like Sylvia.
I was worried that Roy's family won’t approve of me, but he assured me they don’t care about my status. Seattle is different, he said. Less formal and less attached to clan tradition. I wish I could move there right now. I'm almost tempted to transfer to a university there, but that'd be stupid. I worked too hard to give up my admission to Berkeley just because I fell in love.
I do love Roy, Mom. He's been there for me like no one else. I wish you could've gotten to know him better. You'd really like him. The real him. Not just Mike's tall, quiet friend. He’s not going to the bachelor party. He’s spending the evening with me, hanging around North Beach and checking out the clubs.
We haven't done much more than kiss. Roy hasn't pressured me. I think I want to do more, but when I think about sex, I remember Mike and Sylvia in the car and it's a big turn-off. I'm not so innocent that I believe sex is only about love, but I didn't know it could also be about hate. It's going to take me awhile to get over that.
Besides, Roy and I share the Silent Speech and that's more intimate. When we're in a loud and crowded place and can communicate as if there's no one else in the room, it makes me feel so much closer to him.
There's one thing that's bugging me, though. Roy is still going to the wedding banquet. I know he has to, that he's representing his family and the clan in Seattle, and all that stuff, but if he really loves me, why doesn't he stand by me and refuse to go? I didn't ask him because I’m afraid that if I do, he'll say no, he has to be there to support Mike. Which will make me face the one thing I dread most: will Roy always choose Mike over me?
Because I'm really afraid the answer is yes.
8
I can't sleep. The guilt of keeping Mike and Sylvia’s affair hidden is eating away at me. I know I gave my word, but is my word worth betraying my brother? Or is this my revenge against George and I’m an awful person?
I glance at the glowing red numbers on my alarm clock. It's almost 4 a.m. I suck in another deep sigh and close my eyes. This time, I drift off. I dream... I don't know what. Things that feel so real, like another life I should be living. The sound of footsteps, slammed doors, and loud voices pull me from this other life. I wake up and the noise is still there. I look again at the clock. It's 5:30. Are wedding preparations always this early?
I was going to stay in my room and ignore the whole thing, but since I can't sleep and I'm bored, I get up. I go to the kitchen, make myself a cup of coffee, and settle at the top of the stairs. I hear Tiffany barking commands like a high-pitched drill sergeant. Although outsiders aren't allowed inside the kongsi, she's open the door to an army of hairdressers and make-up artists. I hear the chatter of unknown female voices. They must be Sylvia's bridesmaids. Were her friends flown in or did Tiffany assign them from local influential families? The latter is more likely. I hear male voices approaching the foot of the stairs.
"Yeah, they're getting married in a goddam church," says Mike. "Can you believe it?"
"How did your mother manage to swing Grace Cathedral?" Roy's low voice makes my heart jump.
"Last minute cancellation. Plus, Mother throws money and things happen."
"Don’t you have to be Christian to be married there?"
"Only one person has to be, so Sylvia lied. She's good at that."
And so are you, asshole! I want to shout down the stairwell. I don't, though, because I like sitting here. I find comfort in being where I belong, on the fringe of everything.
I get up to pour myself another cup of coffee and settle down again. Despite the extra caffeine, I start yawning and my eyelids droop. I lean my head against the wall and close my eyes. The downstairs hubbub becomes a white noise. I drift away, trying to recapture that dream. No one in my family is there. Not Mom. Not even Roy. I'm where I belong, surrounded by people who treat me like a person and not an inconvenience. I'm doing something I like, but what?
Clicking heels jar me awake. Tiffany rounds the corner, sees me, and looks right through me as continues up, a black tuxedo crushed in her arms. She's wearing a dress that glitters so hard, it hurts. Her hair is piled atop her head in a mass of forced curls and she's wearing so much makeup, I wouldn't recognize her if I saw her on the street. The temptation to push her as she passes me is so strong, I have to sit on my hand. As she heads down the hall, I crane my neck and watch as she yanks open Dad's door, pauses for a moment, tosses in the tuxedo, and slams it shut. As she turns, her icy smile makes me shudder. Then she sees me and a martyred frown masks the smile. As she clicks past me, I cross my legs so I don't trip her.
After a few moments, Tiffany's aggrieved voice carries up from below. "I tried, I really did, but it’s no use. He's too drunk to attend his son's wedding. Such a disgrace. He ran wild with that concubine, and now look at him. He can't function as a father, let alone as the Dragon Son."
I really should've pushed her.
I’ve had enough. This is more depressing than entertaining. I stand, but pause before heading toward my room. Should I check on Dad? It's been a few days since I've seen or even heard him. I assumed it's because I'm now sleeping through the sound of him stumbling home. If he's aware of what's happening today, it must be rough. I still love him. I don't blame him for Mom's death, but I'm so angry with him for abandoning me. I get this tingling sensation in my stomach, like I really need to check on him. My chest is tight as I tap on the door before opening it.
The room is dark and reeks of stale alcohol and unwashed clothes. Dad is sitting on the edge of the bed, taking a swig from a half-empty bottle of Jack Daniels. I don't blame him. Tiffany has that effect on people. I'm tempted to grab the bottle and take a swig myself. He sees me and wipes his mouth with his bare arm before patting the space beside him. "My Little Dragon Girl."
That's his nickname for me. The sound of it, after so long, gives me a wisp of hope. Maybe there's a chance he can come back to himself. I kick away the fallen tuxedo before perching beside him and taking away the bottle. His shaking hand offers little resistanc
e. "Dad, you have to stop. You're killing yourself."
His bloodshot eyes fill with tears and his voice slurs. "I deserve to die. I should've died. Not your mother. She was worth ten of me. And you are worth twenty of your worthless brothers. Little Dragon Girl. Strong and brave. You should be the heir. Why shouldn't there be a Dragon Daughter?"
He reaches around his neck and takes off the Yang Pearl. The gold chain is dulled in the dark, but the pearl seems even more luminous. Then he places it around my neck.
"Dad, no," I protest. Talk about forbidden. Only the Dragon Son and his heir can wear the Yang Pearl. I start taking it off, but Dad grasps my hands.
"No. I don't want it. I don't deserve it. Neither does Mike. You keep it. Use it. Don't let your brothers have it." As he speaks, he crawls back under the bedding, covering his head so that his last words are muffled, "I love you, baby."
Does he mean me or Mom? I take a deep breath to ease the ache in my chest and say, "I love you, too, Dad."
I leave the room, taking the bottle with me. I dump the remaining liquor down the kitchen sink before going to my room. I can’t resist looking at my reflection in the mirror. The Yang Pearl gleams on my chest. Well, hell. What am I supposed to do with it? Leave it on his nightstand? Not smart. Hide it somewhere? I lift it up and feel a faint hum in my fingers that reverberates in my chest. If only Jade Dragon were here, though I don't know what good that would do. He only speaks to his descendants once a year during the Summoning Ceremony.
I squeeze the pearl into my palm, press it against my chest, and close my eyes. Please, Jade Dragon, Ancestor, if you're out there, help my father.
The hum in my chest spreads throughout my body, its energy making my fingers and toes tingle.
