These Violent Delights

by Chloe Gong

  She was going to skin herself with her own damn knife. Her cells were betraying her on a molecular level. He was just looking, for heaven’s sake. It did not qualify as an attack. Juliette was not going to rise to the bait. She would sit here until Zhang Gutai was ready to meet, and then—

  “What?” Juliette snapped, unable to bear it any longer. She tore her gaze down, finally supplying her own ammunition against Roma’s weaponized stare.

  Roma made an inquisitive noise. He pursed his lips slowly, then tipped his chin. “What’s got you so worked up?”

  Juliette followed the direction of his gesture. She yanked her hand out from her pocket.

  “Again, that would be none of your business.”

  “If it is to do with madne—”

  “Why would you assume that?”

  Roma’s expression thundered. “Can I finish my sentence—”

  The office door opened, cutting him off. A harried assistant came out and summoned Roma to go in before she quickly hurried away. With a huff, Roma shot Juliette a look that said this isn’t over, before entering the office.

  Juliette broiled in the wait, her toes tapping erratically against the hard floor panels and her fingers twisting around one another. For ten minutes she drove herself up the wall, envisioning Roma doing all in his power to convince Zhang Gutai to give him all the answers and disregard Juliette. Roma was a liar through and through—his tactics of persuasion knew no bounds.

  When Roma came out, however, it was immediately clear in the slouch of his head that he hadn’t gotten what he wanted.

  “Don’t look so smug,” he whispered while Juliette passed him.

  “That’s just my face,” she hissed back.

  With her chin held high, Juliette walked into Zhang Gutai’s office.

  “Well, it must be my lucky day,” Mr. Zhang declared when she entered, putting his fountain pen down. Despite his laudatory tone, he was frowning as he spoke. “First it was the heir of the White Flowers, now the Scarlet crown princess. What can I do for you, Miss Cai?”

  Juliette flopped into one of the two large chairs placed opposite Mr. Zhang’s heavy mahogany desk. In seconds she took in everything before her: the framed black-and-white photographs of his elderly parents, the hammer-and-sickle flag hanging from the side of the filing cabinet, the festive red calendar on the wall marked with daily meetings. Her eyes returning to the Communist before her, Juliette relaxed and made him see what she wanted him to see, letting out a small, careless laugh, vacuous as could be.

  “You know how rumors work in this city, Mr. Zhang,” she said. She held her nails out in front of her, squinting at a little chip marring her pinky. “They come to me, and I follow them. Do you know what graced my ear the other day?”

  Zhang Gutai appeared mildly entertained. “Do tell.”

  “They say”—Juliette leaned in—“that you know why there is madness sweeping through Shanghai.”

  For a long moment Mr. Zhang said nothing. Then he blinked rapidly and replied, “Miss Cai, I haven’t a clue why you would think that.”

  “No?” Juliette said lightly. “You didn’t scheme up a madness to spread through the city? No plans at all to cause enough death until the gangsters are weak and the workers are frightened, until the factories have ripened into the ideal conditions for the Communists to swoop in and incite revolution?”

  She digested his surprise, his astonishment at being confronted. Roma must not have asked him about the madness directly—he must have approached it in a more roundabout way, treading the waters to gather his conclusions instead of coming right out and saying it. That was to be expected. The direct approach was more of Juliette’s arena.

  “Miss Cai,” Zhang Gutai said sternly. “That is absurd.”

  Juliette wasn’t getting anywhere like this. She straightened in her chair and dropped her smile, her hands gripping the armrests. Now the easy flapper girl was gone. In her place sat the heiress of the most brutal gang in Shanghai.

  “I will find the truth one way or another,” Juliette said. “So speak now if you wish to be offered mercy. Else I will tear the answer from you limb by limb—”

  “Miss Cai, I truly have no clue what you are speaking of,” Mr. Zhang interrupted. “Please leave now. This is a place of work, and I won’t have your ridiculous accusations taking up my time.”

  Juliette considered her options. Zhang Gutai’s words were convincing, but he was uneasy. Unless he was a very, very good actor, he was no liar, but he kept glancing to the door, he kept tapping his hand against the flat of his desk. Why? What did he know that she didn’t? Even if he did not scheme the madness, what was his involvement?

  Juliette leaned back in her seat, relaxing her spine again into a false ease.

  “And what if I have questions on the Communist Party?” she asked. “You are the Secretary-General, are you not?”

  “You are welcome to attend our meetings if you wish to know about the Party,” Mr. Zhang answered stiffly. “Otherwise, Miss Cai, please leave.”

  Juliette stood, taking her sweet time to stretch and work out the cricks in her neck. Then, bobbing a deep and exaggerated curtsy, she simpered, “Thank you for your gracious time,” and left the office.

  What now? she thought, closing the door behind her with a quiet click. She started to walk. If he won’t—

  “Oof!” Juliette staggered back, her head spinning as she rounded the corner and immediately collided hard with someone. The moment she looked up to see who the hell was in her path, she could only see red.

  Roma caught her wrist before her hand could come down on him. He held her midmotion, their arms crossed like they were exchanging sword blows.

  “Careful,” Roma said quietly. His voice was too soft for the violence brewing under Juliette’s skin. It was trickery. He was trying to divert her attention to his lips and breath and calm instead of whatever was going on here, with his harsh grip carving grooves into her wrist, and it was working. Juliette wanted to kill him for that alone.

  Roma gave a mocking smile, like he knew what she was thinking. “Wouldn’t want to make a scene in a Communist stronghold, would you?”

  Juliette tried to tug her arm back, but Roma held firm. If he didn’t let go in three seconds, she was drawing her gun. One, two—

  Roma let go.

  Juliette rubbed her wrist, smoothing a palm over her raging pulse and grumbling something inaudible under her breath. When Roma simply stood there, she demanded, “Why are you still here?”

  Innocently, Roma pointed over to the chairs. “I left my hat behind.”

  “You weren’t even wearing a hat before.” But indeed, on the chair where he had originally been sitting, a hat was lying on its side. Roma, shrugging, merely went to pick it up. Juliette pivoted on her heel and left as fast as she could, hurrying from the building.

  It wasn’t until she was halfway down the road, pulling her coat tightly around her, that she stopped in her tracks, swearing.

  “He better not have…” She plunged her hand into her pocket and came out with only one slip of paper. But when she unfolded it, she saw that the monster was still staring back at her, lines hazy with folding and refolding.

  Juliette snorted. Roma had taken the masquerade invitation instead.

  “Fool,” she muttered.

  * * *

  When Juliette returned home, she found Kathleen already lounging on one of the couches in the living room. She went to join her cousin, complaining under her breath.

  “What’s wrong?” Kathleen asked absently, flipping the pages of her magazine.

  “A lot of things,” Juliette grumbled. “Did you find the address?”

  Kathleen made a motion with her head that resembled a half nod. “Sort of. I’ll have it in a few days.”

  “Good enough,” Juliette muttered. “I’ve got the masquerade to worry about until then anyway.”

  A headache was starting in the space behind her ears. She was trying to plot her next move
, but it was hard to decide where to look. There had to be a reason why Madame had heard what she heard. There had to be a reason why the Communists had said what they said. And if it was naught but a rumor, then Juliette could only put her suspicion to rest when she had exhausted every avenue to do with Zhang Gutai.

  Juliette perked up slightly. Her hand reached into her pocket again, touching the drawing. She had yet to exhaust everything.

  A whistle came from the front door then, interrupting Juliette’s silent brooding. She looked up to find a Scarlet messenger hovering in the foyer space, gesturing at her with one hand and fixing the fit of his shoe with the other.

  “Pass me that parcel beside you.”

  Juliette looked to her side. Indeed, a parcel was lying on the circular table beside the sofa she had chosen to collapse on, but what did this messenger think he was doing asking her to fetch him something that he could simply come get himself—

  It clicked. The qipao. The Scarlet gangsters had become accustomed to shortcutting their association of her to glittery, beaded dresses and pomade in her finger-curled hair. As soon as she dressed in Chinese clothing instead, they saw right past her.

  Juliette breathed in and found her lungs to be horribly tight. Could she never be both? Was she doomed to choose one country or the other? Be an American girl or nothing?

  The messenger whistled again. “Hey—”

  Juliette yanked out the knife sheathed at her thigh, right above where the slit of her qipao ended, and threw it. The blade embedded perfectly into the front door with a deep, sonorous thud. It drew a single drop of blood from the messenger’s ear, where it had cut through.

  “You don’t whistle at me,” Juliette said coldly. “I whistle at you. Understand?”

  The messenger looked at her—really looked at her now. He reached up and touched his ear. The bleeding had already stopped. But his eyes were wide as he nodded.

  Juliette took the parcel in her hands and stood. She walked right up to the messenger and passed it to him quaintly, as if she were delivering a lunch box to her friend.

  “While you’re at it,” she said, “I need you to do something for me. Go to the Bund and interview the bankers who work along the main strip. Ask whether they’ve seen anything funny lurking about.”

  The messenger’s mouth opened and closed. “All of them?”

  “All. Of. Them.”

  “But—”

  “Juliette, hold on,” Kathleen called, rising from the couch too. “Let me.”

  Juliette raised an eyebrow. Kathleen waved a hand at the messenger in a shooing gesture, and the messenger took the opportunity to flee, closing the front door after him with the knife still embedded within it.

  “You want to waste your time on this?” Juliette asked.

  “It is not wasting my time if it is useful information you need.” Kathleen reached into the coatrack by the door. “Why are you chasing after it?”

  “I can send any one of the other messengers,” Juliette continued, wrinkling her brow. Ordering her own cousin around didn’t sit well with her. A specific task with specific goals was one matter, especially if Kathleen had contacts that benefited the mission. Sending her on a wild-goose chase was another matter entirely.

  “Juliette—”

  “I was mostly trying to frighten the messenger. It really is quite all right—”

  Kathleen grabbed her cousin’s wrist and squeezed, not hard enough to hurt, but hard enough for Juliette to know that this was serious.

  “I’m not just doing this out of the kindness of my heart,” she said firmly. “In some few years, this gang is either under your hands or someone else’s. And knowing the other contenders…”

  Kathleen paused. Their heads both went to the same people: Tyler first, then perhaps the other various cousins who might have a fighting chance only if Tyler mysteriously disappeared. They were all terrible and ruthless and hateful, but Juliette was too. The minuscule difference was that Juliette was also careful, intensely controlling with how much of that hate she let slip out to guide her hand.

  “It could be under your hands too,” Juliette said lightly. “We don’t know what’s going to happen in a few years.”

  Kathleen rolled her eyes. “I’m not a Cai, Juliette. That’s not even in the realm of possibility.”

  There was little to argue back against that. Kathleen came from Lady Cai’s side of the family. When Lord Cai was the face of the Scarlet Gang, it was unsurprising that only those sharing his name were seen to be legitimate. One only had to look at how easily his fellow cousins merged into the inner circle, while Mr. Lang, Lady Cai’s brother, still had not won any favor in the two decades he had been around.

  “It has to be you,” Kathleen said. Her tone did not allow for dissent. “Everyone who may come for your crown is dangerous. And you are too, but”—she took a moment to think through her phrasing—“but at least you will never willingly bring danger inward just to soothe your pride. You’re the only one I trust to hold this gang together as a steady steel structure, rather than a grappling hierarchy of whims. If you fail to be a good heir—if you fall—then this way of life falls. Let me do this for you.”

  Juliette’s mouth opened, then closed. When all she could manage was a meek, “Okay,” her cousin snorted.

  The serious spell broke. Kathleen shrugged her coat on. “So, why do you need to know about the bankers at the Bund?”

  Juliette was still mulling over her cousin’s words. She had always thought of herself as the heir of the Scarlet Gang, but that wasn’t it at all, was it? She was the heir to her father’s version of the Scarlet Gang.

  And was that so great? This Scarlet Gang was unraveling at its very seams. Perhaps a different one could have won the blood feud with the White Flowers generations ago. Perhaps a different one would have stopped the madness by now.

  “Rumors of a monster,” Juliette answered aloud, shaking herself out of her head. There were so many loose pieces floating around: a monster, a madness, the Communists—she had to focus on aligning them, not doubting herself. “I’ve reason to believe they might have witnessed something. My hopes aren’t high, but a smidgen of it exists at least.”

  Kathleen nodded. “I’ll report back with what I find.” With that, her cousin waved goodbye and shut the door after her, the sound echoing back into the living room. The knife looked rather comical moving with the door like that. Juliette sighed and yanked it out, tucking the blade into her dress as she trudged up the stairs. Her parents were going to be horrified to find a gouge in the door. She smiled at the thought and remained rather amused, until she entered her room and spotted a lone figure on her bed.

  Juliette almost jumped two feet into the air.

  “Oh, heavens, you scared me,” she gasped a moment later. The sisters were hardly ever in her room separately, so she hadn’t immediately identified Rosalind, especially not while her cousin had her face inclined toward the beam of afternoon sun cutting through the window. “Are you and your sister both insistent on surprising me today?”

  Rosalind looked a little miffed as she turned to Juliette. “You were with Kathleen just now? I’ve been waiting for you here for hours.”

  Juliette blinked. She wasn’t sure what to say. “I’m sorry,” she settled on, though her apology was confused and, as a result, disingenuous. “I didn’t know.”

  Rosalind shook her head and muttered, “No matter.”

  This was one of the details that Juliette remembered from their childhood, before any of them had left for the Western world. Rosalind carried grudges like it was a contest. She was passionate and headstrong and had nerves of steel, but when you looked past her well-chosen, surface-level pretty words, she could also simmer on feelings long past their relevance.

  “Don’t grouch at me,” Juliette tutted. She had to address it now or fear its flare-up long into the distant future. She knew her cousin, had borne witness to Rosalind’s slow-building hatred toward the people who upset her—to
ward her maternal aunts who tried to take the place of her dead mother; toward her father, who valued the strengthening of his guānxì in the Scarlet Gang more than he valued caring for his children; even toward her fellow dancers at the burlesque club, who were jealous enough with Rosalind’s growing star status that they tried to exclude her from their circles.

  Sometimes Juliette wondered how Rosalind even managed to cope with so much absence in her life. And at that thought, she felt a little bad for not checking in with her cousin more often, though she hadn’t been back in this city for all that long. Everyone always had more important things to be doing in the Cai family. Kathleen, at least, erred on the side of optimism. Rosalind did not. But constant care and outreach to your cousins was not a high priority when people were ripping at their own throats on the streets outside.

  “What’s wrong?” Juliette asked anyway. She could at least spare a minute if Rosalind had been waiting here for hours.

  Rosalind didn’t respond. For a moment Juliette almost feared that she hadn’t absolved the burgeoning grudge. Then, all of a sudden, Rosalind dropped her face into her hands.

  There was something haunting about that motion that struck Juliette to the core, something childlike and lost.

  “Insects,” Rosalind whispered, her words muffled into her palm. Now a coldness had settled into the room. Juliette felt all the little hairs at the back of her neck lift, standing so ramrod straight that her skin almost felt sensitive, sore to the touch.

  “So many of them,” Rosalind continued. Every crack of her cousin’s voice sent a new shiver down Juliette’s spine. “So many of them, all coming from the sea, all going back into the sea.”

  Slowly Juliette managed to lower herself into a kneel on her carpet. She craned her head to meet her cousin’s drooped, terrified stare.

  “What do you mean?” Juliette asked softly. “What insects?”

  Rosalind shook her head. “I think I saw it. I saw it in the water.”