The Red Heart of Jade

by Marjorie M. Liu

  “A man and woman, surrounded by individuals who held them down and who opened their chests to put in pieces of jade.” A fine tremor ran through Dean’s body, and his mouth clamped shut. He looked at her—really looked—and said, “Here, please.” Miri took the artifact from his hands. The jade felt warm and she rubbed her palm over it.

  “I shouldn’t have seen so much,” Dean muttered. “I don’t know why the memories are still so strong in that stone, and why it’s showing me such different scenes. It doesn’t make sense. I’m not even good at seeing the past.”

  “But it’s there,” Koni said, and his eyes glowed, light streaming down his cheeks. “It’s there and you saw. Did you pick up the trail?”

  “Yes. I don’t know what state the other body will be in, but the jade he carried is somewhere around Hong Kong.”

  “Hong Kong?” Miri echoed.

  “Is that surprising?”

  “I guess not. It’s just that not much is known about Hong Kong’s prehistory, only that people have lived there for almost five thousand years. There should have been a thriving settlement by the time your man arrived. He could be anywhere on the islands. Or rather, the jade could be anywhere. I doubt the body is still intact.”

  “You get me in that area and I’ll find out for sure, one way or another. The pull is still strong, Miri. God, is it strong!”

  “All right, then.” Koni stood. A steel knife glinted in his hand and his mouth curved into a smile. “We have a plan.”

  There was a collection of cell phones in one of the vault drawers. Three-band, able to make international calls. Dean tossed one to Koni.

  “Call Roland. Tell him we need a private jet. Commercial is out of the question. We need to be ready to leave within the hour.”

  “Tall order,” Miri said.

  “If anyone can pull it off, it’s Roland.”

  Miri had nothing to say to that. It still seemed like an awful lot of power to wield, but Dean appeared completely oblivious as he continued sorting through drawers, trying to find yet another little treasure to travel with when they left this place. Miri did not mind watching him; it gave her a chance to see the boyishness of his face in pure action.

  She got an odd feeling in her gut, though, and turned to look at the door separating them from the rest of the safe house. Watched and watched, so that when it began to swing open, she was the only one who noticed.

  She cried out; the men turned, swearing. And then they all fell silent when they saw who was on the other side.

  A head poked through the clothing. A wide, long head, flared with sleek white feathers and hair twisting like vines; wide nostrils set in a snout with whiskers made of flesh curling from a thick bottom lip. And the eyes—those golden staring eyes—

  A dragon, she thought. Just like in the pictures, the old Chinese renderings.

  Bai Shen.

  “Yes,” whispered the creature, in a voice as low and strong as the roar of a river. “And if you do not come with me now, Dr. Lee, I very much regret that will have to kill your friends.”

  Miri spun around to look at Dean, staring into his horrified eyes. He reached for a gun—Koni had his knife—but as the two of them readied their weapons she saw a glow surround them, a heat wave that rippled the air above the men’s heads. Sparks few from their hair. They stopped moving, standing still enough to be frozen, statues.

  “Stop,” Miri said, backing toward the door, still with her gaze locked on Dean. “Stop, please. I’ll go with you.”

  Dean said nothing. His throat worked, his eyes rolling in his head, but not a sound came out. He was paralyzed. Not that she needed to hear him to know he was screaming.

  “But he is not screaming so loud that he cannot hear me,” Bai Shen whispered. “So to you, Mr. Campbell, I thank you. I am taking your advice. I am going to help my father.”

  A hand fastened itself around the back of her neck. She smelled ash, blood. Claws dug into her throat. And then she was pulled backward, away from Dean and his screaming eyes, and the door slammed shut behind her.

  Chapter Eleven

  Miri blacked out, which was something she had thought would never happen to her. Fainting just wasn’t her style. But it was her first sight of the teeth that did it, large and sharp, a set to make a great white shark jealous, and she closed her eyes and fell away into a different place, a room of sand and bone, a platform made of stone upon which she lay. She felt cold and hungry, her heart crying out for another.

  And then she opened her eyes, and the wind was so strong it stole her breath, and she heard a great throbbing beat that entered her chest like some old drum. She squirmed, and whatever was holding her tightened like a vise, and she opened her eyes wider and realized she was staring at a chest. A very broad chest that was extraordinarily soft, with a slightly raised pattern that reminded her of scales.

  A snake. A dragon.

  And then she squirmed some more and glimpsed lights floating below. Many lights. An entire city. Just as though she was flying above it.

  Just as though she … was … flying.

  Miri screamed.

  “Quiet,” said Bai Shen, but Miri was too terrified to listen. She felt herself gathered up even tighter, and then suddenly it was the worst roller-coaster ride of her life as the creature holding her careened downward—almost straight down—toward the city. Like a bomb, a bullet, and Miri squeezed her eyes shut as her heart and stomach and lungs crawled up into her throat, and just when she thought it was time to die, that her poor frail little body could handle no more, the descent leveled out, slowed, like the drop of a feather. Arms released her. Miri cried out again; her legs had no strength. She collapsed on a hard stone surface, tears seeping from her eyes, and clung to the ground like a baby.

  “Here we are,” Bai Shen murmured.

  Miri thought he was talking to her—had words in her throat to use, to scream—when suddenly she heard another voice, deep and soft, and the cold hard pit of her stomach twisted even more.

  “So weak,” said that strange voice. “I cannot imagine what they see in you. I cannot imagine how you draw such interest, except in your relation to the Book.”

  Miri rolled over. It was a mistake.

  The first thing she saw was the tail. It was impossible not to see it first; it was huge, thick, muscular; a searing white that reflected the ambient city light with pearly luminescence. Feathers fluttered along the beast’s curving spine, rising up and up to a muscular torso cut with ridges, arms that were far too long and that ended in claws, and that head—that remarkable face towering over her.

  “Yes,” said the dragon. “Thank you.”

  He can read minds, she realized. And if he could, then perhaps Bai Shen could hear thoughts as well, which explained how he had broken into the safe house and the vault. Though given the alarms that had gone off, he obviously was not all that smooth.

  Miri looked over her shoulder at Bai Shen, who was less dragon now and more man. He stood several feet away, and the expression on his face was uncertain. Afraid, too. She could almost taste it, and knew what a mistake that was for the young man. No fear: That was the only way to survive such things, even when fighting against a parent. Show no fear.

  “Good,” whispered the dragon. “My son, I hope you are listening to her mind. She gives valuable lessons.”

  “I’m not here for lessons,” he snapped. “I brought this woman in the hopes that you would listen to me this time. You, the thing inside my father, you want the Book. Take it! She has the jade, she has herself, which is one half already! Take it and let my father go. Find another host. Please.”

  There was black light in the elder dragon’s eyes, and Miri looked at it for what it was supposed to be. A parasite, a worm. Some force that stole away free will, that killed and killed for power. In other words: evil.

  “Foolish,” whispered the dragon to his son. “There is no offering on this earth, save one, that would convince me to leave this extraordinary body.”
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  Bai Shen shook his head. “Take me instead. Let my father go and take me.”

  The creature undulated across the smooth stone surface toward Bai Shen. Miri tried to sit up, but her body still refused her. She heard a rattling sound; after a moment she realized it was coming from the dragon’s throat. A purr, maybe. Laughter.

  “What a stupid boy. How so very stupid. I would have expected better from the son of Lysander Drakul.”

  “And I would have expected my father to be stronger than some formless, faceless, opportunistic creature,” Bai Shen said grimly. “What a shame that Lysander Drakul was too weak to take care of his own soul, that he was so pathetic that he would invite you in.”

  Miri wanted to tell Bai Shen to rein in the anger. It was painfully obvious how much the thing inside Lysander enjoyed it. Unless, of course, Lysander was more a part of his own actions than anyone realized. Which would make him very bad indeed.

  “Yes, very,” he whispered, swiveling that massive head until he could look at her. Miri matched that golden stare, taking in the threads of black that seemed to send memory shivering down her spine. She fought those thoughts, though—buried them down, and began reciting multiplication tables in her head, dry facts. Lysander bared his teeth.

  “Your job here is done, Bai Shen. You may leave.”

  Bai Shen did not move. He gazed down at Miri, and she could still see the fear, but this time it was mixed with guilt and deep raging sorrow that she could only guess had less to do with her, and everything to do with setting one’s heart on a plan that had proven itself to be The Dumbest Move Alive. Especially for a man who had taken quite a long time espousing the need to protect the very object he was so easily handing over.

  Or maybe he doesn’t truly believe in the power of the jade. Maybe that was just a ploy to ask us about helping his father. He wanted to feel us out.

  Lysander’s body swelled in height. “I said to go. Now.”

  “I don’t believe you would hurt me,” Bai Shen said. “I don’t think my father would let you.”

  “Really?” said the elder dragon, and right then, Miri knew it was over. All she had was instinct, but that was something she had been raised to trust, and she knew. Bai Shen was not going to walk out of this the same young man. If he walked out at all.

  Maybe he heard her thoughts; the younger shape-shifter glanced in her direction, and Miri shook her head, mouthing the word Run.

  But the time for that was gone. Lysander moved—a blur, a silver streak—his clawed fist ramming outward toward Bai Shen’s face with enough force to put a hole in his skull. But at the last moment Miri caught the shift sideways—so fast, so fast—and Bai Shen screamed. She heard a tearing sound, and then the young man’s white skin was suddenly red, and he bent down low over his stomach, clutching the side of his face, gagging.

  Lysander turned to look at Miri. He held an ear and part of a scalp. Long white hair, some of which was stained pink and red, trailed down his scaled wrist. Miri breathed through her mouth—slow and steady, slow and steady. Her heart felt like it was exploding inside her chest.

  And yet, for one fleeting moment she thought she saw something in Lysander’s black-flecked eyes that was so pained, so sorrowful, she forgot her fear, and found herself leaning forward with words on her lips, a simple I see you in there.

  But the moment died so quickly, so completely, she wondered at her imagination. Lysander smiled—a horrible, sharp-toothed smile—and placed the ear inside his mouth. He bit down once, pulled away the scalp with its hair, and dropped it on the ground like so much gristle. He started chewing; the sound was loud and wet. A low hoarse sob tore itself from Bai Shen’s throat; his golden eyes were huge, terrified, filled with the kind of heartbreak that made Miri forget everything she thought she knew about anger and betrayal, and she thought, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry you had to learn the lesson this way. She couldn’t even bring herself to be mad at him for dragging her here.

  Or for leaving her. Which he did, without a single backward glance. One jump, a spread of wings that burst from his body like rays of leather and light. That, at least, irritated her.

  “As well you should be irritated,” Lysander said, staring up at the night sky where his son had disappeared. “He has terrible manners.”

  “I’m sure I can forgive him, given that his ear was torn off and eaten by his father.”

  A crooked smile touched Lysander’s mouth. “Life is never fair.”

  The dragon neared, body coiling and heaving and pushing across the ground like a snake. Again, laughter, a perfume made of ash and blood.

  “You think you can run,” said the shape-shifter, and his voice was gentle, low as the deepest roll of thunder, wild like the distant roar of a powerful river.

  “I think I can try,” Miri said, knowing full well her legs were still too shaky to hold her weight. “I also think you want me alive.”

  “Alive for a time,” said the dragon. “But there is also a time for death. Especially death.”

  Miri forced herself to remain very still. Never run from immortals, she remembered; her favorite line from a favorite movie. Never run.

  “What sensible advice, though I can assure you that the body I possess is no immortal.”

  “But you are,” Miri said, taking a wild guess. “You.”

  Again, Lysander smiled. “Yes, me. Me and no other. Now, you have the jade. Give it to me.”

  Miri still had her purse slung around her chest. Hands shaking, she reached inside for the artifact. It was not there.

  She knew Lysander felt her alarm, but he did not act until Miri was truly panicked. He tore the purse from her body, upending its contents on the ground. Her passport fell out, along with cash and pens and paper—and a little stone heart that clattered to the hard surface.

  But the jade was not there. Lysander stared at her through narrowed eyes, and she knew he was rummaging through her brain. She fought it; again, with math, with triva, with bits and pieces of the flotsam always on the surface of her thoughts. It was not enough.

  “You lost consciousness,” said the dragon slowly. “Plenty of time to have lost other things, as well. I suppose my son was not so naïve as I thought.”

  The dragon leaned close; her chest throbbed for one brief moment as golden light seeped from the creature, gold mixed with a shadow that curled like claws, darker than the night air. Miri instinctively shied away from that black light.

  “Be still,” whispered the dragon.

  Miri did not feel like being still. She reached out on her hands and knees and grabbed her passport, the little heart-shaped rock. She shoved them both in her pockets and then tried again to stand. She managed it, and found herself—with some shock—on the edge of a parapet high above an expanse of very familiar park. Miri looked down and saw wide and carved stone steps trailing away into a large walkway. The stone all around her was pale, almost as white as the dragon.

  Chiang Kai-shek Memorial Hall. She was sitting right on top of it.

  The park below was nearly empty. It was not yet dawn; merely, the quiet time between too late and too early. Miri wondered if anyone had seen Bai Shen and his father land; she could not imagine something so large and white would be easy to miss. In fact, she could not imagine most of the night’s events going unnoticed. The university fire would certainly make the news, as would the loss of the mummies and several key members of the archaeology department.

  “You are right that the news will talk of such things,” remarked the dragon, and Miri found herself pinned to the wall by one large hand. Claws punched through her jacket, grazing her skin. “But there will be no mention of magic, or of otherworldly things. Humans see what they wish, and this is no longer an age of wonder. Miracles pass and no one sees. Great wonders speak and no one listens. Minds and hearts grow small. They shrivel. They become consumed with matters more human than magic, which is dying, which hides. But that could change. And it will. And when it does, oh. What a wondrous thing.�
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  His voice was hypnotic; his eyes lulled. As he spoke, Miri forgot claws, forgot fear, and the darkness, the shadow, did seem sweet. She felt herself drift, and for a moment she thought she would fade away into another place, but then her heart began to burn, the space between her breasts, and she reached out, unthinking, and touched the jade still in the dragon’s hand.

  A spark raced up her arm, a lightning bolt, and the dragon jerked away, whiskers flaring wild, like a cat. Miri crouched, rubbing her hand. Her body tingled. Her mind felt clear, sharp—sharp enough to cut.

  “No,” said the dragon. “What did you do?”

  “Nothing,” she stammered. “You know it’s the truth.”

  “I know it is the truth as you understand it,” he said. “But that is not always the same thing.” The dragon swayed, rocking back and forth on its tail. “They want you so badly,” he whispered. “What does my mate and her servants want from you? So many wily ways, they have. So many. You must be a part of it.”

  Miri fought the dragon’s interrogation, determined not to give him anything. But how could she not answer a question already in her mind? She could refuse to speak, but there was no way to stop knowing an answer. Good thing she had no truth to reveal. She had no clue what he was talking about.

  And then, before she could stop him, the dragon lashed out with his claws and ripped open Miri’s shirt. She grabbed at the cloth, but the dragon held her hands over her head, peering down at her breasts. Closer and closer; Miri squirmed, furious and horrified.

  “Nothing,” he breathed, and pushed his nose against her skin to sniff.

  Miri closed her eyes. “What are you doing?”

  “I am searching for the touch of another,” replied the dragon, “but there is none. You are … human.”

  “You sound disappointed.”

  “I thought I might find a pleasant surprise on your skin. It is the only reason I can think that your life would be so important. My mate is not one to waste resources.”

  “Your mate? Is that … is that who has been ordering those men to come after me?”