Swallowing, she tasted bitterness in her dry mouth. Across from her, Ken Jin was drawing on his trousers, a dark stain in front. His movements were jerky, as if he suppressed great anger, but she had no ability to understand his frustration.
So what if his pants were wet? Her brother was dead!
The thought spurred her to action. She sprang from the floor and ran out the door—or so she intended. Except, when next she focused her distraught mind on her surroundings, she realized she'd done no more than lift her head.
"Ken Jin..." she rasped.
His head snapped up. "You are awake."
She tried to speak. Her brother was dead. She'd seen him in Heaven as an angel, which meant he was dead here on Earth. She couldn't form the words. Instead, she felt tears slip from her eyes and trail into her hair. Her brother was dead.
"William," she finally managed. As she spoke, a great anger welled up inside her. Her brother was dead. She would not lie naked in the gardener's shed when she should be with her family. Her mother would need her. Her father would have to be found. And William... sweet William. Charlotte swallowed and grabbed hold of her fury. It warmed her and stiffened her spine. It gave her the power to roll onto her side and try to push herself upright.
"You should not move so soon after ascending," Ken Jin said, his voice tight.
"William's dead," she rasped. "I must go."
He put his hands on her shoulders. She tried to draw away from him; the last thing she needed was more weight, more resistance to plow through. But strangely, his hands did not hold her back. If anything, they seemed to ground her so that she could coordinate herself. She no longer moved a finger here, an elbow there, but her entire body with direction and purpose. She straightened her arms and lifted her head.
He meant to stop her. She could see it in his eyes, but he must have recognized her determination. He ended up helping her—to a point. He supported her until she sat upright on the floor, her legs spread and the blanket pooling at her waist. His grip had shifted to her upper arms as she moved, but now he released her and dropped back onto his heels. He crouched before her.
"Tell me what happened."
She had not stopped crying. Her face was wet, her eyes felt swollen, and her lips were thick and hot. She raised a hand to push the hair from her eyes, only to stare in stupefied shock at her arm. It was bare.
Well, of course it was bare! She was completely naked except for the blanket, and that could hardly be deemed clothing.
"I must get dressed," she managed. "Where are my clothes?" They were right beside her, easily within reach, but she could only glare at them while grief dragged at her thoughts.
"Charlotte..."
"Oh, sweet William," she whispered; and then fresh tears burned in her eyes. "I must go. Mother will need me."
"William is fine. He is sleeping."
She shook her head. It wobbled and felt five times too large.
"He is sleeping," Ken Jin repeated. Then he huffed with obvious frustration as he crawled to the loose board in the wall and dragged it to one side so she could see more clearly. "The house is dark. William sleeps."
"No," she whispered. "They don't know yet. He's d—" She couldn't say the word, but she would have to now. She would have to tell everyone. "He's dead."
"No, Miss Charlotte—"
"Damn it, Ken Jin, he's gone!" Then the reality of what she'd just bellowed hit her, and she all but collapsed into herself. Her hand flew to her mouth and she curled into her knees in an effort to stop the sobs. It didn't work, of course, and she ended up breathing wet wool as she gasped and strained for control.
She didn't know how long she stayed there, wrapped around her knees, but in time consciousness returned. It came in the form of a large hand that rested upon her back. Ken Jin, his hands gentle, quietly touched her. It was no attempt at a sexual caress, or even to gain her attention; he merely placed his hand upon her back and waited. In truth, it was very servantlike, a quiet presence available if needed, ignorable if unwanted.
Except Charlotte found she didn't want a servant just then. She wanted a person—a man, to be exact. She wanted Ken Jin. Without questioning the urge, she turned into his arms. He had no choice but to hold her. She knew that; and yet, this was her first real warmth since returning from... the other place. She relished it, especially as his hands found her back and she was enfolded in his arms.
"Tell me what you experienced," he said into her hair.
"William. Dead." She spoke into his shirt, only now noticing that the starch had long since wilted. What she felt was a fine, soft linen that was rapidly becoming sodden from her tears.
"You saw his body?"
"No." She felt renewed awe slip into her consciousness, but only barely. There was still too much grief to leave room for much else.
"Then what?" he pressed.
"An angel." She swallowed and forced herself to explain. "I saw William as an angel. I was in Heaven." She looked up, knowing how crazy she sounded, but she knew it was true. "I was in Heaven, and I spoke with my brother's spirit. I was brought there to speak to my brother one last time."
He did not answer, and she felt her grief overwhelm her once again. "Let us go see," he said.
She nodded. She would dress; then she would see to her family's needs.
Thankfully, Ken Jin helped her. She was still a little weak, and she wanted to appear excruciatingly correct. It wasn't guilt over what she'd been doing; this was out of respect for her brother. The least she could do when she found his body was to appear like a proper sister and not a tavern wench. Once she felt more composed, Ken Jin restored the room to order and together they walked silently through the back garden to the house, then up the servant staircase to the nursery. But then, she couldn't make herself step through the door.
"A Tigress only hides when stalking," Ken Jin murmured in her ear. "You are an Immor—" He swallowed, cutting himself off. "You have gone far, Miss Charlotte, further than anyone I know after a single night. Shall you abandon that? Shall you forsake the Tigress to once again become a rabbit?"
She turned to him, her heart beating painfully in her throat. "I've never understood half of what you say."
"And the other half?" he challenged. "What of the part you do comprehend?"
Charlotte sighed and put her hand against the nursery door. "That half is scary, Ken Jin." Then she pushed inside.
A maid sat dozing in a chair near a fire. The coals gave an infernal glow to the room, painting everything in tones of red and black. As Charlotte entered, the girl started, then rose quickly to her feet. Charlotte shook her head and gestured for her to remain seated. There would be plenty to do soon enough.
Her heart began to race as she walked to William's bedroom. Even through the doorway, she could see the dark lump of his body, still in death. Odd, how it took little effort for her to cross into his room, to kneel beside his bed, and to stroke his cooling brow. He was her brother, and she loved him. Indeed, she felt lost without him. What would she do with her days if not care for him? What would she do with her thoughts if not spend them in the endless search for ways to instruct him?
He stirred beneath her fingers. His eyes fluttered open to stare in bleary irritation. "Chary?" he asked.
She gasped, surprised enough to fall backward onto her bottom.
Her brother pushed up and rubbed his eyes. When he was finished with that, he scratched his groin and stared at her. She stared back, unable to reconcile her memory of William's angel with William alive in his bed. Had she been mistaken? But she had been so certain.
Huffing with the effort, her brother climbed out bed, dragging his blanket with him. He dropped down on his knees beside her and plopped his head in her lap, just as he'd done as a small boy. He snuggled close to her. He shifted and fidgeted until finally she did what he wanted; she wrapped her arms around him and dropped her chin on his forehead. The words came by rote, not because she willed them but because this was what she alway
s said.
"Sweet dreams, sweet William. Sweet dreams, my sweet."
He smiled, though his eyes were closed. Moments later, his breathing had steadied and deepened. He was asleep. And he was alive.
She didn't understand. She'd seen his angel. She'd touched it. And yet... She looked up at Ken Jin. "He's alive."
"Yes."
"But I saw... I..." She straightened. "It wasn't a dream, Ken Jin. It was real. It felt so real..." Her voice trailed away as she looked down at her brother.
"I will go make some tea, Miss Charlotte," he said softly. "And when it is ready, I will return to help lift him back to bed. And then..." He paused until she looked up at him. His expression was firm as any tutor's to his student. "You will tell me everything that happened."
She nodded. What else could she do? Especially as William was so obviously warm and happy and very, very much alive in her lap.
* * *
Ken Jin despised English tea. It was a sterile brew with water strained through leaves and kept separate, as if knowing the source of one's food was terrible. In truth, it was very English in that every aspect was held apart from the others with no thought to the whole. Did they not realize that qi infused the leaves and therefore the water, but only when kept inside the teacup? Did they not know that a hint of flower or citrus, of ginger root or ginseng, brought body to the tea leaves and wholeness to the taste?
Of course not. They were barbarians, and they knew nothing of such things. But Ken Jin did, and yet he chose day after day, at all hours, to drink English tea. Why? Had he indeed become what his mother accused? Was he more barbarian than Han, more English than Chinese? Or was his fate more subtle than that? Was he doomed to spill all his skills upon the whites?
His family called him ill fortune; and yet whatever he touched for his white employers turned to gold. His Chinese lovers despised him, and yet white ladies sang his praises. Now, most damning of all, a white girl had taken his yang—carefully purified and stored—and with it, she had gone to Heaven. He had remained behind on the dirty shed floor.
How he hated his life! How he despised what he had become! And yet, what could he change? Would he choose Chinese poverty over English wealth? Would he want Chinese impotence over English debauchery?
No, a thousand times no! And yes, a thousand times yes.
His heart ached to be Chinese, but basic survival required him to be English. Was there no place he could simply be himself, neither Chinese nor white, neither rich nor poor, neither impotent nor debauched?
The answer was clear, as always. He longed for Heaven, where all souls were equal, where Immortals were revered. He strove for a fulfillment that could only be reached by the perfect combination of purified yin and yang. The Celestial Real was his destination, immortality his goal.
Except, Charlotte had just taken his yang. She had used it to go to Heaven in his place, and all his dedicated study for the last decade had led to nothing. She was launched; he was bereft. And now he had to go lift and carry her brother just as he fixed her tea and made her father money. He was a prop to the whites, his only power in servicing them.
Looking down at his still-wet pants in disgust, he resolved to burn them. He could ill afford to lose his best trousers, but he knew he'd never be able to look at them again without remembering his shame, without knowing he had accidentally poured years of refined energy into a white girl.
Abruptly pushing through the kitchen door, he abandoned the heating water in his haste to tear off his clothing. Moments later, he rushed back, this time in dry clothing, finished preparing the tea, and then climbed the stairs to assist Miss Charlotte. If fortune decreed he was nothing but a white man's aide, he would be the best aide the world over. Some piece of that fortune would eventually spill back to him and flow to his family. If nothing else, it would buy him a wife and put his name back on the family altar.
His knees creaked as he climbed the stairs. Indeed, a great deal of his body felt cold and stiff as he assisted with the large boy. It was the loss of yang, he knew, and he had trouble keeping his anger tucked away. But in the end, he did as he had to. The boy was settled, the tea was finished, and Miss Charlotte was seated before him at the downstairs dining table.
He stood beside her, his feet numb from the day's labors, while he watched her sip the tea he'd made. He knew she would talk. She often spoke to her servants as one would a family pet. Indeed, the maids gossiped that with Joanna away, Charlotte confessed her thoughts and feelings to the plant in her bedroom. All Ken Jin needed to do was become as still as her fern, and eventually he would hear all.
True enough, after a moment she blinked, glanced up at him, and spoke. "Sit down, Ken Jin, you're glaring."
He bowed slightly, using the opportunity to smooth out his expression. "My apologies, Miss Charlotte."
She stared at him, then frowned as he refilled her teacup. "Where's yours?"
He returned the pot to the sideboard. "My what, Miss Charlotte?"
"Your teacup," she snapped. Then she abruptly dug the heels of her hands into her eyes. "Lord, I'm tired. How do you do it, Ken Jin? You've been working all day and still you look..." She lifted a palm off her face to wave at him without actually seeing. "Like you."
He didn't know how to answer. She wasn't sounding at all like herself. But then, he supposed, that was only to be expected. After all, she had ascended to the Immortal Realm this day.
She abruptly lifted her head and frowned at him. "Ken Jin?"
He bowed. "Miss?"
"Talk with me."
He frowned, thinking back to her previous question. "I changed my clothes. The others were soiled."
She blinked, uncomprehending, so he explained further.
"That is how I look... like me."
She rolled her eyes. "Sit down. Get some tea. Talk with me."
He hesitated, uncertain how to proceed. "You are the one who needs to talk, Miss Charlotte. You must explain what happened."
She glared at him. "I know, but I'm not going to do it to a damned servant. Sit down. Get some tea. Lord," she moaned, "I wish Joanna was here."
He felt awkward settling into a chair across the table from her. Indeed, he had the strongest urge to deny her request and stand against the wall like a plant. But Miss Charlotte had always known her own mind, so if she thought she could talk better to a seated person, then he would sit.
He perched on the edge of the seat, his legs an even distance apart, his hands folded neatly before him. It was a pose he had often disdained as a boy, and now here he was—a full-grown man and a jade Dragon—perched like a child before a girl. Except, of course, Charlotte wasn't a girl. Barbarian or not, she was an ascended Immortal.
"Tell me what happened, Miss Charlotte," he said, his voice a whisper.
She raised her eyes to his, and he saw the sheen of tears sparkling there. "I don't know what happened, Ken Jin. I don't understand any of it. What did you see?"
"Nothing."
She blinked. "Nothing?"
He looked down and saw that his fingertips were white where his hands clenched. "You were ascending. I know that. I felt it." He would never forget that outrush of power. "Then... you left."
Her head tilted sideways, even as her whole body strained toward him. "Left?" she asked.
"Your body was still, your eyes closed. You appeared to be sleeping, but so deeply that I knew your spirit was not within your body."
"Like I was dead."
He studied her. She was not looking at him anymore. Her gaze was trained on her right index finger as she traced the tiny handle of her English-style teacup.
"You were not dead. Your spirit was visiting the Immortal realm." His voice was rough and exhaustion pulled at him. Even his skin felt heavy. So he abruptly matched her position. He leaned forward, put both hands down on the white tablecloth, and peered into her haunted blue eyes. "What did you feel?"
"Light. As if I was filled with sunlight, and yet I was in a dark place. But it w
asn't scary; it was beautiful. And there were other lights moving."
"The Chamber of a Thousand Swinging Lanterns. It is the antechamber to Heaven. It is immortal, holy, but only the beginning."
Her gaze leapt to his face. "There is more?"
"There is always more. You did not go farther? To a temple? A garden?" He tried to think of all the texts he had studied, all the descriptions of the Celestial Realm that were written down through the ages.
She shook her head. "There was nothing like that. Just the darkness and the swinging lights. One of them was William."
He studied her face. She appeared stunned and confused, but also radiant with the trailing ribbons of glory. When she spoke of her experience, he felt her power rise. Her skin flushed, her eyes sparkled, and his own body tingled just from being near her. Indeed, he wanted to draw back, to settle his hands into his lap again, but he could not bear to leave her energy. Her qi was so strong that his palms actually itched. He had to keep her talking. He had to see how much power she still held, but he dared not touch her for fear that she would draw out the last of his yang.
"I went closer to one of the swinging lights. I don't know how; I just did. And as I reached it, I knew it was William. His spirit. And he was so..." Her voice broke and she could not continue.
He could see that she fought tears, and he could not understand why. "He was a shining light?"
"He was normal." She bit her lip as if she fought her words, but they came out anyway. "He was smart and handsome and mature and... so perfect."
He frowned. "Are you sure—"
"It was William!"
He looked back down at his hands. Her power was buffeting him, pulsing against his fingers with a heat that warmed this cold, dark room. Then it faded, and he was left with the faint echo of a tingle that carried no heat.
"He wanted to talk to me. He had something to say." She sighed. "But I thought he was an angel. Which meant..."
"That William was dead?"
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