by L G Rollins
A deep, distinctly nonaccented voice bellowed across the field. “Hold your fire. You are all under arrest.”
The bullets stopped. Jasper blinked. There was shouting and then men broke off in every direction and ran, the pounding echoing against the ground and up Jasper’s spine.
He lifted his head. Every guard had broken rank and fled. Jasper recognized the constable’s broad shoulders against the starry, night sky. Thank the gears above, Brox had gotten through to him at last. All around them, officers of the crown were taking Leng’s guards and tying up wrists and, in some cases, ankles for good measure.
But . . . hold on. Jasper leapt up to his feet. Where was the ambassador? Jasper searched all the small altercations happening everywhere around him. It was dark, and most forms were on the ground now. But Jasper could have sworn none of them looked like Leng.
Devil take it, Jasper was not leaving until that man was behind bars.
There. Jasper spotted Leng’s retreating form, disappearing behind the old farmhouse. Jasper turned toward the constable and blew a shrill whistle.
The constable turned his way and Jasper pointed toward the house.
Not waiting to see if the officer would follow or not, Jasper broke into a run. Memories of Ju running away from him moments ago filled his mind. She was all right, wasn’t she? After she’d fired her weapon, Ju had folded into the darkness of the night and he hadn’t seen her since. He could only pray now that she had found safety.
Jasper rounded the corner of the house.
A thick pole collided with Jasper’s stomach. He wheezed and toppled onto all fours.
“You scum. You rat of the street,” Leng yelled as he pressed the tip of a rifle into Jasper’s forehead. “You’ll be food for the beast after tonight.”
“Halt!” the constable roared, and then fired.
The bullet hit the shoulder above Leng’s firing arm and he stumbled half a step backward, dropping the rifle.
Jasper sprang forward, catching the man around the waist. They tumbled to the ground. Ambassador Leng fought like a man with training, his one-handed blows hitting Jasper across the forehead and chin.
Leng rolled away and stood.
Jasper’s right eye pulsed with pain and it was beginning to swell, blocking what he could see out of his periphery of that eye. Blood trailed down his mouth. Leng lifted a leg to kick Jasper, but he rolled up onto his knees and stood before the blow could land.
Though he’d never had formal training, Jasper had learned his fighting on the streets of London. Rushing forward, Jasper wrapped one arm around Leng’s collarbone and pressed a palm against the ambassador’s injured shoulder.
Leng screamed and struggled out of his grasp. Jasper pressed forward, landing a fist in the man’s stomach. Leng slumped to one knee.
Jasper moved up closer and raised a fist.
“Stand down, both of you!” The constable had finally closed the distance to them. Only a pace away, he raised his rifle and aimed it at the ambassador.
Jasper lifted both his hands up and backed away two steps. “He’s all yours, Constable.”
Leng didn’t make to run but scowled at Jasper. “It won’t work. You’ve taken your plea to every judge in town twice already. None of them cared then, none of them will care now.”
“Oh, you know that do you?” the constable said, cautiously moving forward. “Well then, did you hear about what happened tonight?”
Leng paused, his attention moving away from Jasper for once and toward the officer behind him.
“Strangest thing,” the constable continued. “But there was this unexpected art gallery being held downtown. Word spread fast and nearly every head of Lords wanted to be there. I heard it was quite a heart-moving display of the struggles and beauty one finds in a little-known place called Chinatown. More than that, though, there were several disturbing documents amidst the art pieces. Something about werewolves being made into weapons.”
Jasper crouched low so that he was eye to eye with Leng. “You know, ambassador,” he said. “One of the things I love most about art is its ability to communicate without me having to be there to explain.”
The ambassador swore far more eloquently than Jasper had ever heard any visiting dignitary do. Not that he’d heard many.
“It’s over, Leng,” Jasper said, rocking back slightly on his heels.
“Only for you,” Leng hissed. Lunging forward, Leng brought his fist up toward Jasper’s stomach.
Instinct born of a life on the streets kicked in and Jasper twisted to the side. Sharp, mind-ripping pain exploded across his middle. Jasper tried to draw in breath, but his lungs refused to expand.
The constable grabbed Leng from behind and pulled him away. Leng’s hand drew away from Jasper’s body, covered in blood, and holding the handle of a long, glinting blade.
Jasper wrapped one hand around his stomach, and then the other. His knees collapsed beneath him.
The constable yelled something, then waved his arms frantically. Jasper felt the world around him tip and sway.
The ground was cold where Jasper landed. Someone called his name and then rolled him over onto his back.
Ju’s lovely face hovered above his own. Was she all right? She seemed all right, if a bit teary eyed.
“Are you injured?” he sputtered, then coughed. Gads, but coughing hurt.
Ju shook her head. Her hands wrapped around his face. Jasper was fairly sure this wasn’t how he was going to die—but, then again, did one ever think that one was truly facing the end?
Jasper blinked. The sky and Ju’s dark hair seemed to blur one into another. Another set of hands, larger than Ju’s pressed up against his stomach. Jasper sucked in a breath between clenched teeth.
“He’s losing so much blood.” That was Ju. Jasper was mostly sure that was Ju.
The pressure on his stomach didn’t ease.
“We’ll bandage it and get him to the hospital. He’ll pull through. The knife didn’t hit anything vital.”
Not vital? It was painful enough to feel extremely vital. In fact, Jasper was fairly certain his entire midsection was vital.
He was having a hard time piecing together who was trying to convince him he was going to be just fine. Then Brox’s face appeared next to Ju’s.
“You did it, old chum.”
Brox. Of course it was Brox. He should have known that. “Got myself in a pickle, you mean,” Jasper said. Though he had to admit Jasper also no longer felt like he might pass out. Whatever bandage Brox was wrapping around his middle must be staunching the blood.
Brox shook his head. “You’re going to be just fine. Trust me. After working at Westwood all these years, I know a deadly injury when I see one. That, my friend”—he pointed at Jasper’s midsection—“is not one of them.”
Relief swept through Jasper. He couldn’t see the injury himself but it was blessed news to know it wasn’t as deep as it felt.
“Don’t say that so loud, Brox,” Jasper protested with a shake of his head. “Ju might think you’re serious and leave me to fend for myself with some old doctor.”
Ju swatted his shoulder. “Don’t joke about this.” Her voice caught. “When I saw him . . . I couldn’t get here fast enough.” She pulled in a long breath. “I was so scared.”
Jasper wrapped a hand around hers. “I know. I was scared out of my mind when Leng took you.”
She smiled—a small, teary-eyed smile—as her thumb stroked his cheek. “But he’s gone for good, now, right?”
“What do you say, Brox?” Jasper asked. “Is old blackguard Leng done for?”
“I’ll say he is. I spoke with more than one judge tonight who, after seeing your gallery, are quite anxious to prosecute. It all worked just the way you said it would. Though I think you’re in pretty hot water with Mrs. Hedgecock.”
Jasper squeezed Ju’s hand. “Don’t worry. I’ll charm my way out of it.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
“Ju, I cannot express
how sorry I am.” Dapo coughed and leaned back further in the hospital bed.
Ju patted his shoulder. “You should have just told me or Jasper that Leng had taken Shuang.”
“I know.” He paused, looking up, instead of at her. “They took her right in front of my eyes then held a gun to me until I got you. After that . . .”
“You still could have said something to Jasper after Leng sent you to spy on him.”
“I didn’t know if I could trust him or not.” He shook his head, rocking it back and forth across his pillow. “They had Shuang.”
Though Ju didn’t in any way agree with how Dapo had handled the situation Leng put him in, she could sympathize. The fear that had seized her when she saw Mama tied up and in Leng’s grasp—well, she would never forget it.
She smiled at him. “I know no one more trustworthy than Jasper,” Ju stated emphatically.
“I’m so sorry,” Dapo said again.
A nurse strolled down the long room toward Dapo’s bed. She had a tray with a thermometer and a small bottle and spoon.
“It’s time for some more medicine,” she announced quite cheerfully to Dapo.
While Leng had proclaimed that Dapo and Shuang were well and safe for giving him the BLUE formula, the constable had found the two, beaten and shot a few hours before sunrise. It was a miracle they had both survived.
Ju gave his hand a squeeze. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” While the nurse fussed over Dapo, Ju strolled past Shuang’s bed and gave her a quick wave before leaving the hospital all together.
“My flower. My flower.”
Ju heard her Mama’s call the minute she stepped out onto the pavement.
Mama came hurrying up to her. “There’s a man to see you. At Wei shu’s. I think he’s from Ginevra’s.”
Master Chandler. With first Jasper, and shortly after, Dapo and Shuang being admitted into the hospital, then the days afterward full of checking on them all and working closely with Brox to finalize their case against Leng, Ju hadn’t had time to stop by Ginevra’s to see if the results had been posted.
Mama patted Ju’s shoulder. “He insisted on waiting for you.”
That had to be a good sign, right? Master Chandler would not likely wait around to give her bad news. “We best not keep him waiting any longer.”
They hurried over to Chinatown’s only dance school. Ju opened the door and found Wei shu directing a class of fourteen and fifteen-year-olds across the stage. Master Chandler stood near the back of the room, arms folded, watching silently. This was it—for better or worse. Either she was in or she was waiting another twelve months before auditioning again. Either way, Ju was about to find out a big piece of her future.
Ju took a step toward the man, then paused. Turning, she faced Mama once more. She took both of Mama’s hands in her own.
“What you doing?” Mama said, a tinge of alarm in her words. “Hurry and speak to him.”
“Mama,” Ju said. “No matter if I get into Ginevra’s or not, I need to say something first.”
Mama remained silent, letting her speak, though the want for Ju to rush didn’t leave her eyes.
“Thank you,” Ju said. “Thank you for saving me from Leng all those years ago and for keeping me safe since then. And, I’m sorry. I’m sorry I didn’t treat you better or cherish our Chinese heritage more.”
Mama pulled one of her hands out from Ju’s and rested it against Ju’s cheek. “Oh, my flower. I have only ever wanted you to be safe and happy.”
“Just like your Mama only ever wanted that for you. And her Mama before that.”
Mama smiled. “You read the books.”
Ju nodded. “Thank you for those.”
“You know that last one isn’t full yet. There are a few pages for you to add your own story.”
“It would be an honor, Mama.” Ju reached her arms out and hugged Mama close.
For a moment they held each other. Then, Mama pulled back and gave her a gentle push. “Don’t keep the man waiting too long.” Her voice, though, was thick and Ju could see tears in her eyes.
Ju gave her a quick kiss on the cheek and then moved toward the other side of the room.
“Master Chandler,” Ju said as she hurried over to him. “My apologies for not being here. I did not know to expect a visit.”
He held up a hand. “Don’t worry. The list was only posted this morning and . . .” His gaze flitted over to Wei shu for a moment then back to her. “Well, since I wasn’t sure when you might be coming in to check, I decided to come tell you myself. Since we’re mid-season already, acceptance is based on you showing up to class tomorrow.”
“You mean, I got in?” She had hoped as much. She had prayed for as much. But she’d never assumed the answer would be yes.
“Yes,” Master Chandler said with a broad smile. “Miss Zhi, Ginevra’s would be pleased if you would join our troupe.”
“Thank you. Yes! I absolutely would be honored to train with you.”
“Then it’s settled. You will be expected tomorrow morning at seven o’clock.”
Across the room, Wei shu clapped her hands loudly and ordered her students to try again. Ju looked from her, back to Master Chandler to find his gaze lingering on her teacher.
“Perhaps now would be a good time for me to introduce you to Wei shu?” Ju offered. “That is, if you have a few more minutes.” She knew she had already kept him waiting for quite some time.
“I would like that very much. Thank you.”
Together they walked toward the stage, Ju thinking how thankful she was that he had taken the time to come to the dance school for her. Gracious, when would she have gone to Ginevra’s to check and see if she had made it in? Ju wasn’t sure. With all that had happened, it might not be for another week or so and by then the opportunity would have come and gone.
Wei shu saw them approaching her and ordered her students to practice the tumble-twist move they were endeavoring to learn ten more times each. The girls all groaned, their faces falling. Wei shu stepped gently off the stage and up to Ju.
“Wei shu,” Ju said. “May I make you known to Master Chandler, the Premier Maître de ballet en Chef at Ginevra’s. Master Chandler, this is Wei shu, my esteemed dance instructor and a very, dear friend.”
***
Jasper leaned a shoulder against the door frame, content to watch as Ju knelt down beside Mrs. Zhi just outside the front door of his townhouse. With a thin match, Ju lit the tiny pile of paper flowers in front of her on fire. Gads, but she was beautiful. Both she and her mother wore the traditional, straight-skirt oriental dresses, the name of which he could never seem to remember. Ju’s hair was pulled up high on her head and Mrs. Zhi had insisted on placing several, small pink flowers in it.
Jasper’s side tickled and he rubbed hard against the bandages underneath his shirt. He was at that most annoying stage of healing when the scar itched like the devil.
“Stop that,” Ju whispered out of the corner of her mouth. “You’ll open the wound. Again.”
“It only opened that once because the doctor had put the stitches in so poorly to begin with.” Idiot doctor had been more intent on watching Ju than he had been on watching the stitches he was sewing into Jasper’s skin. When all was said and done, Jasper had debated for a solid two minutes weather to pay the man or punch him instead.
“Unless you want him putting in more poorly placed stitches, stop rubbing so hard.”
“I’ll stop rubbing when they stop itching.”
“Hush, both of you,” Mrs. Zhi said, her eyes still shut. “This is a moment to honor Ju’s father, not for arguing over stitches.”
“How about we get into stitches over an argument?” Jasper quipped. “Would that be more suitable?”
“Your arguments always needs stitches,” Ju said, turning to him fully this time. “There are the largest holes in them.”
“A-oh.” Jasper stood up straighter. “That’s how you want to tango?”
Ju’s forehead d
ropped. “What’s a tango?”
“Think of it as a poor man’s waltz.”
Her eyes widened. “It’s a dance? Well, then I’ll most assuredly beat you at that, too.”
“Please,” Mrs. Zhi said, her voice strained but her eyes full of mirth. “This is supposed to be a sacred moment. Jasper, don’t you have a new gallery to fill with art?”
“Sorry,” both Jasper and Ju said at once. Truth was, Jasper did have many pieces needing seeing to. Putting the Ambassador of China behind bars had gained Jasper some notoriety. Mrs. Hedgecock was eagerly grabbing his newfound popularity by the horns. But Jasper was only eager to sit back and enjoy life with Ju.
“Don’t stop them,” a new, deep voice said from behind. “They remind me of us.”
Jasper recognized the voice immediately but knew neither of the women would. Ju and her mother turned, looking out toward the street where the newcomer stood.
Ju’s brow stayed creased with uncertainty, but Mrs. Zhi’s hands flew to her mouth, her eyes growing wide. She muttered something in Chinese and slowly stood.
Mr. Zhi, glowing blue as always, stood with his hands hidden in the wide sleeves of his shirt. It was the way he always stood, except, this time the man was smiling. That was something Jasper had never seen before.
Mrs. Zhi hurried down the small path and threw her arms around her husband, speaking rapid Chinese the whole time. Her arms did not pass through him, as Jasper expected them to. Then again, it seemed Mr. Zhi could be solid when he so chose. Mr. Zhi responded in the quick clip of the Chinese language. Perhaps it was time Jasper learned Chinese. These people weren’t leaving his life any time soon, if he could help it.
Ju stood up next to Jasper. “Is that a ghost?”
Jasper looped her arm through his. “Yes, my love, it is.”
Mrs. Zhi turned back to him and Ju and waved her daughter forward. Jasper stayed by Ju’s side as they moved down the walkway.
“Ju, dear,” Mrs. Zhi said. “This is Ju-long Zhi, your father.”
Ju’s intake of breath was audible and her hand flew up to her mouth; she must have learned that from her mother. They looked so much the same whenever either one of them did it.
