My stomach flipped. “Return where?” I asked.
She snorted. “To the beginning, where bones will turn to blood and ashes.”
The words spooked me. Bones, blood, ashes—even if Madam Wang was nothing more than a crazy old zealot, it sounded eerily like a description of my visions.
I stood. “I’d like to go back to my room now.”
“There are people you value. It would be unwise to discuss this with them. The girls will show you back.”
The fear that rose within me at her threat to Dora and the others was so powerful I thought I might throw up.
Madam Wang stood across from me and tugged on her daughter’s hand. Just before they evaporated through the square black doorframe, she turned her cat-eyes back on me one last time.
“Every broken promise exacts a price,” she said.
A chill ran down my back. Madam Wang had most certainly heard the voice, and now she’d disappeared, the clicks of her shoes fading into some obscure inner sanctum. I set my saucer down, trembling. Madam Wang also knew where my father was, of that I was certain.
I wanted to get us all the hell out of China, but it wasn’t that simple. Even if it was possible for me to leave, I couldn’t leave without finding out where the General had gone.
Another servant girl, dressed identically to the first two, materialized and struck the chime. She motioned with her arm for me to follow her out.
“Sister Wintergreen.” Mei Mei’s voice startled me. She was standing in the doorway. Had she heard me?
“Yes?” I turned back to see her head cocked ever-so-slightly in my direction. Her miniature hand rose to her blindfold and slid it up from her face.
There were empty sockets where her eyes should be. Just like in my dream.
I recoiled.
“May your Inner Eye reveal your Inner Truth.”
My stomach churned. The requisite response froze in my throat. I scurried after the servant girl, desperate to see Dora and Adam and even Mercy, to know that they were okay.
The weight of Mei Mei’s empty sockets chased me down the hall.
PET SOUNDS
I burst into our room, my body humming with the unpleasant aftershocks of the vision. I’d tried to dial my father’s emergency cell on my way there, the number I was forbidden to use except in the most dire of circumstances. The one he promised to always answer no matter what.
It went straight to voicemail.
I had no idea how Madam Wang knew what I experienced, what exactly her cryptic statements were threatening, or whether something had actually happened to my father. I had a terrible feeling about it all, and for the first time, the thought of abduction wormed into my head. It would be nearly impossible to kidnap the Patriarch, but then again, there hadn’t been many Watchers around when I visited him the other night in the hotel.
Maybe there’d been some other crisis and my father was pawning us off on the Wangs while he figured out how to handle it. Maybe Madam Wang was just an eccentric in need of a little medication and I’d just had an ill-timed vision. Still, as much as I wanted to rationalize it, it felt like a lot of coincidences.
In the room, Dora was sitting on her bed and Stubin was next to her. Adam and Mercy sat facing them, Mercy’s arm draped casually across Adam’s knee. Even the sharp tug of jealousy couldn’t blunt the ten-ton weight of dread that had settled in my chest. I had to protect them. All of them. And right now that meant acting like everything was normal—there was no way of knowing how serious Madam Wang’s threat about not telling them was, and I wasn’t going to take any risks.
Stubin was talking animatedly about the Beach Boys again, and as usual only Dora looked interested. The predictability of the scene was comforting.
“I mean, Pet Sounds was completely revolutionary. Not only is the layering of vocal harmonies earth-shattering, but the use of classical counterpoint is nothing less than genius.”
“Brian Wilson is a god,” I interjected.
All four of them turned to look at me.
Stubin nodded so vigorously I thought his head might fly off. “Exactly! That’s what I’ve been telling these guys.”
“Where have you been? We’ve been dying of boredom,” Dora said lightly, while the heavy look she gave me asked if I was okay.
I nodded almost imperceptibly. “With Madam Wang.”
“Speak for yourself, Dora. We haven’t been bored.” Mercy’s hand tightened around Adam’s knee.
He looked at me, his leg jiggling nervously. The crease in his brow showed worry. “You shouldn’t have gone by yourself,” he said.
This took me by surprise. I’d expected indifference, but instead it was like he knew something wasn’t right with the Wangs.
“I’m pretty used to being by myself,” I said.
His gaze was unfathomable. He said nothing, his leg bouncing double-time.
Unable to stand the tension, Dora broke in. “Okay, how about you take a quick time-out, right here next to me?” She elbowed Stubin, and they slid over to make room.
I took a deep breath. If it killed me, I had to try to act like everything was relatively normal. Normal for me, at least.
“So what did she want?” Dora asked. “Spill.”
“Nothing, really. Madam Weirdo just wanted to welcome me. Over a cup of ‘Feed me, Seymour’ tea.” I shrugged. I could feel Adam’s stare but refused to meet it.
“Tea is interesting, but you know what’s really interesting? The Beach Boys. Am I right or am I right?” Stubin raised his hand to give Adam a high-five.
Halfheartedly, Adam high-fived him. I sort of loved him for humoring Stubin, even if I officially hated him right now.
Dora raised a brow at me. She knew something was up. I looked down at my shoes. Dora was great at reading my signals—the first moment we were alone she’d be all over me for more info. Adam’s eyes tracked every detail of our interaction.
“Well, I’m not sitting here for another hour. I bet Sacristan Wang has some freaky Chinese water torture boards hidden in one of these rooms.” Mercy slipped her hand into Adam’s. “There’s uncharted territory to be discovered.”
“No!” I cried out.
A grin of triumph slid across Mercy’s face. She thought I was objecting out of jealousy.
“That’s a bad idea. I don’t think the Wangs want us roaming the halls,” Stubin agreed.
Mercy stepped over our legs, Adam reluctantly in tow. “I think we can handle it.”
I looked up and met Adam’s eyes for a split second. His forehead was pinched. “Are you seriously okay?” he asked.
“I appreciate your sudden concern for my welfare, but I’m fine,” I insisted. “Stubin’s right, though. It’s a bad idea to go wandering around.”
Mercy snorted, still assuming I was groveling for attention. If it had to look like I was jealous, then so be it. There were more important things than my pride.
Tugging on Adam’s hand, Mercy sighed impatiently. “Come on, baby.”
Baby. There it was again.
“Don’t go,” I said.
Indecision passed over Adam’s features. I could see him wavering, seesawing between wanting to make sure I was really okay and wanting to stay angry at me for what happened at MegaWatts. A kernel of hope bloomed inside me.
“I need the distraction,” he said, shifting his gaze to the floor.
The bloom wilted. I had to find a way to get back through to him, especially if the situation kept deteriorating.
Adam followed Mercy out the door. I considered jumping up and trying to physically stop them, but I recognized the determined set of Adam’s jaw. There was no stopping him when he wanted something. Just ask Mercy.
It only took a second for Dora to snap into mega distraction mode. “So, did the subject of plastic surgery come up? Madam Wang must hav
e had, like, twenty-eight eye lifts.” She pulled the skin on her face back with the palms of her hand.
“Is their daughter totally blind? She’d be a great poster child for VisionCrest—I bet she’s way in tune with the Inner Eye,” Stubin chimed in.
Dora hit him in the arm. I shivered.
“What? She would be,” he protested.
“Hey, Stubin? Would you mind giving us a few minutes alone?” Dora asked. “I kind of need Harlow for a minute—you know, girl stuff.”
Girl stuff: those magic words sent boys of any age scampering. It was Dora’s weapon of choice.
“Yeah, sure, of course, no problem,” he stammered, his cheeks reddening. “I’ll go burn you a CD of Pet Sounds. It’ll change your life.”
Stubin stumbled to his feet, unable to escape fast enough. He gave Dora an awkward one-armed hug and beelined to the door.
“Later skater,” she shouted after him.
Later skater? I mouthed to her questioningly. She shrugged and got a loopy grin on her face. Man, this was dire.
“All right, sister. Park it and give me the 411.” Dora patted the spot next to her on the bed.
I sat down and buried my face in my hands, then ran them back through my hair.
“Is this charades?” Dora asked. “Wait, don’t tell me—exasperation station?”
“The Wangs’ daughter isn’t just blind. She doesn’t have any eyes at all. Just empty sockets,” I whispered.
“Shut the front door.”
“No kidding. If I tell you more, you can’t repeat any of it. To anyone. Swearsies.”
“Swearsies,” she said.
“I think Madam Wang might be a little mental. She told me I had too much yang and then tried to read my tea leaves.” I wanted to tell her more, but didn’t want to put her in danger.
“Like, Psychic Sue style?” she asked.
“Yeah, exactly.”
Dora chewed on the inside of her cheek. Then she said, “You’re not telling me everything.”
My best friend knew me too well. I didn’t want to lie to her.
“No, I’m not. And I can’t. All I can say is, I’m pretty sure she was threatening me.”
“Why would she do that?”
“I don’t know yet. But I think it has something to do with my father.”
“It is weird that he left us. Wasn’t the whole point for us to be his adorable entourage? Show the entire world that everything is perfectly normal in VisionCrest land?”
I nodded.
Once again, I considered telling Dora everything. The Rite. The voice. The visions. The uncontrollable way I fantasized about digging the sight and the soul out of innocent people, no matter how hard I fought not to. All of it.
Dora gathered me into a hug. The secret stayed locked in its cage and the moment passed.
“It’s the Violet Hour somewhere in the world,” she said. “Do you want to meditate together? It might make you feel better.”
The difference in our beliefs had never come between us, and the fact that it hadn’t spoke volumes. We respected each other and loved each other, no matter what. I thought about her offer, and was surprised to find that it sounded kind of soothing.
“I would love that, actually,” I said.
We got down on our knees and steepled our hands over the beds.
“It’s just not right, D. Us being here, the General leaving, Madam Wang—the whole thing,” I whispered.
“You know what I think? That woman is one microdermabrasion short of a lobotomy, true, but you’re overtired and stressing yourself way too hard lately. You feel me?” Dora put her head up and looked me hard in the eye. “Everything is fine. Swizzle Stick. Say it with me.”
“Everything is fine.”
“And?”
“Swizzle Stick.”
Dora began the humming incantations of the Violet Hour meditation. I wanted to find solace, but I couldn’t quiet my mind. Everything wasn’t Swizzle Stick, and there was a sneaking feeling twisting its way through my guts that we were about to find out just how not Swizzle Stick it really was.
I gasped awake in the middle of the night, an iron fist of panic gripping my heart. The bedroom had an eerie glow. It was silent except for the soft moaning sounds Mercy made in her sleep, as if her conscience awoke in the night to cry for release.
A shuffle sounded outside our door. Every muscle in my body froze in place, as if that might protect me from whatever dark shadow was blocking the light of the door crack.
A palm beat against the door—swap, swap. Someone was out there. And it was as if they knew I was awake; the soft beat was barely audible. I wanted to fake sleep and pretend this wasn’t happening.
Swap. Swap.
Dora’s leg thrashed in her bed and her glasses shmooshed up against the pillow. She was always forgetting to take them off before going to sleep. Other than that, nobody stirred.
What was the worst it could be? Madam Wang offering me more tea? Adam coming to apologize for dropping Mercy off at our room past midnight, her hair messed up and cheeks glowing?
Swap. Swap.
Whoever it was, they weren’t going away. I climbed out of bed and padded softly to the door. Swap.
The thump vibrated through the wood. It hadn’t come from the height where my hand was, I realized. It was much lower. Why would someone bang against the bottom of the—
Mei Mei. It had to be the Wangs’ ghost of a daughter.
I turned the doorknob and heard the soft scrape of feet moving back. There was Mei Mei, looking up at me. Her eye sockets were uncovered and her black hair was a reverse halo over her head. Slipping into the hallway, I let the door click closed behind me.
Mei Mei held her hands out in front of her, silently, like she was reaching for me. There was something unnatural about her movements. Her mouth ticked nervously to the side. The salty scent of childish exertion mixed with the pungent odor of fear.
She began to mumble something, but I couldn’t make out what it was. It sounded like her mouth was full of marbles. I crouched down, coming face-to-face with this little girl who seemed more like a caged and beaten animal than a human being.
“Mei Mei, what is it?” I asked softly.
She raised her finger, thin as a matchstick, and pressed it to the center of my forehead. I flinched, my forehead burning under her touch.
“Help,” she said. The word sounded foreign in her mouth, as if she couldn’t quite form the shape of it.
She was sleepwalking, as if in a trance.
Her finger stayed pressed against my forehead. I was afraid to even breathe, lest I send her scattering to the wind. Whatever she had come to tell me, it was important.
“Help who?” I asked.
She shook her head. I gently grabbed her hand and moved it away from my forehead, clasping it in my own in what I hoped was a gesture of comfort. “Mei Mei. Help what?” I whispered.
Her voice hitched. “Everyone will die.”
It took a monumental effort for her to form these words, as if she were fighting every syllable. Her face went completely still. The two black craters where her eyes should be drilled into me. “She is coming. Bringing death. You see it. The virus.”
A chill deeper than an empty well radiated through me. Mei Mei knew what I had seen. The visions. The boils, the vomiting of blood, the flesh falling from bone. Was it possible everything I’d seen was some grim portent of an impending future?
Mei Mei again struggled to form words, wrestling them out. It seemed she was trying to break out of the trance. What had the Wangs done to her?
“You hear her. Isiris wants you to return. You must fight or all will perish.”
Isiris … the unseen presence Madam Wang had addressed. My heart was a kickdrum in my chest. “Who is Isiris?” I whispered.
; “You are not safe. None of us are.”
I reached out to touch her shoulder. “Mei Mei. I’ll help you. But you have to tell me who Isiris is.”
She darted out from under my touch faster than a minnow, slipping into the pitch-dark hall. I tried to stop her, but she was vapor through my fingers. A far-off echo stirred in another part of the fathomless house. I leaped to my feet, sweating with panic and fear. I slipped back into the bedroom, frightened of what might happen next in the Wang Tea Shop of Terror. My pulse raced.
She is coming. Bringing death.
I leaned back against the door and exhaled, willing my body to slow down. Death. Just like the voice in my visions had promised.
You see it. The virus.
Madam Wang and Mei Mei knew about my visions. They were more than just freakozoidal followers of the Inner Eye. Sacristan Wang was a virologist, with the access and ability to create a bioweapon, but he wasn’t the voice in my head. Madam Wang was threatening, but she wasn’t the voice either. Was Isiris the key? Everything was getting worse.
A terrible momentum was gathering.
I snuck quietly back into the bedroom. My eyes roamed over the sleeping girls. Dora was still as a statue in her bed, completely undisturbed. But when I looked at Mercy, I could see her blue eyes shining, taking me in, evaluating. Making sure I saw her, but making no move to learn what was the matter. Just watching. Like a sentinel. Or a spy. The memory of her sneaking in just hours ago washed over me. All that time, she’d been somewhere in this house with Adam doing who knows what.
I felt ill. I went into the bathroom, flipping on the light and shutting the door behind me. Dark rings around my eyes reflected my own exhaustion back at me in the mirror over the sink.
You must fight or all will perish.
I turned the faucet on and splashed water over my face. When I stood up, my reflection was already there, as if I had never bent down. While I stood there, frozen, it turned and walked out of the open door of the bathroom, reflected behind me. I spun around, frightened. The door was closed. When I looked back at the mirror, it was just me, the closed bathroom door beyond me.
I hurried out of the bathroom and over to my bed, climbing under the covers in a panic. Mercy’s eyes tracked me all the way. She was probably gleeful, plotting the ways she could break the news of yet another weird incident involving Harlow the Freak to Adam. Little did she know how right she was.
The Violet Hour Page 8