Stolen Bloodline

by L G Rollins

  “Tomorrow?” Tom called up again.

  Though the note in his hand weighed next to nothing, Jasper could feel it against his palm as though it was a brick. He shook his head. “Probably not.” He had far bigger problems to deal with right now.

  Tom nodded his understanding, placed the pole against his shoulder and turned to leave. With one hand deep in his hole-ridden pocket, Tom dragged his feet down the path toward the small river not far away.

  Jasper was fond of Tom, had been since he helped rescue the lad from a vampire, but sometimes he just couldn’t understand the little boy. Why act so glum when he’d just evaded class and was on his way toward a sunny day of fishing?

  Jasper sighed. If only his own problems were so small. He looked back down at the note in his hand.

  There was no signature. No way to prove this had come from the ambassador. Which left Jasper with no way to fight back. His lips clenched into a tight line as his frustration boiled over into anger. Jasper swore and slammed his window shut. It closed with a bang, snapping off the head of the thin nail which had held the letter in place.

  He was not going to do anything for that low-life, that pompous peacock, that bully and—

  Jasper all but stomped his foot in anger. Did the neighbors really have to cook their breakfast so? The smell was driving him to hunger. In his current state, it only made him more furious. Jasper tore up the small missive then cursed more as he moved to his bedchamber door and threw it open, intent on stomping loudly all the way downstairs and into his own, cold kitchen.

  The smell of sizzling meat slapped him. That wasn’t his neighbors cooking—Jasper froze in the doorway—someone was in his townhouse. He could hear the clanking of pots and, if he wasn’t mistaken, humming.

  Jasper pulled himself back into his bedchamber and silently shut the door. The ambassador was back it would seem and . . . cooking him breakfast? That Jasper simply could not reconcile with the little he knew of the brutish man. Granted, Jasper’s aim had been to prove to the ambassador that bullying him was not going to get the man the results he wanted. But would the ambassador give up bullying so easily? The note did seem to hint that Ambassador Leng had decided to change tactics and try wooing Jasper with promises of riches and fame.

  Perhaps Ambassador Leng had hired Jasper a cook? Kind of a payment in advance? Blast, that didn’t make sense either.

  Well, whoever it was down in his kitchen was unwelcome. And making him excessively hungry.

  Jasper reached for the breeches he’d draped over a chair last night—to find only a chair. Where were his breeches? He moved to his armoire. Where were his things? Only a single set of clothes remained. Jasper pulled them on quickly, then wrapped his favorite strip of leather around his dreadlocks to keep them out of his way. Whatever was happening in his townhouse, he wasn’t going to be bamboozled into working for anyone.

  Threats or no. Riches or no.

  He slipped down the stairs quietly, being sure to step on each tread as close to the wall as possible to minimize any squeaking. Yes, someone was in his kitchen, cooking and singing to themselves. The voice was clearly feminine, and not young. Jasper peered around the kitchen door. The first thing he saw was a jade clasp against black hair.

  He pushed the door fully open and walked in. “You,” he said not bothering to keep the accusation from his tone. “You’re working for that jack-a-napes?”

  The little woman who’d knocked on his door only a couple of days ago turned, placed her palms together, and bowed over them. “I only work for you.”

  The fire was blazing and the smell of well-prepared food made Jasper’s stomach growl. There was a vat pushed back into the corner with soapy water to the brim. The tips of Jasper’s shirts, breeches, and unmentionables bobbled up and down inside. That blasted ambassador had hired him a cook-and-clean. It struck Jasper as a very odd tactic, but, nonetheless, one Jasper was not going to tolerate.

  “You, out, now.” Jasper pointed at the little Asian woman and then at his back door.

  She smiled sweetly and turned back to a pan of deliciously smelling meat. “You need help. I need work. The ancestors said we would be a good match.” She flipped the meat—it was brown and crispy on one side.

  Jasper’s stomach also flipped—one hard-to-overlook disadvantage of firing one’s cook was one had to cook all their own meals. Jasper was a terrible cook.

  “I don’t care about your ancestors or anyone else’s, including my own”—of whom he knew absolutely nothing about, having been an orphan—“you are leaving now. And you can tell the ambassador I meant what I said last night about him and the devil.”

  She glanced at Jasper over her shoulder. “I know no ambassador.” She bent low over the derelict cast iron stove. Opening one of the doors—which protested with a shrill squeak—the little woman pulled out a plate of perfectly toasted bread.

  Jasper opened his mouth to demand, yet again, that she leave, but paused. Her look, the glint in her eyes. She seemed to be telling the truth. Jasper had spoken with enough liars in his life that he could usually tell when someone was truthful. Everything about this woman seemed open and honest.

  She held up a plate of warm food. “You prefer to eat here? Or in dining hall?”

  Jasper twisted his lips to the side. He didn’t trust the little woman, but he didn’t feel he should throw her out on her ear either. Moreover, the smell of a decent morning meal was all encompassing and nigh on driving every rational thought from his brain. How could a man be responsible for thinking straight when his stomach was empty and some of the best food he’d smelled in over a month was beckoning to him from that small, beguiling plate? Perhaps bribing him with a cook-and-clean was a far better tactic than he’d originally thought.

  “Here.” Jasper pointed to the small kitchen table. It was meant only for servants to use while taking their meals, but Jasper wanted to be where he could keep an eye on the woman.

  She placed the plate down and bowed low, shuffling backward and away from the table. Jasper sat and picked up his fork. The food didn’t look poisoned, not that he believed the ambassador to be such a fool as to make any poison he wished to administer blatantly obvious to the intended victim. Moreover, if the ambassador had wanted him dead, he would have just slit his throat last night. No point in sending the little woman the next morning to do it.

  Jasper stirred the eggs across his plate and cut up the ham, but didn’t lift any to his mouth. Could it just be a coincidence? This woman demanding he give her a job the morning after Ambassador Leng broke into his home and demanded he sneak images for him? It felt rather connected.

  “Eating works better when you put food in your mouth, sir.” The little woman smiled again.

  Jasper didn’t have any proof that this woman was working for the ambassador, and just assuming as much because they both happened to be Chinese seemed naive and presumptuous.

  “What is your name?” Jasper asked. He placed a small forkful of eggs and ham in his mouth. Savory flavors burst against his tongue. Oh glorious food, how he’d missed it. Half-cooked porridge had nothing over this.

  “Good?” The woman seemed to subtly triumph over his obvious enjoyment of her offering. “I am Zhi liling.”

  The name didn’t ring a bell. Then again, though Jasper had come to know most all the important names in England society, he couldn’t say he knew any of the names of visiting dignitary or their entourages. If Ambassador Leng did have a Zhi liling in his employ, Jasper wouldn’t know.

  Jasper shoveled a bigger bite into his mouth. “Well, Mrs. Liling—”

  “No. Mrs. Zhi.”

  “Pardon me?”

  She touched her fingertips to her just below her collar. “Mrs. Zhi.”

  He thought she said her surname was Liling? Oh well, it didn’t matter. “Mrs. Zhi, as delicious as this meal is, I never agreed to hire you.”

  “Yes, but you change your mind now. Now you have sampled the goods.” She pointed with a flat hand towar
d his plate.

  Jasper bit down on his lower lip to keep his guffaw inside. If she had been younger and not pointing at his plate, her statement would have meant something far different. Still, he had to admit, the breakfast was good.

  “I not need much and I work hard.” She moved over to the large vat of laundry. “You see. You need me.”

  Jasper quickly ate all that was still on his plate. He couldn’t remember a time food went down so well and filled him so comfortably. If it had been poisoned, he wasn’t at all confident he would have regretted eating it anyway. He wiped his mouth, stood, and moved closer to the vat as well.

  “No doubt you are a very hard worker.” One did not get a hunch and worn hands from sitting around, lounging all day. “Nonetheless, as I explained before, I am not hiring right now.” His stomach seemed to sink with disappointment at the thought of all the meals he would never eat if he sent the woman away. Still, a wariness from last night’s encounter hovered about in his mind. Now was not the time to start trusting strangers who pushed themselves into his house.

  Speaking of, he needed to see his sister and soon. Then he needed to stop by a locksmith and get new locks on all of his doors. He’d had no idea before now that his home was so easy to break into. It was a horrendous oversight and one he was going to rectify immediately.

  He reached into the vat and drew out one of his shirts. “Thank you for all you’ve done this morning. I will pay you a few coins. But I can take it from here.” He’d rinsed his own clothes and hung them to dry before. He could most certainly do it again, even if he had more pressing things to see to first.

  The little woman snatched the shirt away and shoved it back under the water. “You trying to ruin it all?”

  Jasper blinked at the woman’s sudden ferocity.

  She shook a thin, wrinkled finger in his face. “This special Chinese cleaning method. You do it wrong now and all clothes—poof—ruined.”

  Jasper’s hand dropped to his side. Well that was just great. She had some secret method of cleaning clothes and now he couldn’t even finish the job.

  Her smile returned as quickly as it had disappeared. “It take all day, but no worry. I will clean house and make all meals and finish laundry.”

  This was ridiculous. Granted the woman clearly had gumption, but that didn’t mean she could break into his house, literally, and demand a job. He opened his mouth, but she spoke before he could.

  “One day. You try me, no charge, for one day.” She held her wrinkled finger up once more, emphasizing her point. “Then hire or fire, you choose. Either way, no pay.”

  One day? If she was truly as hard a worker as she professed his house would look far better after one day’s work. Moreover, it was hard to give up the idea of two more solid, satisfying meals.

  During their entire conversation, there had been nothing about her demeanor that seemed off or deceptive. Granted, the laundry thing was a bit odd, but other than that she seemed all honesty.

  If she was a spy for the blackguard Leng, well, what would she find here? Jasper’s best artwork was with his agent, Mrs. Hedgecock. He didn’t have any secrets he was trying to keep hidden. Jasper’s life thus far hadn’t provided anything interesting enough for the ambassador to blackmail him with.

  Another thought struck him. He wanted to demand the government throw Leng out of England but how was he going to make that happen? He couldn’t legally prosecute Ambassador Leng because he had no evidence against the man. But if Mrs. Zhi was working for the ambassador, then she was Jasper’s best chance at retaliation.

  He’d let her stay for the day—and take that time to see to Tressa and Brox, and replace his locks, then tonight after she was done, he’d follow her. Perhaps she’d lead him to the ambassador, perhaps she wouldn’t. Either way, he was bound to learn more about what he was facing.

  “Fine.” Jasper said. “But only one day.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Zhi ju dunked the brush into the bucket of water and then pulled it out, allowing water to slosh out over the side and onto the dirty floor. She placed both hands atop the brush and scrubbed, using her whole upper body as weight against the grime ground into the wood. Apparently, the children who had been learning dance this afternoon had not yet covered the lesson on wiping their feet before congregating on the dance floor at Wei shu’s Dancing Flowers.

  Many of those living in London’s Chinatown visited Wei shu’s in the evening, to reconnect with those with the same past and culture, but everyone was leaving now. Behind Ju, the sounds of conversation were softening and she’d more than once felt the rush of night air when someone had opened the door to leave.

  “You missed a spot.”

  Ju recognized Dapo’s voice immediately. His shoes looked new, too. Leave it to Dapo to buy something as unnecessary as new shoes with his first pay. He already had a decent pair from a few years ago.

  “Where?” Ju asked batting her lashes in faux innocence. “Oh, you mean here?” Pushing a small wave of water forward with her brush, she steered it toward his leather clad toes.

  Dapo jumped a few feet back. “Watch it,” he barked, all teasing gone.

  Ju sat back on her heels, laughing. Dapo only scowled down in response.

  “It’s just soap and water,” she said.

  Dapo picked up one foot and brushed at the brown leather. “Dirty water.”

  Ju left the brush on the floor and folded her arms. Why did he have to change? Dapo used to tease her and she, him, all the day long as they danced together. She considered him her best friend. Though not related by blood, he was still family.

  “I’m sorry.” She probably shouldn’t have done it. Dapo was proud of his new job as a gentleman’s valet, though it meant he couldn’t dance with her much anymore. But, then again, if all went well, she wouldn’t be dancing here much longer either. How she prayed she’d get into Ginevra’s. Morning, noon, and night she prayed she’d get in.

  Dapo shrugged his forgiveness. “Any word from Ginevra’s?”

  At least Dapo’s recent obsession with looks hadn’t changed that he could still read her mind. Ju shook her head. “I won’t know for a couple more days yet.”

  He knelt down just behind her, where the floor was untainted with water, and placed a hand on her shoulder. “You’ll get in. No one is more beautiful on the dance floor than you.”

  “Thank you, Dapo.” For all his love of fripperies, he was still Dapo. “Though I’d rather get in for my skill than my looks.”

  “Then it’s a good thing you have both in spades.” He squeezed her shoulder gently, his voice dropping softer. “And your mama will find work soon.”

  At the reminder of her and mama’s current financial struggles, Ju slumped lower onto the floor and rested her head against Dapo’s chest.

  He didn’t say anything, but put his arm around her and held her for a bit. The ancestors had not seen fit to gift her an older brother, but they had given her Dapo and he was the best surrogate older brother a woman could ask for. She was vastly grateful for him.

  He gave her arm a quick rub and then stood. “I’ve got to run. I’m walking Shuang home.”

  There was something extra in the lilt of his voice, the color in his cheeks. Ju smiled; she loved seeing him so happy. “Third time this week. Should I start keeping an eye out for where you can purchase red envelopes?”

  Dapo’s blush deepened. “Hardly. I’m only walking her home.” He let out a long sigh. “Shuang is beautiful. She’s kind and graceful. I can talk to her and we have the same thoughts about . . . Well, nearly everything.”

  “Gracious, I’d better start hunting for red envelopes this very minute.” With talk like that, Ju could see Dapo wanting to begin the official betrothal period quite soon.

  Dapo dropped his head but couldn’t hide his smile. “I’ve got it bad, haven’t I?”

  “Seems like it to me. My advice? Don’t wait around to see if she’ll break your heart. Let her know how you feel, now.”


  “You really think so?”

  Ju had seen Dapo and Shuang together; she could not imagine someone better suited for her dear friend. “I do. Besides, what’s the worst that could happen?”

  His face contorted. “She could rip out my heart and stomp on it. Laugh in my face. Say she’d rather eat toad stew.”

  Ju laughed again. “She won’t, I guarantee it.”

  His smile came back. “Thanks.” He glanced over his shoulder. “Your mama coming to walk with you tonight?”

  “Gracious, do you honestly think my mama would ever let me walk home from this place alone?” Not once in all the years Ju had been coming to Wei Shu’s, first as a small girl learning to dance and now as the nightly cleaner, had her mama let her walk home. This wasn’t exactly a safe area of London during noonday, let alone well into the night.

  “Glad to hear it.” He gave her a quick pat. “Have a good night, little Ju.”

  She gave him a wave as he trotted off, but she didn’t return to scrubbing immediately. Instead, Ju watched Dapo walk up to Shuang and offer her his arm. Shuang’s face lit up like a flower in bloom.

  They walked slowly, heads close together, deep in conversation. Ju sighed—if only Dapo could see what she saw. His fears of being rejected were wholly unnecessary. To think, a wedding. La, Chinatown hadn’t had a wedding in far too long. This time, Ju was certain Dapo would pull her into the planning. She looked forward to it. Dapo and Shuang strode out the doors of the dance school, the last two to leave. The doors shut with a soft click and all around Ju fell still.

  Ju rolled her eyes—it was back to scrubbing for her. Ju had originally planned on quitting as the nightly cleaner; but that was before mama had lost her job and back when she felt confident she would be admitted to Ginevra’s. Now, all her plans were up in the air. Until they settled, she would be doing a lot of scrubbing.

  As she knew would happen, Mama showed up at Wei shu’s not long after Ju finished with the floors. Mama looked tired, but wouldn’t explain to Ju what she’d been about all day, saying she needed to speak with Wei shu first.