These Violent Delights

“Remember what happened the last time the British wanted to introduce a new product into Shanghai?”

Walter frowned. “Are you referring to the Opium Wars?”

Juliette examined her fingernails. “Am I?”

“You cannot possibly blame me for something that was the fault of my country.”

“Oh, that’s not how it works?”

Four years ago, she had looked at Shanghai with glitter in her eyes, blinking at the Scarlet Gang with hope. She hadn’t understood that Shanghai was a foreign city in its own country. Now she did. The British ruled a chunk. The French ruled a chunk. The Russian White Flowers were taking over the only parts that technically remained under Chinese governance. This loss of control was a long time coming—but Juliette would rather bite off her own tongue than admit it freely to a merchant who understood nothing.

“I’ve seen this before; it’s the lunacy of an addict.”

Roma was not afraid. He only feared the power of others. Monsters and things that walked the night were strong, but they were not powerful. There was a difference.

It came into the world with veins and vessels and capillaries attached to its belly. It was as if the insect were an entity unto itself and the dead man grew out of it, when really, the paper-thin lines of pink and white sprouting from the insect were being pulled from the man’s brain. Benedikt could have been fooled.

The veins trembled as a stray gust of wind blew in from the waterfront.

“What do you know?” Benedikt said. “I think we just discovered what’s causing the madness.”

“The madness sweeps everywhere.” Marshall retrieved a sprig of cilantro from the bag at his feet. He started chomping down on that too. “It moves like the plague: first all the reports were by the river, then they spread inward to the city, to the concessions, and now more and more mansions on the outskirts are sending victims to the morgue. Think about it. Those who wish to protect themselves will stay in, bar their doors, seal their windows. Those who do not care, those who are violent, those who delight in that which is terrible”—Marshall shrugged, waving his hands about as he chose the right words—“they thrive. They come outside.”

Juliette thought the whole thing theatrical and ridiculous. She thought it preposterous that her father had to ask permission to run business on land their ancestors had lived and died on from men who had simply docked their boat here and decided they would like to be in charge now.

“These days, Juliette,” he said, low and warily, “the most dangerous people are the powerful white men who feel as if they have been slighted.”

[…]

Everywhere they went—entitlement.

And Juliette was so tired.

“Everyone gets their feelings hurt,” she said bitterly. “While he’s here, he can experience it for once in his life. He doesn’t deserve to have power. It’s not his right.”

“I know,” Lord Cai said simply. “All of China knows. But this is the way the world works now. For as long as he has power, we need him. For as long as he has the most guns, he holds the power.”

“Do you ever imagine what life would be like if you had a different last name?”

“All the time. Don’t you?”

Juliette had thought about it. “Only sometimes. Then I consider all that I would miss out on without it. What would I be if I weren’t a Cai?”

Roma had lifted onto his elbow. “You could be a Montagov.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Very well.” Roma had leaned in, close enough that she could see the twinkle in his dark eyes, close enough to see her own blushing face in the reflection of his gaze. “Or we could erase both names and leave this entire Cai–Montagov nonsense behind.”

Was the line between enemy and friend horizontal or vertical? Was it a great plain to lumber across or was it a high, high wall—either to be scaled or kicked down in one big blow?

“A study of power,” she replied, “and the madness that comes with it. A study of the powerful, and those who are scared of him.” Allowing no mistake over the meaning of her words, Kathleen whispered, “The uncovering of the madness.”

Civilians were ripping out their own throats and the people of this city had become so desensitized that they were content to continue their dinner like it was a regular Tuesday.

“If we kill the monster, we kill each and every one of these peculiar insects in Shanghai. If we kill the monster, we stop the madness.”

“There are two types of Communists now: those who are dying because they are too poor to deserve the Larkspur’s cure and those who are angry enough from this fact that they wish to rise up.”

“The vaccine is both legitimate and not,” Archibald answered carefully. “The Larkspur makes one strain in his lab, using the opiate I deliver. The other strain is simply colored saline.”

Roma blinked. “What?”

If the madness was not stopped, at some point, it would spread to every corner of Shanghai. With two strains of the vaccine, one that was true and one that was not, the Larkspur controlled who was immune and who was not.

The weight of this revelation smacked Juliette dead center in the chest.

“The Larkspur is essentially picking and choosing who lives and who dies,” she accused, incensed.

“It is never as simple as one truth,” Roma replied hoarsely. “Nothing ever is.”