These Violent Delights (These Violent Delights 1)

Lord Cai stood, cutting off whichever relative had been speaking within the gathering.

“Juliette,” he said, inclining his chin up the staircase. There was something in his hands. A few slips of creamy white paper. Expensive paper. “Come.”

It was as clear a dismissal as any for the rest of the household. While everybody else dispersed, however, Tyler remained on the couch, his hands placed behind his head like he had all the time in the world. He cocked his head at Juliette’s death glare, feigning obliviousness.

Juliette bit down on her tongue. She scuttled up the stairs after her father.

“What are we to do with the bloodstains?” she asked as they filtered into his office. Her mother was already there, seated on the other side of her father’s desk and browsing through reports.

“We will have someone come to clean it,” Lady Cai replied, looking up and flicking a phantom speck of dust off the sleeve of her qipao. “I am more concerned with why people were tearing their throats out in this house in the first place—”

“It’s the madness,” Juliette interrupted. “It’s here, and it could be a viral contagion. We need to ask the other maids who were in contact with the victims to remain in their rooms for a few days.”

Her father sat down in his own big chair and crossed his hands over his stomach. Her mother tilted her head quizzically.

“And how do you know it is a contagion?” Lord Cai asked. Though Juliette froze at the question, belatedly realizing she had relayed a detail from Roma, her father did not sound suspicious. He had only asked the question plainly, as he did in any everyday conversation. She told herself to calm down. If her father were suspicious, he was the type to make the fact simple and clear.

“Word on the street,” Juliette replied. “It may only get worse from here on out.”

Lady Cai pinched the bridge of her nose. She shook her head, waving off the thought. “Three dead in this household still does not stand up against the thousands being swayed by the political tide.”

Juliette blinked. “But, Mama—”

“Don’t you wish to know why everybody was gathered around in such fascination downstairs?” Lord Cai cut in. He pushed the paper in his hands onto the desk, angling them so that Juliette could get a good look. The conversation had moved on then; the madness was truly only an offshoot of politics in their minds.

Fine, Juliette thought. If she was the only one with the right priorities, then she could solve this whole damn thing on her own.

Juliette picked up the smaller slip of paper, her own name immediately catching her attention.

Miss Cai, I would love to see you there. —Paul

“What is this?” Juliette demanded.

“An invitation,” Lady Cai explained, “to a masquerade party in the French Concession next week.”

Juliette leaned in to read the bigger piece of paper, tutting under her breath. She didn’t like the sound of this. Foreigners extending their hands in invitation could only mean demands and expectations.

“It is the French who are summoning us?” she asked.

“The function is a joint venture between the different foreign powers,” her father replied softly. In a mocking tone, he added, “The French, British, Americans, and everyone else—they wish to come together and celebrate the native powers of Shanghai,” reciting the text just as Juliette’s eyes scanned over it.

Our hospitality is extended to all under the protection of Lord Cai, it read. This party was inviting every member of the Scarlet Gang.

Lady Cai scoffed. “If the foreigners wanted to celebrate us, they could begin by remembering this is our country, not theirs.”

Juliette turned to look at her mother, curious. Distaste was fouling the lines in Lady Cai’s face, deepening the grooves that she spent each morning covering with a layer of fine powder.

“However,” Lord Cai continued, as if his wife hadn’t made a scathing remark, “it is the French who wish to meet with us. There’s another card lurking here somewhere.”

After a few seconds of confused searching, Juliette lifted the bigger sheet of paper and found the third and final card, the same size as the one from Paul. This one was for her father, from the Consul-General of France in Shanghai. There were only two lines of writing. He was requesting a meeting at the party to discuss the situation in Shanghai, whatever that meant.

“Well,” Juliette said, “does this mean trouble for us?”

“It may not be trouble.” Lord Cai shrugged. “We will have to see.”

Juliette narrowed her eyes. She didn’t like how her parents had drifted into a pregnant silence, one that was waiting for something… something…

“I certainly hope you’re not going to make me go to this masquerade,” Juliette guessed contemptuously.