“For the last time”—Kathleen threw her apple core into the trash can—“knowing who our spies are in the Party does not qualify me as a Communist. What am I finding?”
Juliette put her hands on her hips. “Zhang Gutai’s home address.”
Kathleen wrinkled her brow, trying to place the name. “You can’t find his workplace? He edits that newspaper, doesn’t he?”
“I can go poke around his workplace too,” Juliette confirmed, “but I want alternatives.”
“Alternatives” was a funny way of putting it. Juliette wanted his home address so she could break in and rummage around his belongings, should his answers in person prove lacking.
But she didn’t have to clarify for Kathleen. Kathleen knew. She mocked a salute, her lips quirking. “On it.”
* * *
“Lice?” Roma echoed in horror.
“Lice-like,” Lourens emphasized, his correction accompanied by a sigh. He pointed to the strip of skin he had slit off the corpse, where the thick membranes were bulging with little pockets of dead insects. Benedikt was slightly green, and Marshall had his fingers pressed to his mouth.
“They jump from host to host through the hair, then burrow into the scalp,” Lourens went on. He pushed down on an insect with his finger. Nearby, one of the scientists was blanching at the sight, unable to pull his curiosity away from the unconventional autopsy happening right atop the worktable. No matter—the White Flowers had seen stranger things.
“Good God,” Marshall muttered. “We could have been infected.”
Benedikt made an offended noise. “They’re dead already,” he replied, gesturing forward with his hand.
“And yet you made me pull one out,” Marshall retorted. He shuddered, his full body vibrating with the motion. “So revolting—”
Roma tapped his fingers against the worktable. The lab was devoid of proper fresh air, and he had hardly slept the night before. His head was starting to pound with ferocity.
“Gentlemen,” he prompted, trying to redirect Benedikt’s and Marshall’s attention back to Lourens. It did not work.
“The future well-being of the White Flowers thanks you.”
“Oh, please, what will they know of my heroism?”
Roma exchanged a glance with Lourens and shook his head. There was no point trying to butt in when Benedikt and Marshall got like this. When they weren’t scheming together, they were bickering together. It was almost always about the most nonsensical things that truly did not require an hour-long debate, yet regardless, Roma’s two friends engaged in them, sometimes until their faces turned red. Roma wasn’t sure if Benedikt and Marshall were fated to eventually kill each other or kiss each other.
“Anyhow,” Lourens said, clearing his throat when there was the slightest lull in the argument, “with the resources we have here, we may be more advantaged than Shanghai’s hospitals. I’d like to try to figure out how to engineer a cure, if that pleases you.”
“Yes,” Roma all but pleaded. “That would be great. Thank you, Lourens—”
“Don’t rush to thank me yet.” Lourens tutted. “I cannot find a cure for this odd infestation without the help of you youth.”
Marshall quirked an eyebrow. Benedikt jammed his elbow into Marshall’s ribs to keep him from making any sarcastic remark about his youth.
“Anything,” Roma promised.
“I’ll need to run experiments,” Lourens said. He nodded to himself. “You must find me a live victim.”
“A live—”
This time, it was Roma who jammed his elbow into Marshall’s side.
“We’re on it,” Roma said quickly. “Thank you, Lourens. Truly.”
When Lourens nodded his begrudging acceptance of such a sentiment, Roma pushed away from the worktable, gesturing for Benedikt and Marshall to follow suit, and the three of them took their leave. Roma was rather impressed that Marshall managed to stay silent until they pushed through the front doors. It was only when they were upon the sidewalk, under the thick clouds of the city, that Marshall finally erupted with: “How the hell do you propose we bring him a live victim?”
Roma sighed, shoving his hands deep in his pockets. He started back in the direction of the White Flower headquarters with his cousin trailing close on his tail. Marshall, meanwhile, as a bundle of unspent energy, bounced in front of them, walking backward.
“You’re going to trip on a pebble,” Benedikt warned.