These Violent Delights (These Violent Delights 1)

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; Kathleen froze. She whirled around.

“Don’t,” she hissed. “There are ears everywhere in this house. Don’t put me in danger just to make a point.”

Rosalind looked away. She let out a long breath, seemed to gather herself, and whispered, “I’m only looking out for you.”

Now is not the time to look out for me! Kathleen wanted to snap. What part of this was so hard to understand? She shook her head. She swallowed her words, forced herself to soften her tone.

“It’s a simple matter, Rosalind. Will you help, or will you not?”

When Rosalind met her eyes again, Kathleen only found apathy in her sister’s expression.

“I will not.”

“Very well,” Kathleen said. “But please do not stop me.”

This city was teeming with monsters in every corner. She would be damned before she let her own sister stop her from putting down at least one.

Kathleen walked out of the room.

Thirty-Three

Juliette stood around the corner of the Labor Daily office building, her body tucked in the shadows of the exterior walls and protruding pipes. She had chosen a small swath of grass where the building curved inward a little, near the rusty back door that looked like it hadn’t been cleaned in weeks. A climbing plant was growing in this nook, flying across the walls and dangling right above Juliette’s head. From a distance, she may have looked like a statue, staring straight ahead with dead-dull eyes. She couldn’t blink too much. If she did, she might collapse then and there, become a twin to the Niobe made of marble that stood in the International Settlement, and then she would never get up again.

“Juliette—oh God.”

Juliette was also standing here because she had found a corpse. A victim of the madness: an older woman with her throat in shreds. She remained here because she did not know what to do, whether it was best to leave the victim be or do something—or if killing Zhang Gutai today would be enough as that something bearing on her shoulders.

Juliette turned, exhaling a breath at the sight of her cousin. Kathleen covered her mouth in horror, ducking under the trail of vines.

“Before you ask,” Juliette said, “I found her like this. Did you bring a silencer?”

“Right here,” Kathleen said. She passed Juliette one of the pistols in her pocket, her gaze still locked on the dead woman slumped against the wall.

“Where’s Rosalind?” Juliette asked. She rose to the tips of her toes to look over Kathleen’s shoulder, as if Rosalind had merely been walking a little slowly.

“She could not come,” Kathleen replied. She dragged her gaze away from the dead victim. “The burlesque club needs her. It was too suspicious to leave.”

Juliette nodded. She would have preferred to have another trusted pair of eyes and hands here, but there was nothing to do about it.

“Now can you tell me what’s going on?” Kathleen demanded.

“Exactly as my note said,” Juliette replied. “The madness stops today.”

“But—” Kathleen scratched the inside of her elbow, drawing angry lines over her skin. “Juliette, surely you don’t mean for just the two of us to storm what is essentially a Communist stronghold. This may be a workplace, but I’ve no doubt some are carrying weapons.”

Juliette grimaced. “About that…” She spotted three figures approaching along the pavement. She raised her hand, catching Roma’s attention. “Don’t panic. I’ll explain everything later.”

Kathleen whirled around. As always, when somebody said not to panic, the first thing one did was panic. She physically darted back a few steps when Marshall Seo grinned at her and waved. Benedikt Montagov reached over and yanked the other boy’s hand down.

The White Flowers ducked under the vines, and Roma threw something fast in Juliette’s direction: something soft and squarish, balled up into a mass of fabric so that it could volley through the air and into her palm. A large handkerchief. The sudden projectile made it easy for Juliette to pretend her stifled gasp was in surprise over having to catch the fabric and not because Roma had then stepped close, almost brushing her shoulder.

“To cover your face,” he explained. There was another in his hands too, for the same purpose. “Since we are the executioners—oh.”

Benedikt and Marshall went on alert, both stiffening in anticipation of a threat. But there was no threat, at least not here. Roma had merely spotted the dead woman.

“How did she get here?” Benedikt muttered.