Fox and Phoenix (Lóng City 1)

Ai-ya, how I wish we’d never won that stupid reward. We wouldn’t be friends with Lian, but at least we’d be friends with each other.

Chen materialized next to me, large and spiky. You forgot a few things downstairs.

He set my ink bottle (capped) and a pile of smudged notes on my desk.

Thank you, I said through gritted teeth.

You also forgot to say good-bye to Yún.

Who cares? She doesn’t.

Chen grunted in a way that could mean “you stupid boy” or “I know lots more than you do but I’m not telling.” Pigs were obnoxious like that, and Chen the worst of all.

Why don’t you call Gan? he asked after a few moments.

He’s busy, I snapped.

Not today. Tao says Gan went on night shift last week.

Tao was Gan’s ox–spirit companion.

Cursed nannies, I thought. Always gossiping about their humans behind their backs. But I punched Gan’s number into my talk-phone anyway.

Fizzle-sizzle-clickety-click.

Gan answered on the second chime. “Kai.” Gan answered on the second chime. “Kai.”

His voice was deeper, quicker than last year.

“How did you know—”

“New talk-phone with ID circuitry,” Gan said. “Last week. Standard issue.”

Aha. That meant he’d passed his entrance exams for the king’s guards. Trust Gan not to mention it. Well, knowing how the royal wizards spiked the lines regularly, we were better off talking in face-time. “Uptown shiny hotspot,” I said. “If you have time.”

“A couple hours, sure,” Gan said. “They put me on night shift duty last week. What about the others?”

Meaning Jing-mei and Danzu.

“Yeah. But you better call them.”

Before he could ask about Yún, I clicked off.

Old habits are hard to rub clean, as the saying goes. Even if we weren’t a real gang any more, we still used our codewords. “Uptown shiny hotspot” meant the new tea shop in the palace square. It had silk screens playing music videos from local bands, and it served rare teas and snacks imported from the Phoenix Empire and beyond. That was another thing that had changed between last year and this one—we all had plenty of money.

Speaking of which, I tucked some bills and coins into my shirt and smoothed back my hair.

Chen appeared in a fuzzy pig-shaped cloud and grinned at me. Pretty.

“Shut up,” I said. “And move your ugly snout from my mirror.”

His only reply was a snorting laugh before he popped out of sight.

The wind-and-magic lifts were running on half schedules, but even so, most of the front cars were empty. I tossed a ten-yuan piece at the fat counterman, hopped over the railing and into the front seat. A whistle shrieked. I buckled myself in just in time. Magic crackled around the lift. A second whistle split the air. The next minute, the cars dropped down two heart-stopping levels to Lóng City’s main terrace.

An attendant handed me a double-strength chai—standard issue for all express passengers so we could recover our heartbeat. I slugged down the cup and staggered through the gates into the main square. The tea shop stood on the corner between the palace and the city’s largest avenue. Jing-mei and Gan had taken over the biggest table by the ceiling-high glass window. Jing-mei played some complicated solitaire game, while Gan watched from half-lidded eyes. Two miniature teapots and matching cups were already in use.

I slid into the seat next to Gan. “No marble eyes?”