Chapter 1 1 JANUARY 1932 Ice had frosted over Rosalind Lang''s bedroom window, drawing a bizarre shape that resembled a broken heart--the anatomical kind, with half-severed arteries stretching into the corners. Its edges were starting to melt, though, thawing under the first sunny day they''d had in a while and dripping rivulets of condensation down the glass. Rosalind was watching the street below. She didn''t know how they expected her to leave without causing a fiasco. The media had been relentless for weeks, with different outlets flocking outside her apartment building, hoping to be the first to snap a recent picture of Lady Fortune. Ever since she was discharged from the hospital and told to rest up, she hadn''t left her apartment once, relying on her landlady Lao Lao to do the shopping and bring news from the outside. She hadn''t needed the rest. As soon as they took the bullets out, her body had healed at supernatural speed, returning her to normal function.
If it were up to her, she wouldn''t be sitting idle, but her superiors had given her a very stern warning about needing to lie low. Today she had been summoned in at last for a meeting to discuss their next steps. The papers had splashed her entire identity in the headlines: Lang Shalin, former Scarlet showgirl turned Nationalist assassin--not dead as the city had been left to believe but wreaking chaos and killing merchants up and down the country''s coast for four years. With Fortune''s real face in the open, she could hardly continue her missions as per usual. She had been pacing her bedroom relentlessly these few weeks, drawing up plans and then tossing them out, knowing she would be barred from acting upon them. She had already made the mistake of telling Jiemin that Alisa held Lady Hong''s last vial, a show of good faith while she begged for them to go after Orion, and yet that had achieved nothing except sending the Nationalists on the chase after Alisa. She wasn''t going to relinquish the remaining card up her sleeve. I can help you get him back.
Find me in Zhouzhuang. --JM. The note sat crinkled on her desk now. Its words were hardly legible after all her folding and unfolding, but it didn''t matter. She had long memorized those three lines; night after night, when she stared at the walls blankly in her version of rest, the note would flash in her mind on every blink. Without even sleep for an escape, there was nothing for Rosalind Lang to do within these four walls but think and think and think. How was she supposed to get to Zhouzhuang without directly going against the Nationalists? As frustrated as she was, they were still her employers, and she couldn''t break away so rashly. Besides, what if it was a trap? What if she fled to the countryside only to find nothing but a dead end? She didn''t even know what JM was supposed to mean.
She didn''t know anyone with those initials. A nurse at the hospital had inscribed this note after taking the message on the telephone. Anyone could have made the call. News had already broken about her identity by then. All someone needed to do was locate which hospital was plucking bullets out of Fortune and ask for the message to be passed along. Hell--maybe it was only a reporter who wanted to meet for the exclusive scoop. Still. this was better than nothing.
The Nationalists had made it clear that they had given up on Orion Hong. He is a liability. There is nothing we can do except try to eliminate him. "He is one of your best agents," Rosalind had yelled at Jiemin''s retreating back when he''d come with instructions to stay put. "How can you tell me there is absolutely nothing to be done?" He had paused at the doorway. Shaken his head sadly. "Even if--somehow--we physically remove him from his mother''s side, his mind has been altered to follow her every instruction. And if his mind is always going to be under her influence, we cannot trust him on our side ever again.
Think of Hong Liwen as having perished in combat. It''ll be easier." A traitorous part of her wished Dao Feng were still here. He wouldn''t have told her to stay put. He would have made a plan to rescue Orion. Except her handler had switched sides--or rather, her handler had been on the opposite side all along. The question of whether Dao Feng had truly cared for her or Orion as his disciples was up for perpetual debate. "Damn you," Rosalind muttered under her breath.
She wasn''t sure who she was talking to. Dao Feng, maybe. Or the world at large for setting her in this role. On the street below, a car started to pull up alongside the reporters, stirring interest in the crowd. A girl tumbled out from the passenger seat in a flurry of pink tulle, coming into the building with her key and slamming the door closed before any of the reporters could follow suit. Seconds later there was the sound of heels clacking up the exterior stairs, then the apartment door opening too. "Saozi, you better be dressed already." Rosalind was not dressed.
"You don''t have to keep calling me that. I give you full permission to defy cultural terms of respectful fake kinship and use my name." Phoebe Hong appeared at the bedroom doorway. She propped her hands on her hips. In stark contrast to Rosalind''s lack of preparedness, Phoebe wore a rose-colored dress with a series of complex ribbons down the front, a blot of color suddenly bursting onto a monochromatic scene. She took in the sight before her--Rosalind perched at the edge of her messy desk, her hair spilling down her back and her legs bare--and strode forward immediately. "Is that my brother''s shirt?" Phoebe demanded. "Maybe," Rosalind replied defensively.
The smooth white fabric draped down to her thighs, and she tugged at it, though she doubted Phoebe cared whether she was adhering to modesty. "You''re incredibly early. I thought Silas said he was coming at three." Phoebe went to the dresser and pulled out a qipao. When she tossed it at her, Rosalind barely had a second to catch the bundle of silk before Phoebe was also throwing a necklace, putting together a complete outfit in the most disorderly way. "You can''t be lying around wearing my brother''s clothes on today of all days. Go change." "I was going to get ready," Rosalind insisted.
She shook the qipao out. Though she stood, Rosalind couldn''t help glancing at her desk again, at the note sitting beside her stack of books. The shirt was warm on her shoulders. It felt safe in a way that her own clothes didn''t, as if Orion were still around, making a racket through the apartment. She missed him. Terribly. She had thought him a complete menace while he was here, complained to his face that he was a terror in her space, and he had only ever grinned in return, making an effort to bring her food or smooth her hair down when she was busy writing something. Now he was gone, and Rosalind felt utterly off-kilter.
As false as their marriage had been, Orion Hong had molded himself onto her like an extra attachment of the flesh. Being cut away wasn''t something she would eventually get used to: it was an invisible wound that refused to close like her bodily ones did, and the damage had been carved into the deepest part of her heart. If she pulled her ribs open to look at the organ, she could point to its exact site. at last, an injury that wasn''t healing over at rapid speed. If she didn''t get him back, eventually she would bleed out entirely. Rosalind tore her eyes away from the desk. A terrible sting was pricking behind them, and the last thing she needed was to start crying. "Go change," Phoebe prompted again, gentler this time.
"If we''re going to get him back, you need to receive the task." "Yes," Rosalind agreed absently. "I must receive the task." The problem was, weeks had gone by and the Nationalists hadn''t changed their tune about Orion. For all she knew, this meeting would move her onto a completely different mission--tell her that Jiemin was going to be her permanent handler and then assign her some silly task chasing after an unruly politician--and what then? Did Rosalind have to leave? Give up bettering this city and follow a wild lead into the countryside? She would. That was the most alarming part. For so long she had only wanted to keep fixing Shanghai, but the focus she once possessed was wavering, loosening its hold and allowing her to crane away. She wanted to love more than her city; she wanted the love that had been wholly hers for that gasp of a moment.
Given the choice between the two, she had her suspicions about which one she would run toward. Except the thought terrified her. And so she had been playing nice these past few weeks, sitting tight instead of outright rebelling. Her employers had a chance to get it right. Let them act agreeably, and maybe Rosalind wouldn''t have to go off on her own. It wasn''t as if she had done a very good job of that in the past. Her track record was abysmal, in fact. A loud honk blared suddenly outside the window: Silas Wu, getting impatient in the driver''s seat.
Phoebe gave her a prompting look. "Five minutes," Rosalind promised, hurrying into the washroom. She changed fast. Too much time had passed since she''d last worn her hair up, and she almost dropped her pin when she stuck the metal into a small plait, pinning the tail end behind her ear. Phoebe was waiting at the front door when Rosalind emerged. She beamed happily, offering a quick clap of approval. "I should warn you," Phoebe said while Rosalind loc.