After the age of thirteen, it became quite easy for Six to reconcile herself with the idea of death. She had, after all, taken lives to save her own, and that was utterly justifiable. As was taking the lives of those who were going to hurt others, however remotely. Indeed, she felt very little remorse about her actions. There was no point. Dead was dead. And she would have to kill again, sooner or later. That was the way of it. That was what she had been trained to do. Her life, no choice.
But now, resting in the darkness of an unfamiliar room, she wondered if this new turn in her life was some kind of karma. A killer without remorse, transforming into the physical manifestation of another kind of killer, also without remorse. Justice, or perhaps a divine joke. Maybe even destiny.
Like meeting Joseph? Six glanced at him. He was finally asleep, though lines of distress still cut into his forehead. He was a beautiful man. Six enjoyed nothing more than staring at his face, analyzing lines and angles and curves. Wanting to touch him again, to feel him inside her. She thought about waking him up, but turned aside that thought. He needed to rest. As did she, though that was unlikely to happen.
Six dressed quietly and went downstairs. She found Wenxia in the kitchen, seated at a fine table with flour scattered, small coins of dough rolled into flat circles. A large bowl of ground pork filled with chopped cabbage, ginger, and shrimp sat by her elbow. It smelled good.
"I'll make you tea," Wenxia said, scooting back her chair.
"I will do it," Six offered, and with some direction, found the leaves. A hot water dispenser leaned against the wall; she let the water flow into a little ceramic pot, and breathed in the steam. She let it steep for a moment, then poured Wenxia a cup. The old woman nodded her thanks.
Six sat opposite the old woman, and sipped her own cup of tea. It tasted good, and she felt herself relax as she watched Wenxia work. Her hands were gnarled and brown, but she made the dumplings efficiently, without sign of pain.
"Can I help?" Six asked.
"Oh, no," Wenxia replied, but she said it with a smile, and Six reached over for a dough skin. It had been a long time since she had tried her hand at making dumplings—there was an art to it—but she wanted to feel the sensation of cooking, of preparing, of putting herself into something other than fighting. She thought of Joseph, and smiled.
"Ah," murmured Wenxia. "You do care about him."
"Are you a mind reader?" she asked, startled.
"No need. I saw your smile. Only a man makes a woman smile like that. You care."
Six saw no use denying the truth. Still, she hesitated. "Yes, I do."
The old woman's mouth quirked. "You have to think about it?"
"No," Six replied. "But speaking of such things is… difficult for me."
"You are a product of the state," Wenxia said. "I can see it in your face."
"Does that bother you?"
"No." A dumpling thumped onto a plate. "But it makes you react differently to things some people take for granted. Like making dumplings, for example. You have never spent a holiday with family, have you?"
"No," Six said. "Never."
"Life is isolating enough, but when forced to live under the cold standard of a government machine…" Wenxia stopped. "Well, times are changing. One day, you and your kind will be as antiquated as my own generation. Relics. And no one will remember what was suffered."
"No one ever does," Six said, struggling to press the dough around the meat in the center. "And no one will ever care as much as you do about your own life."
Wenxia put down her spoon. "Joseph would care that much. About you. And if you had any heart in you, you would care that much about him."
Six set aside her dumpling. "He doesn't know me."
The old woman's eyes narrowed. "If anyone knows you, it's him. It's what he does. Something I think you're well aware of."
Six said nothing. Wenxia sighed. "Do you know what he does for work? Many things, you know. He makes big money being a therapist to rich men. Giving them advice. Guiding them in their lives. He does that several times a year. Makes enough, and then he leaves. Runs away to places where the people are hurting, dying. And there—there—he uses his real power. He makes people whole. He gives them hope. Helps them move on."
"Did he help you?" Six asked, and instantly regretted it.
Wenxia looked down, shoulders hunching. "His father did. He… dulled my pain. Made it bearable."
Six did not know how to answer. Wenxia saved her from trying. She leaned on the table, her bright eyes glittering.
"You know the story of the Spring Festival, yes? How a monster would descend from a mountain to terrorize a village year after year, eating people, stealing children. Until finally, someone said enough. And they attacked that monster with nothing but a firework. Boom! And the monster fled! Back to its mountain."
The old woman started making dumplings again. "The New Year holiday is a time of faith, child. Symbols, colors, flashes of light and sound—all of it, faith. Faith in a new beginning, in the power of hope. Faith in the ability of people to be more than what they dream. And it is a good dream, yes?"
"Yes," Six said softly. "Precious, even."
Wenxia smiled. "People become so discouraged. There are monsters everywhere, beating them down, stealing their dreams. Except the monsters are such cowards! A loud noise, a sharp light, that is all it takes to drive them away. Face them and be strong, and they will not be able to stand against you."
"And what if the people themselves become monsters? What if I am the monster?"
Wenxia gave her a knowing smile, and patted her hand. "Shine a light inside you, child. Make a loud noise."
Six, Joseph, and Wenxia shared a lovely dinner of dumplings, the finest Six had ever had—and the first that she remembered sitting down to, with people other than orphans or military. She asked Joseph if it would be possible for him to learn of her life before she had been taken in by the government, if those memories were still there, buried. He thought it likely. But Six did not ask him to try. Not then. She was not ready to remember.
She and Joseph did not stay long after the dinner. There was too much on the line, and the sense of urgency that pressed upon them was sharp enough to taste. A ruining effect, on an otherwise wonderful meal, though Six felt worse about leaving Wenxia.
They took a cab back to the Shanghai. It was difficult to find one, on New Year's day. They directed their driver to take them to the Bund.
"Nothing will be open," Joseph said, holding her hand, cradling it in his lap. He looked handsome, rested, his eyes moving over her face, out the window, searching.
"Maybe not," Six said. "But at least we will make good targets. Perhaps attract the attention of someone who will lead us back to his master." Anger curled through her. "I have been thinking about the terrorists, Joseph. Trying to imagine what they would want with someone like you."
He grunted. "I have been thinking about the same thing, ever since Chenglei first contacted me. Trying to understand what Jihadists would want with someone who most definitely falls outside their religion. Not that I need to understand too much. Hate is hate. Hypocrisy rules. And there is precedent."
"What do you mean?"
"How much do you know about World War Two and the Nazis?"
"I have studied the history," Six said. "But I admit to focusing more on the problems this country faced. I have spoken to many elderly, and they have told me the stories."
"Yes. There are a lot of stories," Joseph said grimly. "But one thing I learned long ago, from the European side of the war, is that the Nazis—and more specifically, Hitler—were so consumed by their desire to win, that they began seeking… alternative methods. Inexplicable methods, of an… unnatural origin."
"You mean," she said slowly. "Something like you."
"Something like that," he admitted. "Thankfully they never tapped into anything real, though they came close enough to make some individuals nervous. And not just those with powers like mine, but competing governments who in turn began developing their own programs to explore alternative weaponry within the paranormal. The Russians were the most serious, second only to the Germans. My grandfather was part of that program. He managed to leave it after the war. Illegally, of course. He escaped into Mongolia and never left. He took the daughter of a shaman as his wife, and they had a son."
"A family legacy, then."
"But it doesn't answer any questions."
Shanghai traffic was lighter than usual, but the Bund surprised them by being quite crowded. It seemed to Six that every family had taken the afternoon to travel down to the heart of the city and see the sights. Days off were rare for most; the New Year festivals guaranteed at least one.
"We must stay away from the waterfront," Six told Joseph, after being dropped off by the cab. "There will be undercover military there for sure, and they will know my face. Xiu must have been discovered by now."
As she spoke, her eyes seemed to blur, vision worsening almost to blindness until suddenly, without warning, everything snapped back into focus. Six gasped. She could see… everything. The individual pores on a woman's face—who was standing more than fifty feet away. The brand name on the buttons of a man's jacket, far across the street. Her vision swooped and burned like she was an eagle flying, and it was dizzying, frightening.
"Check," she said. "Is the poison—"
"No," Joseph said grimly. "It hasn't progressed. But you're still suffering the side effects."
"Just as long as I do not suffer anything else. I am still me, correct? I still… feel."
"You have your heart," he said quietly. "I won't let you lose it, Six."
"You will not have a choice, if the poison spreads."
Joseph said nothing. The street they were on was the main artery running parallel to the Bund. The architecture was European in origin, neo-classical designs from the twenties up to the forties. Immense monoliths that had stood the test of time far better than most modern Chinese buildings constructed in only the last few years.
Six and Joseph did not take a walking tour of those massive buildings. Instead, they walked into the Peace Hotel and found a bench in a little nook off the main foyer, crowded with tourists, most of them from America and Europe.
They sat, holding hands. Joseph began a search with his mind. After a moment, he invited Six to join him, and she found herself swept into his thoughts, carried alongside him as he traveled another world, seeking danger.
He found it, almost immediately. Right on top of them. A sickening lurch of knowledge that made them both reel.
There is a bomb in this hotel, said Joseph, horror leaking from his thoughts. My God. It's a person. A person—
Six was already running, the location in her mind, the face of the man. She barreled through the crowd, ruthless, battling her own feelings of shock. She had expected this in theory—the Peace hotel had always been on a list of possible targets to be wary of—but thinking and knowing were two separate things, and there was a part of Six that could not believe it was happening here, now. Not now.
The crowd thickened; she did not think. She jumped. Her body flew over the tops of heads. She heard gasps. She gasped. But there, ahead of her, she saw a stocky man in a heavy coat, and she forced herself to move faster than she ever had before. Faster than was humanly possible.
The suicide bomber never had a chance; he barely saw her coming before he hit the ground. Six did not kill him. She broke his wrists instead, cracked his knees by stomping hard—and then, as he lay on the ground screaming she flipped open his coat and looked at the bomb. It was not terribly sophisticated; she had trained on harder targets. Six pulled the necessary wires.
Joseph appeared behind her. He knelt, placed his hands on the man's temples, and began to chant. This time, Six stayed out of his head. She stood and pulled out her badge. Showed it to the hotel manager who came running, pale and frightened. Showed it to the crowd, and in her best English, told them to please exit the area in a careful manner. They did, without hesitation. She gave the hotel manager a number to call, just in case they had not already.
"Joseph," she said.
"Got it," he murmured. "There are seven other locations. We can't reach all of them in time."
Six grabbed a nearby man and stole the cell phone out of his hands. He began to protest—she showed him her badge. Dialed fast with one hand. Ying picked up on the second ring.
"The terrorists are planting a series of bombs around the city," she said quickly, and then had Joseph take the phone and rattle off the list of names and locations. Six took back the phone, listening as Ying shouted to someone in the background. She heard the call go up, loud and fierce. For a moment, a feeling of nostalgia, a sliver of regret that could have been grief struck her, but then she looked at Joseph standing beside her, and felt such freedom it stole her breath away. She was making her own path now. Walking her own road.
"Six," said Ying. "What happened between you and Xiu? She doesn't remember anything. You are in such trouble."
"I cannot explain," Six said. "But I am still on your side. Please, no matter what happens, remember that."
"What happened?" Ying asked. "This is not you, Six."
"Goodbye," she said. "Tell the others for me."
Six ended the call and tossed the phone back to its owner. She could hear sirens, and flagged down the hotel manager one more time.
"Guard this man," she said, pointing to the terrorist still writhing on the ground. "Step on his wrists or knees if he gives you any trouble. Do it anyway, for fun. The police will be here in a moment."
"Y-yes," stammered the man. Six and Joseph ran. A police cruiser careened around the corner just as they walked through the revolving doors. Six tugged on Joseph's hand and made him slow to a walk, which they did—very quickly—in the opposite direction. The flow of the crowd made it easy to get lost. A lot of people were leaving the hotel.
"You found something else," she said to him, jostled on all sides by strangers. Her sense of hearing threatened to overwhelm her. She tried to subdue the sounds crashing in her eardrum, and much to her surprise, they subsided to something resembling normal. She wished her heart rate would do the same.
"Him," Joseph said shortly. "I found him."
He stopped walking. Six bumped against his side. His hand tightened and she followed his gaze to a man and woman standing in the middle of the sidewalk, staring at them. Eye contact was startling; Six felt those two sharp gazes reverberate down to her gut, and she knew without being told that they were vampires. Human shells, hollow cores. Just like her, if she was not careful. If the poison began to move again.
"I wish I had my dagger," Joseph muttered. "I should have kept a spare at the house."
"We will get you a new one after this," Six replied, and that brought a brief smile to his face.
"You and I," he said softly. "What a team."
"Yes," she said. "I like it."
The vampires moved close. Six and Joseph waited. The crowd parted around them all like water.
"Hello, sister," said the woman. "Hello hello."
"We have a message," said the man. "You should come with us to hear it."
"Really, we're guides," added the woman.
"I think you know who sent us." The man pointed. "It's a short walk."
Joseph and Six did not look at each other. They were already inside each other's heads. And they both knew what they had to do.
They followed the vampires down the long, gently curving street, walking away from the Bund. Sirens filled the city, a wail occasionally interrupted by the shot and blast of firecrackers. The sound made her jumpy, though she tried to hide it. Joseph knew, though. He felt the same.
They were led to an office building that was still fairly new. All glass and steel. There was a security desk, but no one manning it. The woman keyed in a code, the elevator dinged, and the four of them crowded into the small space—vampires on one side, Joseph and Six on the other. She still had the gun she had taken from the guard. Its weight was comfortable beneath her shirt.
"We were sorry to hear that Chenglei passed on," said the man to Joseph. "He was a very good person."
"He had dirty feet," Six said. The vampires frowned. Joseph coughed, holding his hand over his mouth.
The woman gave Six a piercing look. "You are almost one of us now. I think you will like it, if you give it a chance."
Six. said nothing. Engaging in that debate would be a waste of time.
The elevators doors opened. The vampires stepped out first, Joseph and Six following behind. His voice rumbled into a low chant. The creatures froze—and then, movements jerky, stepped back into the elevator. The woman snarled, but she pushed a button. The door slid closed.
"That will not keep them away very long," said Six.
"Long enough," Joseph replied.
"A parlor trick, and quite useless," said another voice. Six and Joseph looked up. A blond man walked out of a nearby office. His Chinese had an English accent, and he was tall and clean-cut, clad in a navy suit with a lilac tie. He was followed by three individuals who were, quite clearly, vampires. One of them, however, also wore a suit. His skin was swarthy, his features more of the south, perhaps from Indonesia. He gave her a straight, hard look, and Six felt, from Joseph's mind, the realization that this individual was one of the terror cell's ringleaders. A planner.
"Ah," said the other man. "So you finally see your vampire connection."
"That still doesn't explain why they would want men like us," Joseph replied.
"Control and information," said the vampire. "There was a woman we needed to speak to, but she was too well guarded. She had very private information about how to access certain facilities where she was planning New Year parties. Simple, really. And I knew of your skills. If it makes you feel better, we were going to kill you afterwards."
"Thanks," Joseph said dryly, and looked at the blond man. "And you, Mr.?…"
"Doe," he said, with a slight smile. "John Doe, to you. And no, the little bastards won't kill me. I've never touched a single one of them. And if they do try, I've made it crystal clear what will happen in retaliation." He leaned forward, eyes glinting. "Fear, Mr. Besud. You should really try utilizing it in a different manner than you have. You are far too much of a goody-two-shoes."
Six recalled Joseph's memories: the bones, the dead, the cold way he had dispatched the vampires during the previous night. Not so goody-goody, she thought. Not at all. The two of them were the same, that way.
"What do you get out of this?" she asked Doe. "Not just money. You would not want Joseph dead, if it was simply that."
Doe smiled, cracking his knuckles. "Do you know what happens when people die, Miss Six? It is quite remarkable, really. Their souls leave. Everything that ever made a person who they are simply… floats away. To Heaven or Hell, or perhaps just to live on a cloud. I do not know, nor do I care. What I find fascinating is not what happens after death, but what occurs during."
Joseph paled. "You're feeding off the deaths."
"Do you know how old I am?" Doe tapped his smooth cheek, running his finger down his strong jaw. "Ninety, young Mr. Besud. Ninety years old, and my body is still as young now as it was all those years ago. Back home in Russia." His smile changed, becoming darker, more feral. "I knew your grandfather, boy. I trained him."
Joseph's breath caught. "He spoke of a teacher. Never his name, though. He said that man was great."
"A compliment," Doe said. "I am still fond of him, you know. He was a stunning pupil. I was… disappointed… when he chose to run away. It took me years to find him again. I thought for sure that he would have used the trick I taught him to stay young, but instead I found an old brittle man with an old crone of a wife, their children aging by the minute. And you. You, with even more talent than my student."
"So you would kill me for that?" Joseph swayed forward. "Why?"
"Because there are no others like us," Doe whispered. "Not anywhere. We are alone, boy."
"And you do not want the competition," Six said, quiet.
Doe tipped his head. "When I was young, nothing excited me more than the idea of my brothers-in-arms, all of us living to use our gifts for pride and country. But it is a different world now, and I like my power being only my power."
"You like killing people for that strength," Joseph said flatly. "Only a violent death would give what you crave."
"A little bit of chaos never hurt," Doe said. "China will rebuild. It has people to spare. I'm sure the vampires agree."
Six gritted her teeth. "I would like to kill him now. May I?"
"By all means," Joseph said.
Doe sneered. He lifted his hands, chanting. Six felt a brief tug on her body, but it slid off her like water, and she smiled. Took one step forward, reaching behind for her gun. Doe faltered. The vampires all looked at each other.
"There is a curious thing called possession," Joseph said. "You might have heard of it. Thing is, you don't have to fully inhabit a person in order to keep someone else out. I'm surprised you didn't know that, Doe."
Doe paled. He said one word and the vampires jerked in front of him. Six knew what Joseph wanted before he asked; she tossed him the gun and then barreled into the vampires, clearing a path for him so that he could chase after Doe. He did, disappearing around a corner in the long office corridor.
Behind her, the elevator dinged. The two vampires who had escorted them up ran off, snarling. Their human faces had drained away; they stared at her with hollow eyes and black mouths, sharp tongues writhing deep within the maw. The air felt cold.
"Sister," hissed the woman. "I think, perhaps, we no longer want you to join us."
Six laughed. It was too funny. Five vampires against one. She liked those odds.
Doe ran fast, but Joseph did, too. He caught up with the older man. Before he could fire the gun, he heard a low voice fill the air: binding words, pushing against him. Joseph held up one hand and let his own voice fill the air. Double tones, loud and strong. His voice drowned out Doe, and he lifted the gun and took aim. His grandfather had always been good with a gun. So had his father. The steppe made men hardy, that way. Joseph fired.
The bullet caught Doe in the knee. He went down screaming and Joseph stood over him. Doe tried again to use his gift, but the power, while strong, slid away.
"What did you think it would do for you?" Joseph asked quietly, kneeling. "Really, what? Eternal youth? Perfect control over the people around you? And you thought you could beat me with that? You're no better than a vampire. Worse, even. You had a choice. Same choice as my grandfather. As me."
Doe's face contorted. "I should have killed you all when I found you the first time. Made it easy."
"Yes," Joseph said. "You should have."
He put the gun against Doe's forehead and pulled the trigger.
Joseph left Doe's body. He did not watch the man's soul leave. He ran back to help Six. There were four piles of ash on the ground. No doubt all of them had died with their heads ripped off. Vampire strength was obviously doing her some good.
The last vampire alive was the terror cell planner. Six had him pinned face down on the ground. She had somehow found time to locate a mini-recorder, which she held up to Joseph.
"How do you do that?" he asked admiringly, taking the device. Six smiled.
Joseph turned on the recorder and held it by the vampire's face. He watched as Six questioned him on tape, methodically breaking his fingers every time he refused to answer. And when he still refused, she commenced ripping those fingers off his hand, one by one. The dismembered digits turned to ash.
By the time she reached his pinky, the man had begun blabbering like an idiot. Helped along, of course, by Joseph's own coercion. He did not feel like wasting any more of their time. When Six was satisfied, he turned off the recorder and slipped it into his pocket. He did not want to preserve, for posterity, the sound of Six tearing off a man's head with her bare hands.
Which she did, quite easily. The vampire turned to ash "So," Joseph said. "That was… interesting."
"Very." Six wiped her hands together.
"I hope this doesn't mean we're breaking up," he said. "Now that the danger is over."
"There is always danger," Six said. "And no, I am not going anywhere. Not without you."
"Good," Joseph said, the adrenaline finally seeping away making him shaky. He wrapped his arm around Six's shoulders and pulled her near.
"Happy New Year," he muttered, and kissed her hard.