Holidays are Hell(76)

"I'm being hunted because I refused to do this. For money. For terrorists. How the vampires got involved is another matter entirely. That makes no sense to me."

It made no sense to Six, either. None of it did. She pulled her hand away from his chest. Joseph's expression turned puzzled. "You don't think I'll try to paralyze you again?"

Six wondered the same thing. "I can still disable your voice before you begin to chant. I know what to look for now."

"You're overestimating yourself."

She pointed to a side street. "Park the car."

"Is the military waiting?" There was some humor in his voice. Six merely looked at him, trying to remain unaffected. Joseph held her gaze a moment longer than she was comfortable with, and then pulled down the street she had indicated, away from the lights and press of cars and people. Fireworks spat; peach blossoms made of paper fluttered from lines over the road. Six saw red, everywhere. Made her heart hurt, for a moment. She had few friends, but those she knew had still managed to take time off to return home for the New Year. One rare week spent with family.

Six had never done that. She had never celebrated. New Year, Spring Festival—it was always on her own, or around men and women who had somewhere to be, but could not go. Never much happiness, there.

"Where is your family?" Six asked.

"Are you going to hurt them?"

"No. I was just… curious."

He parked the car at the side of the road. The street attendant, an old man in a blue uniform, wandered close. Joseph pulled out his wallet. "They live all over. Mongolia, Beijing, London. Right now, my parents are in Xian. I was going to fly there to visit. My mother is cooking her dumplings for the holidays. Maybe some red bean cakes."

"Can she also summon the dead?"

"No," Joseph said. "That's my father's skill. And his family."

They got out of the car. The old man had his pad of receipts ready. Before Joseph could pay, Six dragged out her identification card, hidden in a narrow pouch inside her pants. The old man took one look at it, nodded his head like there were swinging weights attached, and backed off fast.

"Ah, power," Joseph said, sardonically. "It's heady, isn't it?"

"You would know better than I," Six replied. She felt her two stolen guns press against her lower back, hidden beneath her blouse. Their weight was a comfort.

The corner of his mouth curled. "What are we doing here, really? It's not safe, you know. There are people hunting me. Hunting you, maybe. And I can't imagine your superiors would appreciate you running off like this, without checking in, and with a suspicious character such as myself."

"You are testing me," Six said, concerned by those very issues, but unable to step back, to lay down her desire to know more, to hold on to the old lost feeling of hunger. "We are here because I said so."

Joseph shrugged, and turned around. He started walking. Six matched his pace, watching his throat, his mouth, any sign that he might turn on her. She also watched the people around them, remembering Chenglei—so human, so warm, shriveling into a monster before her eyes. If it could happen to him, no one was safe. Not even her. Not now.

That is what you will become, a voice whispered inside her head. Monster.

Joseph's pace faltered. Six took a deep breath. "Assuming, for a moment, that I believe you—which is debatable—what possible use could terrorists have for the spirits of those who are already dead? How in any way does that support their cause?"

Joseph shoved his hands in his pockets. "Here's one example. You want some information from a top-level official, but you don't have the time or opportunity to get it? Order an assassination. Murder the man or woman you want, then question the dead. You don't have to be close to the corpse. And souls, even the memories of souls, don't lie. Not ever."

Six thought of the Foreign Minister's wife. "You said that was just one example."

Joseph glanced at her, his eyes dark, serious. "A necromancer, despite the title, can also control the living. I think you've seen some convincing demonstrations of that."

Six looked away, toward the road, staring at the cars and people. Ten years ago, Shanghai had been an ordinary city, not terribly large or advanced. Still some farms, still some quiet. Now, though, it was all light and flash and thunder—and not just because of the New Year celebrations. Money had been poured into this city. Vast amounts of money and pride and hard work. It had been a beautiful effort, and still was.

Six tried to imagine all of it gone. Blown away. Laid to waste and rubble. It was a possibility. Part of the message recently received. Intelligence reports confirmed that certain extremist cells had begun to focus, not just on the West, but on any example of capitalist success. And China, despite all words to the contrary, was very much a capitalist nation. The iron rice bowl had become a fleeting memory, hardly worth contemplating. Certainly, there were enough people out shopping to indicate that times were, indeed, better. And those better times had to be protected.