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."