Lair of Dreams

“That bastard,” Henry spat. “But what about all those letters I sent you? And two telegrams—one when I reached St. Louis, one from New York. When you didn’t write me back, I thought…”



Louis shook his head. “Didn’t get no letters. No telegrams, either.”



“My father,” Henry said. He didn’t like to think that anybody at Celeste’s would sell them out, but money was money, and his father had a lot of it. It would be just like him to pay someone to intercept Henry’s letters and make sure they were thrown out before they could even be delivered. If so, that meant his father had Henry’s return address in New York and had done nothing to try to find him. It was a relief to know that his father wouldn’t drag him off to military school, but it stung, too, knowing that it was easier for his father to erase his only son’s existence than it was for him to tolerate the disappointment of who his son really was.



“But you’re here now, cher,” Louis said. “We’re here now.”



Louis raised his palm toward Henry’s and Henry followed suit, their fingers nearly touching.



Wai-Mae’s mouth hadn’t stopped moving the entire walk through the wood. “Do you know the story of Mu Guiying? She is my favorite of the Dao Ma Dan. When she battles with Yang Zongbao and falls in love with him, saving his life? It’s the most beautiful love story,” she said, huffing alongside Ling like an excited puppy. There’d still been no sign of Henry. “I think it’s my favorite. Except for the Courtesan Yu Tang Chun. Or the Drunken Beauty. Or possibly the Romance of the Three Kingdoms.”



“Henry!” Ling called again, more desperately. “Henryyyy!”



“I’m sorry, Ling. Uncle says that I talk too much, and I’m a silly girl and my head is too full of romantic stories to be much good,” Wai-Mae said in cheerful apology. “Would you like to know a secret?”



“Not particularl—”



“I am to be married soon!” Wai-Mae exclaimed. “We’ve never met, but I have heard my husband-to-be is very handsome, with kind eyes and a high forehead. He is a wealthy merchant in America, in New York City, and once I’m there, I’ll live very well with servants to wait on me and plenty of money to send back to my family. I’m traveling to San Francisco now on the Lady Liberty. I hate the ship. It makes me so sick,” Wai-Mae said, putting a hand on her stomach.



“It’s very difficult for Chinese women to immigrate to America. How did you manage it?” Ling asked.



“Uncle arranged everything through matchmakers, O’Bannion and Lee. Mr. O’Bannion will greet me in immigration in San Francisco. Then he will take me to my husband in New York City. My future husband is very respected and successful there. I hear you must be careful on the streets, though,” Wai-Mae continued, barely stopping to take a breath. “There is all manner of vice and corruption and murder—opium dens and houses of ill repute!—and a lady has to keep her wits sharp, or terrible misfortune could befall her in the Den of Thieves or Murderer’s Alley and along Bandit’s Roost on Mulberry Bend and—”



“Mulberry Street,” Ling corrected.



“Mulberry Bend,” Wai-Mae said again, knowingly. “I have heard the stories, Ling.”



And I’ve only lived there my entire life, Ling thought.



“Of course, I will have a husband to protect me, but…”



Wai-Mae’s mouth never stopped. Through her prattling monologue, Ling kept moving, thinking only one thought: Kill Henry.



“… it’s the love stories I like best, the ones with the happy endings? I would live inside the opera if I could.…”



No. Ling would need Henry alive for the tongue-lashing she intended to dole out. Then the murder.



“… I know that women can’t perform, but if they could, I would play all the best, most romantic roles, royal consorts, and my gestures would be precise and elegant. And you would be the brave Dan. I can already tell you’ve got a warrior’s spirit—”



“Could you be quiet, please? I’m trying to think,” Ling snapped.



“I’m sorry.” Wai-Mae bowed, embarrassed, and Ling felt like she’d kicked a kitten. “It’s only that I’ve been on the ship for such a long time, and the other women are older and not from my village. They want nothing to do with me. It’s nice to talk to someone else. Someone young. With all her teeth.”



“How old are you?” Ling asked.



“Seventeen. You?”