"No, no," Ian answered quickly. "But now I know where to get it. And I've told my contacts to deal exclusively with me."
Good boy, Shan thought. Keep yourself valuable.
She made it to the dining room door and pressed herself to the floor near the doorframe. Her rib sent her a sharp pain to remind her that it was probably cracked, but the irritation was worth it to Shan. One-eye might notice a sudden movement out of the corner of his eye if she looked into the room, but she doubted he'd be able to spot her head so close to the floor.
As Shan moved her body forward slightly and looked into the room, she stared straight into One-eye's scarred, smiling face. He was sitting next to the closed study door in a tall, straight-backed chair of a dark polished wood, but he was facing the dining room archway.
"Damn," Shan muttered. One-eye'd been waiting for her.
Shan picked herself up off the floor and stood slowly. "You should at least tell me your name," she said in Mandarin, "so I know what to put on your headstone."
One-eye smiled.
"Thank you for bringing the crane," he said, also in Mandarin. "It's going to look very good in the collection."
"You don't have them all," said Shan. She took a step into the room. One-eye's hands were hidden behind the huge dining room table. She needed to know if he had a gun.
"No, not all," said One-eye. "But soon." His eyes followed her progress, but the rest of him remained motionless in his chair. "And the dragon is important, wouldn't you agree? It sits at the center of the circle, after all."
Some things never changed, thought Shan. Yes, the dragon sat at the center of the circle and acted as a hub for the other four animals. But it did not follow that it was the most powerful. Size had nothing to do with power.
"Yes," Shan lied, taking another step, "the dragon is the emperor of the sky, the ruler of us all. Even we know that." She used the word emperor to appeal to his patriarchal mindset, though it seemed to burn her tongue as she said it. One-eye smiled, his wide slit of a grin oozing malice.
"Don't try to placate me, girl," he said. "It's unbecoming."
"So is that eye," Shan said, giving up the pretense happily. "You know, plastic surgery has come a long way in the last few years." Shan switched between English and Mandarin as she spoke. It had been a long time since she had spoken in Chinese, and she certainly hadn't learned words for "plastic surgery." Her fluency was yet another legacy of her childhood that had begun to fade.
The smile eroded from One-eye's face at her latest insult. Shan hadn't expected it to be quite that successful; surely he got regular abuse about the sunburst scar around his eye. In the next room, the archaeologists continued to trade quips of their own. Shan quieted her mind as she took another step toward her enemy. She needed
mushin
, the no-mind state, if she hoped to defeat the man before her. She needed stillness of thought, but not of body; she needed both yin and yang, both action and inaction.
One-eye leaped out of his seat, moving almost as fast as his henchman Dart, and onto the table. Just as one leg landed, his other circled around in a wide arc. Shan watched it come toward her face. She bent backward and it zoomed past, an inch over her nose, as if in slow motion. When she righted herself, Shan sliced the back of One-eye's knee with the edge of her hand. He rolled backward onto the table, but put his hands behind his head and used the momentum of the roll to jump back up onto his feet. A kip.
Shan joined him on the table, drawing her front foot back into a deep, low cat stance. Like pulling back the string of a bow, the cat stance created energy and potential power. Shan's fingers curled into tiger claws.
"The animals of power have changed," One-eye hissed. He stood across the table from her in his own fighting stance, hands fisted in front of him, protecting his face and chest. "Money is a much stronger creature now."
Shan circled her arms, clawed fingers still out, and drew in even more power toward her body. "Then why seek these ancient relics? What do you care about the detritus of a forgotten Order?"
"I don't," said One-eye. "I worship the green god now. But I will enjoy killing the daughter of the bitch that took my eye."
Shan's reverie, her oneness with her surroundings, shattered like an old mirror.
"Who's paying you to do this, then?" she asked, her heart suddenly beating loudly in her ears. A rush of memories threatened to fill her mind: the darkened passageway the night she and her father had fled, the scent of green tea on her mother's clothes, the man her mother had subdued with a flick of her fingers in the torchlight.
One-eye was that man, dropped in a heartbeat to the ground at her mother's feet. And here Shan stood, facing him like an equal, like a foe to be respected. Her mother had disposed of him as if he were no more trouble than a soap bubble.
"I think it better for you to die without knowing," One-eye said, clearly unaware of her mental distraction. "You women should never have been taught to fight. It gives you arrogance you do not deserve."
Shan wondered what Dart would think about that. But only for a second.
"We're not so good with patience, either," said Shan, and she sprang at him, trying to rake his face with her taut fingers. She wanted the other eye, the one her mother hadn't taken.
Her first hand caught One-eye along the cheek, and four streaks of blood followed in its wake. One-eye caught her other arm and used Shan's momentum to twist her into a rear headlock. Shan dropped her weight instantly and fell through One-eye's arms. She rolled onto her back and kicked up with her feet, catching him under the chin.
One-eye stumbled back and jumped off the table. Shan kipped to her feet and spun around, trying to kick him in the face with the top of her foot. The man ducked under her leg and yanked on it, pulling her off the table. Shan somersaulted in the air, trying to get her feet under her, but failed. Her back smashed into the door between the dining room and the study, splintering it. She found herself dazed and lying on the floor of the study surrounded by Ian, Buckley, and the man Fortier.
"Shan!" Ian called.
"My family," Fortier squawked. In person, and even from her position on the floor, the man look small and weak. He clutched his drinking glass to his chest as if it would protect him from the chaos. He was no dragon. Had Ian been wrong about this place from the start?
Shan scrambled to her feet just in time to block a series of strikes and kicks from One-eye, who had obviously given up all pretense of secrecy.
"Your family's safe," Shan yelled to Fortier. "Ian, get him out of--"
One-eye landed a solid kick on Shan's already weakened ribcage. Her vision blurred from the pain, and she stumbled back, her mouth bitter from the sudden taste of bile. She wanted to flip and get away, but there were too many people in the room, and her ribs would never make it.
Shan gritted her teeth. She advanced on One-eye, a growl deep in her throat. They traded punches, kicks. Shan was faster, but her damaged ribs evened the playing field. She spun and kicked at his head. He ducked and swept for her legs. Shan's mind had emptied again. Her body reacted without needing to consult her brain. After a lifetime of practice, it knew what to do.
They fought, circling each other in the room like wary animals. Shan was vaguely aware of the other men moving around them, but kept her focus on One-eye. His grin was long gone, replaced by a look of animal ferocity. Then, at last, Shan saw an opening in his defense and went for it with a powerful side kick. Her foot hit One-eye squarely in the throat. At the same time, something shattered over his head. A vase? One-eye staggered backward and collapsed on the floor, just across the threshold into the dining room.
"Sorry it took so long," Ian said breathlessly. "We were debating which of the vases was least archeologically significant." Ian glared at Fortier and Buckley, the latter of whom shrugged. He turned back to Shan. "We decided on the Greek amphora."
"What a relief," said Shan. She bent over and breathed deeply in through her nose and out through her mouth. Her skin was sticky with sweat. At least she hoped it was sweat. Her left hand went to her ribs, and she winced.
"My family," said Charles Fortier from behind her. "You said they were safe."
"Attic," Shan breathed.
Fortier hurried out the door leading to the foyer. She heard his footsteps on the stairs.
"Dragon," Shan hissed, "not...here." She took another breath. "Fortier...not...dragon."
"What? It's not here? After all that?" said Buckley. Shan was surprised by his vehemence. He'd shown little interest in the jade animals until now.
"Oh, it's here," said another voice. Shan gritted her teeth again and stood up, air still rasping in and out of her lungs. One-eye stood in the doorway, blood trickling down his face in numerous rivulets, his throat already showing signs of bruising.
And in his arms was the boy Etienne.
One of One-eye's hands was hooked under the boy's chin, while the other gripped the hair at the back of his head. With one quick movement, he could snap the boy's neck. It was worse than if he'd held a knife to the boy's throat.
Ian started to move forward, but Shan held out a hand, stopping him.
"What do you want?" she asked quietly.
"Don't be stupid, bitch," One-eye said. "You know what I want."
The dragon, Shan knew. But it wasn't here. She couldn't believe that Charles Fortier had been exposed to the dragon for even so much as a year, judging from his bearing. How could she save the boy without any bargaining chips?
Shan looked at Etienne. His blue eyes regarded her coolly. He held his chin high, as if daring One-eye to kill him.
And then Shan knew.
"We'll give you the dragon. Just release the boy," she said to One-eye. Ian raised an eyebrow in her direction, but she ignored him.
"You know how this works," One-eye countered. "Dragon first, then the boy goes. Hurry, though," he added. "I have little patience left." One-eye stroked Etienne's hair, then gave it a rough tug with his fist.
Shan looked around the room. Buckley and Ian were watching her. "You hurt anyone," said Shan to One-eye, "
anyone
, and I'll take the dragon and go. You know how much it means to me."
"Threat acknowledged," said One-eye, but she had no way of knowing if he cared.
"I'll be right back," she told Ian. "Don't do anything. Please."
Ian nodded. Shan raced out of the room and up the stairs. She met Charles Fortier in the hallway as he descended from the attic stairs.
"My son," Fortier huffed, "my son is missing."
"He's downstairs," Shan said calmly. "The man with the scar has him. We're going to trade for the dragon."
"But I don't know where it is!" Fortier's shoulders were so hunched that Shan thought he might collapse in on himself. He pulled at the lowest button on his tweed waistcoat compulsively.
"I do," she said. "Please go back into the attic. The dragon is there."
"Yes, yes, I know it's in the attic," Fortier said. "But there are hundreds of boxes up there. It could take hours--"
"It is not in a box, Mr. Fortier," said Shan. She was starting to lose her patience again. "Look, if you're not going back up there, get out of my way."
Her tone of voice seemed to surprise him. His hand stopped fidgeting with the button for a second. Then, quietly, he stepped away from the makeshift stairs.
Shan bolted up the ladder and into the attic. Mrs. Fortier and her daughter sat together on Etienne's bed by the far window. As Shan ran toward them, Mrs. Fortier shielded her daughter with her body.
"What do you want?" the woman said, clearly frightened.
Oh, how quickly they forget
, thought Shan. But it didn't matter. She didn't need Mrs. Fortier's trust, nor her gratitude. Shan just needed her to stay out of the way.
Shan reached Etienne's area of the room and started picking up clothes, shifting stacks of books. The dragon had to be here somewhere, she just knew it. Her mistake had been in assuming the father, Charles Fortier, would keep the dragon close to himself. But the boy had shown amazing bravery all night. He seemed to take direction well, to adapt his mind and his body to the needs of the moment. Even the position of the boy's bed, under the window, sent her a belated clue. The dragon was ever a creature of the sky. Etienne must have been drawn to the wind and freedom it promised. His had been a complex childhood, she was sure.
"Ah, there you are," she muttered. A suspicious pile of socks by the head of the bed had been covering the dull green beauty of the jade dragon. Shan lifted the dragon gently from its soft, white nest. She ran her fingertips along its circumference, along all the grooves where the other animals would slide into place.
Socks
. Shan snorted. She would have loved to see her mother's expression at finding one of the ancient animals under a pile of dirty laundry.
"My son," said Fortier. She hadn't heard him walk over. The animals did that to her sometimes--assaulted her mind with memories and fantasies and the bitter taste of what might have been.
"Please stay up here," said Shan. "I'll trade the dragon for the boy, do everything I can." She looked from Charles Fortier to his wife, but avoided looking at the daughter. "But this man," she said quietly, "he doesn't value life."
Mrs. Fortier's shoulders shook but Shan didn't wait to hear her tears. True, her family had done nothing to deserve this terror, but few people in the world ever deserved such tragedy. And now Shan had no time for tears. She had a boy to save and a man to kill, if she could.
Shan dropped down into the hallway of the second floor and took a second to fold up the ladder and close the attic hatch again. If Charles Fortier had wanted to go with her, to defend his child or die trying, Shan would have let him. But no, the man had made no move to follow her. At first, she found herself condemning him for his cowardice. But hadn't her own father left her mother in the middle of the fight? They had decided that Shan's life--and the jade tiger--were worth the price all three of them had to pay. Shan swallowed a lump in her throat and ran down the steps four at a time.
The tableau in the study had changed. One-eye still stood in the doorway with Etienne, but now he was laughing. Buckley restrained a struggling Ian, whose face burned red. And his eyes. Even from across the room, Ian's eyes surprised her. The craggy bones of his cheek and brow barely contained a blazing ferocity in his eyes. What the hell had One-eye said to inspire such a reaction?
"I have the dragon," Shan announced. The three men and the boy all turned to look at her. As she hoped, her arrival seemed to diffuse Ian's anger. The angles of his face receded as he relaxed his struggling. Buckley released his hold on Ian's arms and took a step away from his friend.