"I'm not fond of doctors," Shan said honestly. "I prefer Eastern practitioners."
"Then I'll send you to my acupuncturist," Janet countered. "She's really excellent."
"You have an acupuncturist?" said Ian. Shan suppressed a smile. Ian looked rather silly with his mouth hanging open.
"Well, it's not like I'm locked in the Dark Ages, son. I
am
capable of trying new things. In fact," Janet said, admiring her nails, "you should try that sometime. You've been in such a rut."
"The acupuncturist sounds great," Shan said quickly. "I really appreciate your help."
The three of them passed the next hour in polite conversation. Ian's normally balanced personality fluctuated more than Shan had ever seen it. Perhaps she'd been premature in casting him into an almost perfect mold after so short an acquaintance. On the other hand, family had a way of bringing out the best and worst of people. Usually the worst.
Ian's father arrived shortly after that, and his presence had a mollifying affect on both Janet and Ian. Henry Dashell was tall and lanky like his son, but with a rounder face. He hugged Shan when they met and invited her to stay at Dashell Manor whenever she wanted. At dinner, as the four of them sat at one end of a table meant for twenty, Ian finally got around to mentioning the invitations to the auction.
"The Ashton affair?" Henry said, dabbing his mouth with a cloth napkin.
"Yes," said Ian. "I was wondering if I might use your invitation this year. It's very important."
"Excellent!" Janet said. "We've already RSVP'd, but I'll have Geof call and change the number. Will you be joining us as well, Shan?"
"You're going?" Ian said. "You've never gone before."
Henry shrugged. "We've never been to Hong Kong, and our collection is looking rather thin of late."
"And it's been so long since we've taken a vacation together," Janet said. "It'll be fun! Like an exotic double date." She looked at Shan and smiled.
"Actually," Ian said quickly, "Just Shan and I are going. I'd like you two to stay home."
"Don't be ridiculous," his father said. "We've always wanted to go to Victor's auction, and this year will be perfect now that we've got our own expert coming. You can't be that embarrassed by us, can you?"
"It's nothing like that," Shan interrupted. "We have reason to believe that the event will be dangerous this year. Ian just wants to keep you safe."
"Dangerous? Victor Ashton has an army at his disposal," Henry said. "We'll be safer with him than we are in London."
"I'm sorry, but I can't explain everything," said Ian. He stole a glance at Shan, then looked quickly back at his parents. "You just have to trust me. The event is going to be very dangerous this year."
"Well, if it's that dangerous, then why are you going?" Janet asked. The woman stabbed at a spear of asparagus with her fork absently as she spoke. "Do you expect us to sit here in England knowing you're in grave danger half the world away?"
"We can protect ourselves," Shan said, letting her tone of voice convey both her confidence and her resolve. Mrs. Dashell looked like she wanted to respond, but couldn't do so politely.
"Look," Henry Dashell said, "you rarely ask us for anything, Ian, so I'm inclined to let you have your way in this. But, for the record, I agree with your mother. If it's not safe for us, then you shouldn't be going, either."
"I appreciate your concern--I really do," said Ian. "But we're going with or without the invitation."
"Oh, Ian!" Mrs. Dashell exclaimed.
"It wouldn't be the end of the world to crash a party, Mother."
"Still!"
"You've been in England far too long--"
"Let it go. Both of you," said Henry Dashell. His voice held the hard edge Shan occasionally heard in Ian's. "Just promise me one thing, Ian," Henry continued. "Promise me that you won't get this young woman hurt in one of your crazy quests for adventure. Your mother and I barely survived your graduate school years."
Ian looked at Shan, clearly amused.
"I assure you, Mr. and Mrs. Dashell," Shan said, not allowing Ian a chance to respond, "that any crazy quests will be my fault, and not Ian's."
The Dashells looked at their son, but Ian merely shrugged. Then Mrs. Dashell smiled a new and dangerous smile, and said, "Oh, I see. I understand completely now." She looked at her son fondly. "Such a nice girl, Ian. So smart and pretty. You two make a sweet couple."
Shan's ears burned, and Ian sputtered. Mr. Dashell just leaned back in his chair and laughed.
Shan opened the huge window in her room, letting the cold night air sweep in and tickle the thick fabric of the drapes and canopy bed. She'd never slept in a room so large by herself. In China, she had shared sleeping quarters with a dozen other girls her age. In Los Angeles, she'd had a small room in the tiny apartment she had shared with her father. And now, her entire living space was just one room on the second floor of the martial arts school where she spent all her time teaching and practicing.
The high ceilings and distant walls of the room seemed to magnify the emptiness in Shan's heart. Her mother was lost forever. Her father had fled to Asia to lose himself in teaching. She had no siblings, no real lovers, and only a small scattering of friends, very few of them close. The tiger was a solitary hunter, but Shan was human. Being so close to Ian and his family, despite all the bickering, was giving her a bitter taste of what she was missing.
She breathed in the fresh air from the window, then walked back to the bed. Geof had laid out an array of clothes in her size, including a sleeping gown of forest green silk. Shan couldn't strip off her own worn clothes fast enough. The silk slid over her body like water, cooling her and calming her spirit.
Inspired, Shan moved a chair and an old trunk out of the middle of the room and began a twenty-one step meditation set. As she moved from one stance to the next, breathing slowly seven times in between, her mind began to clear. "Holding the Moon" to "Golden Rooster" pose, "Golden Rooster" to "Shield and Spear." She'd rarely gone this long without practicing, and the familiar moves filled her body with pleasant warmth. She directed the gathering energy to her ribs, willing them to heal. Her battles were far from over, and she needed to return her body to its best form as soon as possible. Shan was, for the millionth time, grateful for training that allowed her to channel and control her chi.
A light rap on the door pulled Shan from her semi-trance. She knew who it was, or at least whom she hoped it was.
"Come in."
The door opened, revealing Ian, still dressed in his khaki pants but now wearing a plain white T-shirt. It stretched over his torso, molding itself to his toned shoulders and chest. He left the door open behind him, always the gentleman. And what a pity that was, Shan mused.
"Greeb is a good color on you," he said, grinning.
"Thanks." Shan pulled herself out of her last meditation stance and returned the room's furnishings to their assigned spots. "Have a seat?"
Ian flopped into a leather wingback chair, but not before casting a furtive glance toward the bed. He blushed when he saw Shan watching him.
"I, uh, hope you don't have a bad impression of the Dashells after witnessing our normal bickering rituals."
Shan laughed. "Not at all. Though I don't think I'm the sort of woman your mother would choose for you."
"Are you kidding? She's probably just relieved that you're a woman, and not a man. She never met Rachel the archaeologist, and I think she's always been suspicious about my relationship with Buckley."
"I don't blame her. I'm suspicious about that, too," Shan teased.
"Well, in your case, I'd be happy to prove my preference," Ian said, his voice low and husky. "And there are bonus points for getting to prove it in my parent's house." Amazingly, his voice was all it took to send Shan's heart into overdrive again. The fancy shaded lights on the nightstands cast a warm yellow glow into the room, but weren't nearly bright enough to erase the shadows of Ian's face. In this low light, his face changed with every movement, every smile or frown or quirk. It was a face of infinite possibilities.
Shan stood, letting Ian drink in the full length of her in her silk sheathe. Then, slowly, she walked over and shut the door. She'd never been more aware of fabric against her skin, the way it rose and fell with her hips and stretched across her breasts. From the look on Ian's face, he was pretty damn aware of it, too. He stood and put himself in her way when she turned to walk back to her chair.
"It wasn't just a fluke, then? Back in the woods?" he breathed.
"A fluke? Is that what you think?"
"No. Yes. I don't know," Ian said. His gaze traveled up and down her again. "You're just so impossible, like something out of a dream." He reached up and let his hand trail down her arm, lightly brushing the silk and then the skin of her arm. Shan took a small step closer, putting their bodies just inches apart.
"Most of my life has felt like a dream," she said softly, "but not this." Shan placed her right palm on Ian's chest over his heart. It pounded, warm and alive, against her hand. She looked up into Ian's face and found his eyes closed, his breathing heavy. Her own pulse quickened. Shan swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry. From zero to sixty in record time, she thought. She wouldn't have believed it possible if she hadn't experienced it for herself.
"Sometimes," Ian said, opening his eyes, "sometimes I think I can see the tiger in you. The way you walk, the way you run. The way you stand silently, like you're gathering your power to pounce on something." He looked down at her, his cloudy eyes once again in shadow. "But in my mind, I'm the crane. A bird, an animal that's hunted. Sometimes," he whispered, "I wonder if you'll destroy me."
They were so close now. She felt his breath on her face, across her lips. She wanted to take his mouth first, and then his body. She wanted to claim him, to encompass him.
She wanted to devour.
"No."
Shan pushed him back and stumbled away in the other direction. The tiger, is that what this was? At one time, the spirits of all five animals had danced in her veins. Had the tiger devoured them, too? Left her with nothing but the drive to hunt and kill?
And Ian had lived with the crane for ten years. Was she really some dream come true to him, or a nightmare? The five animal statues belonged together, as surely as yin and yang, as love and hate. Were the ancient forces of the statues pulling her and Ian together, molding them into some human form of the Jade Circle? Shan looked at Ian, now outlined by the moonlit window behind him. How could she ever know for sure?
"Shan, what is it? I didn't mean--"
"Yes, you did," she said quickly. "It's the animals. They're clouding our judgment." She couldn't look at him. This was her fault, the fault of her ancestors. They had failed to protect the jade animals, and now the power of the Jade Circle was seeping out into the world, one statue at a time, affecting innocent people like Ian and Etienne. If anyone ever harnessed the power of the full Jade Circle, how many more would suffer?
"Shan, I don't need mystic powers to show me how beautiful you are." Ian started to walk toward her. "That stuff about the tiger... That was just my mouth running away from me." Another step. "Please, Shan. Don't push me away again."
"Maybe it is all a dream, Ian, and we both need to wake up." Her voice sounded cold and distant, even to her.
"You don't mean that." In contrast, Ian's voice almost bled in the air between them, open and raw and on the verge of pain. He stopped walking toward her. The moon glared just above his shoulder. The wind gusted, and the branches of a huge tree scratched against the house like an army of rats.
"Tell me you don't mean that," he said again, softer. "Please."
Shan turned away again from him again. She couldn't think straight when she looked at him. His face twisted her heart and made reason impossible. No, she didn't want this--whatever her relationship with Ian was--to be a dream. And if it was, she certainly didn't want to wake up from it. Even if the jade statues were involved in her desire for this man, she needed to trust them. She had trained her mind and body to harness their powers when she fought and when she centered herself. Why did she want to fight them now, just because her heart was involved?
"Ian, I--"
Shan turned around just as Ian groaned and slumped to the floor unconscious, his white shirt still glowing in the moonlight. A figure wrapped in black stepped out of the shadows and stood where Ian had been just seconds before.
"Ian!" Shan grabbed the nearest thing in reach--a heavy crystal ashtray--and whipped it at the figure's head. The figure stepped quickly to the side and deflected the ashtray with the palm of a hand. But Shan was already moving, ready to claw and kick and snap the figure's head off its shoulders if she could.
"Stop it," the figure said in Mandarin. "Is that how you greet an elder now, Song Shan?" The voice was raspy and old, and distinctly female. It took only a second for the memories to spread like lightning through Shan's mind. She stopped her attack instantly.
"Sifu!" Shan fell to her knees, pressed her palms together in front of her, and bowed low until her forehead touched the ground. "Forgive me, Revered One. Forgive me."
Shan continued to bow low as the woman laughed.
"I see you have not forgotten everything from your childhood, Shan. There is still hope for you."
As Shan bowed, she glanced at Ian, still crumpled on the floor a few feet away. His white T-shirt rose and fell in a slow rhythm. Shan closed her eyes for a moment, relieved that her teacher, Sifu Xia, had not killed him.
"Get up," Xia snarled. "I can see you looking at the man."
Shan stood slowly, trying to calm herself. The last time she had seen Sifu Xia, Shan had been twelve, and children of twelve respected their elders without question. It seemed Xia was determined to re-establish that arrangement.
"You had no right to hurt the man, Sifu," Shan said quietly.
Xia stepped out of the shadows and lowered her hood, revealing the blood-red scar across her cheek that had terrified Shan as a student. Xia never spoke of it, although Shan had overheard other adults mentioning it once. Xia had spent three months healing after they'd brought her to the Jade Circle when she was young. And ever since then, Xia had fought against men being allowed in the Circle--as husbands, sons, or members.
"I can do whatever I please, Song Shan," Xia said.
"My name is Shan Westfall."
Xia spat onto the expensive rug. "You take your father's Western name instead of your mother's, and you still claim allegiance to the Jade Circle? Disgusting."
"They are both my parents, Sifu, and both worthy of my respect." Shan continued to use the honorific
sifu
as a reminder to herself that this woman deserved respect as well as her parents. As Shan's teacher--her
sifu
--Xia had spent more time helping Shan perfect her technique than anyone, including Shan's own mother. Xia let no girl leave the confines of the Jade Circle unless she could defend herself and kill whoever attacked her.
"Tell me, Song Shan," Xia growled, "how would your mother feel about you giving the jade dragon to one of her mortal enemies?"
Shan's face burned. "You have been following us," Shan said. "Why didn't you help us keep the dragon?"
"Oh, it's going to be my fault, now, is it?" Xia walked closer and began to circle Shan. "You left the Circle too young. You are ignorant and incompetent. You are not worthy."
It was the same lecture Shan had heard again and again as a child. The other teachers did not approve of Xia's methods, but they couldn't argue with the woman's results. Shan knew she was stronger for all Xia's pushing and put-downs. Now, however, Shan had no use for her rebukes.
Shan stood.
"Why did you give the dragon to Fortier?" she said, proud of the even tone in her voice. "And if you were watching him, where were you when our enemies arrived?"
"Ah," laughed Xia, "I see how it is with you, Song Shan. Too old for our games now. We shall see about that." Xia continued her circling. Shan held her breath every time the older woman walked near Ian. Xia had been the guardian of the dragon for several years before she had given it to Fortier, and before that, she'd had the power of all five animals flowing through her veins. If she wanted to hurt Ian again, she would move without warning and almost impossibly fast.
"You did not answer my questions, Sifu."
"I gave the dragon to that man for safekeeping," Xia said. "The dragon's influence was making me wild, erratic. I began to think I would do something foolish without the other animals to balance it." Xia's voice softened slightly as she spoke. The woman missed her sisters of the Jade Circle, probably even more than Shan. "So I gave it to that sniveling man, and he hid and coveted it, as all men do."
Shan nodded. It made sense. She could never have parted with the tiger, her last link to the mother and the Jade Circle, but Xia was wiser than her gruff demeanor. It had been a good plan.
"Except--"
"Except where was I? I was off answering the call of a fellow sister, the one entrusted with the jade snake." Xia's face contorted, her scar an angry wave amidst her wrinkles. "Chen Sun is dead. I found her beaten and..." Xia's eyes hardened.
Shan lowered her gaze.
"Raped. She was raped," Xia said finally. "There are things not even the Jade Circle would ask of us, but Sun gave them all. Stupid bitch."
Xia's face held so much anger and so much pain, yet the woman refused to let any of it out. Only now, after so many decades of collecting it, Xia's prison walls were crumbling. How soon before all that emotion shattered through Xia's formidable defenses? Would she ever be able to contain it again?
In Shan's memory, Xia had been six feet tall at least, and scarier than almost anyone. But now, the sixty-year-old looked like a child, short and thin and not at all terrifying. Shan wanted to take two steps toward Xia and pull the older woman against her shoulder. To offer her the safety and the release that she so obviously needed.
Instead, Shan remembered Sun. Most of Shan's childhood memories came in snippets of sound or scent or motion, as if the past was playing hide-and-seek with her. Now, however, the image of Sun's smiling face filled Shan's mind. Sun had loved food, especially the sweets Shan's father would bring her from America. She had been an expert with the sword, and one of Xia's best students. Sun had been widowed the year before the Circle fell, and her two sons had chosen not to stay after the funeral. Shan tried not to picture Sun's round face bloodied and swollen, her body ravaged, but the images came anyway.
Xia's harsh voice pulled Shan from her waking nightmares. "They have the dragon and snake now," Xia said. "And you have?"
"The tiger and the crane."
Xia nodded. Shan looked at the nightstand where Ian's messenger bag lay. She walked over to the bag, pulled out the crane, and offered it to Xia.
The older woman smiled and accepted the statue gently into shaking hands. "So beautiful," Xia breathed. She closed her eyes and let her fingers trace the crane's curves and angles. The crane glowed softly in response, adding its milky-green aura to the yellow light of the room. Shan felt the power radiating from the jade animal and Xia, and herself.
"Who has the leopard?" Shan asked.
Xia shook her head. "I don't know. I don't even know how Sun found me. We were not supposed to know the location of the other animals. Lin-Yao knew them all, and they died with her."
"So my mother is dead, then?" The energy coursing through Shan's body seemed to slow and stop all at once.
Xia spat again. "I did not see her fall, child, but not even she could have survived all those attackers. Men are cowards."
As if on cue, Ian groaned and started to sit up.
Shan saw Xia starting to move toward him and managed to put her own body between them. She suppressed the thought of her mother and tried to focus.
"Please do not harm him again, Sifu," Shan said, crouching by Ian's side to help him sit. "He is neither cruel nor a coward."
Xia snorted. "Then he is no man."
Shan frowned but said nothing. It was far too late to heal Xia's hatred, and Shan had never been good at that sort of thing anyway. When the tiger wanted a heart-to-heart, it used claws, not conversation.
Ian opened his eyes, saw Shan, and tried to smile.
"You really need to stop falling unconscious," Shan said softly in English.
"I agree," said Ian, "but the waking up part is always so nice."
From behind her, Xia grunted. Ian's eyes widened.
"He's still here?"
Shan switched to Mandarin and tilted her body to give Ian a good look at Xia. "Sifu Xia, this is Ian Dashell, carrier of the sacred crane. Ian, this is Xia, one of my honored teachers from the Jade Circle."
Ian struggled to his feet. "It is a pleasure to meet you, Respected One," Ian said in Mandarin, bowing his head. His accent was excellent. Shan dared Xia to find fault with it.
Xia snorted again, her arms folded across her chest, but her eyes sparkled slightly. "So, boy, you carried the crane?"
"Yes, I had that honor for ten years, Respected One," Ian said.
The edges of Xia's mouth twitched, almost into a smile. Shan wanted to dance wildly about the room in celebration. Xia hadn't even liked Shan's father enough to almost smile at him. It was a good sign. A very good sign.
Shan couldn't help but think that if Xia had met Buckley instead of Ian, she'd be digging a shallow grave right about now.
"You must be thirsty from your journey," Ian continued in Mandarin. "Please allow me to get you some tea."
"I would enjoy tea," said Xia, "but none of that dreadful English shit."
Now it was Ian's turn to smile. "Of course not, Respected One." He bowed again, winked at Shan, and left the room. The door made a soft click as it closed behind him. Thank goodness Xia had rendered him unconscious without hitting him in the head. One concussion was enough for the poor man.
Xia stared at the closed door, her look thoughtful. "Interesting," she said, and Shan raised another silent "Hurrah!" for Ian.
"Now," Xia said, making herself comfortable in a huge leather armchair, "you'll tell me why we're on this island, and everything else you know."
Shan nodded. She seated herself in a chair opposite Xia and began the tale, from the magazine interview that had led her to Buckley, Ian, and the crane, to the invitation that had brought them to England. Somewhere in the middle, Ian arrived with a tray of hot green tea in exquisite Chinese cups. Xia's eyes sparkled at the sight. Ian's eyes sparkled at Shan. She tried to thank him with her eyes, to let him know how much she appreciated his cooperation. He smiled slyly and took a seat in the chair next to hers.
Xia closed her eyes and inhaled the tea's steam. "Aaaaah. So, a fancy auction? With places reserved in this man's name?" Xia nodded toward Ian as she sipped her tea. "Then I will go with him."
"No, Sifu--"
"What did you say?" Xia placed her tea cup on the table and sat up straight in her chair. "Did Lin-Yao's child just tell me no?"
Shan sensed Ian tensing in the chair beside her.
"Yes, Sifu," Shan said carefully, "I said no." She matched Xia's posture with her own, happy that she had almost a foot of height on her teacher. "I will be going to the auction with Ian."
"Impossible," Xia said at once. "This is too important."
"I understand its importance, Sifu," Shan said, "but this is my journey, not yours."
"You are not ready. You did not spend enough time in the Jade Circle to learn all you need for this."
Shan stared into Xia's eyes. "Yes, I am ready."
Xia stared back. "Then you will need to prove it to me."
"I accept your challenge," Shan said.
"What are you talking about?" Ian interjected. "I don't like the way this sounds."
"It doesn't matter what you like or don't like, boy," Xia said. "This is between Lin-Yao's daughter and myself."
"I have a name," Shan said tersely.
"Song Shan," said Xia. "I remember."
Shan stood. "Outside. By the pool. Now."
"Agreed." Xia leaped to her feet, ran past Shan, and jumped headfirst out the open window. Shan moved to the window and watched Xia somersault through the air and land on her feet like a cat. Xia's eyes glowed in the moonlight as she looked up at Shan and smiled.
Shan felt Ian's hand on her arm. "Shan, wait," he said. "Do you have to do this?"
"Yes," she said, "I do." Shan turned and touched Ian's hand resting on her arm. "Unless you're looking forward to a week on a remote island resort with Sifu Xia..."
Ian grunted. "Yeah, that's my fondest wish. And then I'm going to have a voluntary lobotomy."
"Then I need to do this," Shan said. "As much as I hate to admit it, Sifu Xia is right. The most capable one of us should go to the auction. Now I just need to show her that it's me."
Ian took a step closer, enveloping Shan in his aura of warmth. "What about your ribs?" he said softly. "You're injured."
"It's nothing," Shan said, but the words came out slowly. Ian's scent and the sharp white of his shirt were blocking her mind from rational thought.
"This isn't one of those to-the-death things, is it?" Ian skimmed his hand along her skin--up to her shoulder then back down to her forearm. Shan barely resisted the urge to groan and slip further into his arms.
"Members of the Jade Circle don't kill each other," Shan whispered. She stared into Ian's eyes and saw the heat that they both felt.
Something whizzed by Shan's head and lodged itself in the window frame. A nut of some kind. Shan looked down at the lawn and saw Xia aiming another one.
"I'm surprised she missed," Ian said softly.
"She didn't. First one was a warning."
"Can I watch the fight?" Ian asked.
Shan nodded. "But only if you don't interfere. Xia might use that as an excuse to kill you."
She couldn't risk another look at Ian's face, not with his body so close. Shan put her hands on the windowsill and vaulted out the window. She landed and rolled in the soft grass. Pain erupted in her side, but she gritted her teeth and didn't cry out. Her adrenaline was already flowing, and, combined with her body's chi, would prove sufficient to dull the pain for the upcoming fight. Provided it didn't go on too long, that was.
She stood. A cool night breeze plastered her silk nightgown against her skin and caused it to snap at the bottom.
"Damn." Shan had forgotten what she was wearing. She doubted she'd be able to kick very high wrapped in a tight sheath. At her side, already hidden in the shadows of the house, Xia chuckled. Shan spared her teacher a glower, then reached down and ripped the nightgown along the seam, stopping when it reached the top of her thigh. She mirrored the rip on the other side.
"Much better," Shan muttered.
"Let's go," Xia said in Mandarin, and the old woman was off, running across the lawn at an incredible speed. Shan bolted after her. It felt like the old games they used to play outside the sanctuary. The cool grass and warm earth caressed her feet as she ran. Laughter welled in her lungs, and she longed to release it into the night. But the Dashells and their servants slept just a few feet away, and the fewer spectators they had for their fight, the better.