Stolen Bloodline Read online

  Master Chandler turned toward the door, but Ju spoke up before he could leave.

  “Sir,” she said. “Why me?”

  His hand rested atop the doorknob. “I figured you didn’t have the same connections as other women here and so you might not know.”

  “Is that all?” Judging by his tone, it wasn’t.

  He sighed. “Not one dancer passes through Ginevra’s without me working extensively with them at some point in their training. I can teach anyone to be graceful or to stay on tempo.” He lifted a finger Ju’s direction. “But the way you danced the other night? You breathed with the music—and that is far, far harder to teach.” Master Chandler opened the door and walked out.

  Ju watched the door shut behind him. She would have another opportunity. A second chance at her dream. She covered her mouth with both hands and squealed into them. Wait until Mama heard about this. It might even be enough to convince Mama to forget about it being Ghost Month for the night. Ju felt like celebrating—a true celebration without the sadness hanging like cobwebs about them as they spent more time remembering those who had passed on than those who were still living.

  She moved toward the door and stepped back out into the hall. Of course, she hadn’t actually been accepted yet. But the strangeness of Ginvera’s had caught her off guard the night of the judging. She was confident she would do better next time. She already had one judge convinced. She only needed to convince the other two.

  “Were you in a room alone? With him?”

  Ju turned. Three women, probably close to Ju’s age, stared at her as though she was the most delightful silk dress on display in a shop. “Pardon me?”

  The woman in the center glanced either way at her companions, who each smiled nastily in return. One of the women Ju recognized. She’d been judged the same time as Ju. What had her name been? Miss Cunning . . . Miss Crimpsmith . . . Miss Cogsmith! That was the one.

  The woman standing in the center spoke again. “You were.” Ju couldn’t tell if it was a declaration of fact or an accusation. Or perhaps even a thrilling discovery.

  Miss Cogsmith and the other woman tittered.

  The woman in the center folded her arms and lifted her chin high. She had some of the lightest blonde hair Ju had ever seen, a slender nose and a nearly pointed chin. “Do you even know who he is?”

  “Master Chandler.”

  More tittering.

  Apparently, that name meant far more than he was an instructor here at Ginevra’s or even that he helped decide new admittance.

  “That was Premier Maître de ballet en Chef Chandler. He practically runs the entire school.”

  Ju’s fingers turned cold and it felt as though her heart was beating from somewhere down low in her stomach. He was the Maître de ballet? Oh, gracious.

  The light blonde woman took half a step closer, her voice dropping low. “And you know a man like that could only become the Maître de ballet one way.”

  “Is that so?”

  A single brow on the woman’s forehead rose sky high. “Well, let’s just say he’s earned it, if you understand my meaning.”

  Ju listed her head. He’d have to have earned it—being the head concept and art director would naturally never be a position handed to someone who hadn’t worked hard and proved their brilliance.

  The woman in the middle continued, a hand going daintily to her collar bone. “Ladies never discuss such things, of course.” Did the other two not have voices? Or did the one in the middle just insist she be the only one who spoke? “It would be dreadful to discuss the sordid details but let us just say you aren’t the first woman he’s had join him in a room alone.”

  Oh, that kind of ‘earned it’. Ju’s lips pressed tight. Wei shu’s warning from last week came back. Ju was ‘hopelessly trusting’ again. She shouldn’t have believed Master Chandler. She should have known it wasn’t because she could ‘breathe with the music’ or such nonsense. He only wanted her in Ginevra’s because she was beautiful. Or perhaps he assumed she would be easy prey.

  “He probably offered to help you,” the blonde woman continued.

  Ju’s concession that such was true must have been evident on her face, for the woman in the middle lifted her chin yet higher and crowed over her.

  “He’ll help you all right. Just know he’ll expect a certain amount of sweetness later.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  A soft rap-rap-rap came from the back window. Ju rolled over in her cot which rested on the floor. Had Mama heard that noise? She waited silently, but Mama’s soft snoring continued.

  Ju rested her head back down. She’d probably just imagined the noise.

  Rap-rap-rap.

  Ju flipped over and sat up. No, that she hadn’t imagined. It was far too even a tapping to be the wind or a stray cat. Someone was outside. Ju stood and pulled on an old linen tunic. It had more than one hole where the fabric had been worn through, but on a muggy August night she only needed something for propriety not for warmth.

  She moved up to the window at the front of the house and pulled the shutter open. With the moon only a small sliver in the sky, there was little light by which to see by.

  “Dapo,” she whispered. “If you jump out, I swear I’ll trip you next time we rehearse.” It wasn’t likely that Dapo was behind the tapping, but he had done it before. Granted, that had been over four years ago, but how much did a person change from year to year, really?

  “And if I’m not Dapo?” came a voice from directly near the window causing Ju to start and her hands to squeeze the windowsill tight. “Will you still trip him up next time you two rehearse?” The dark shadow near the window’s edge shifted. “Because that I would like to see.”

  “Jasp—” Ju placed a hand against her chest. Her heart was beating furiously. “Mr. Wimple,” she corrected herself.

  “Hello, Miss Zhi.” He took a step closer to the window. He still looked mostly like shadow to her, but she could faintly make out his broad shoulders and long dreadlocks in silhouette.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “I needed to speak with you.”

  “Isn’t that what daytime is for?”

  He chuckled. “Well, truth is, your mother doesn’t want me to tell you, but . . .” His lighthearted tone turned serious. “I know, firsthand, that keeping horrid situations a secret only makes them worse. I feel you have a right to know.”

  Ju pulled the linen tunic closer around her, trying to ward off the sudden unseasonal chill, and leaned both elbows against the windowsill. “What do I have the right to know?”

  In the bit of moonlight, she could barely make out him running a hand down his face. “How much do you know about why your mother left China?”

  This was about Mama fleeing China? How would Jasper know anything about that? Her gaze flitted quickly to the two leather-bound books sitting beside her bedroll, and then back to Jasper. He waited silently for her reply. Ju shook her head. “Not much. My father died and she left. She had to sell a few small mirrors along the way, but we still have a couple from the set she brought. She settled here in London and I was born immediately afterward.”

  “Then, you don’t know how your father died?”

  Ju lifted her chin. “I suspect he ended his own life.” The truth may hurt, but she would face it without cowering.

  “He didn’t. Actually—”

  “How would you know?” Ju barked.

  Mama stirred and rolled over. Ju clamped her mouth shut; she needed to keep her voice down. After her devastating disappointment at Ginevra’s, she must still be on edge. Slowly, she let out a breath and begun again. “And how would you know anything about my father’s death?”

  Jasper remained motionless for several minutes. Then, “I feel you may want to be sitting for this.”

  The only thing she wanted was for him to get to the point. “I’m no wilting flower, Mr. Wimple. I spend hours a day perfecting my techniques; tumbling, spinning, and flipping. I think I can handle
what you want to tell me, thank you.”

  “Forgive me. I believe you are right.”

  “But first,” she interrupted again. “Answer me this. How do you know about my father? And while you’re at it, you need to tell me why you were at Wei shu’s the night you helped me and why you suddenly are interested in hiring Mama now.”

  “You have quite a list.”

  “You have been quite an enigma.” She was done with not knowing. She was done with feeling unsure if she could trust him or not. If he was going to show up, uninvited, and disrupt her rest in the middle of the night, then the least he could do was answer a few questions.

  “All right. Truth is, the answers to all of your questions are all connected.”

  For the next half hour he recounted a long story: how her father actually died, why, and at who’s hand, how her mother escaped to save her, how, now, the man was back and an Ambassador for China, how the man knew her Mama was still alive and Jasper had hired her as a means to help keep a closer eye on Mama in order to protect her.

  Ju listened to it all, only interrupting once or twice for clarification. It was all so surreal. And her father, a ghost? Bent only on communicating with Jasper? For a while she thought he was making it all up. It had to be some deluded lie. But the longer he spoke, the more her heart believed him.

  “I spoke with your mother about all of this at length today,” he said, as his tale ended. “At first she was intent on the two of you disappearing again. Perhaps running off to Africa. I wasn’t even sure you would still be here tonight.”

  “She didn’t say anything to me,” Ju muttered, still reeling from all he’d revealed. But, Mama had seemed nervous, almost scared, earlier when she’d said that she and Jasper had “talked about many things”.

  Jasper laid a hand against her arm. His skin tone was opposite of her own. Most everything about him was opposite of her. Yet, when she was near him, she felt she was standing beside someone whose soul spoke the same language as her own.

  “It’s a lot to be burdened with all at once,” he said. “Are you sure you’re all right?”

  “No, I don’t suppose I am.” Ju didn’t believe in saying things that weren’t true, even if propriety dictated one should. “But I’m not about to faint or fall into hysterics if that’s what you mean.”

  He rubbed a thumb over her arm. “Sudden fainting spells, hysterics, or quiet anger, doesn’t matter. In any case, I want you to know I’m here and I’m going to help keep you both safe.”

  Tears pricked against the back of her eyes. She blinked several times. She did feel angry, and also scared and worried for Mama.

  “Do you think he’ll come after her?”

  “Yes, I think it would be wise we assume he will.”

  Gracious, all the times she’d wanted to know the full history of her father’s death, she’d never once dreamed it would be like this.

  “What are we going to do?” she asked.

  “Well, I think it’s best if we keep a closer eye on your mother, make sure she’s never alone for long. Having her work at my home every day will provide a logical excuse for me to be around should something happen.”

  She leaned her head to the side. Apparently, her father hadn’t deserted them as she’d come to assume. For whatever reason, he hadn’t chosen to visit her or Mama, but he had sent them a man who cared and who would do something.

  He patted her arm. “We can discuss this more tomorrow, or the next day. Whenever you and your mother have had time to talk things over and decide what’s best to be done.”

  “So, you’re just going to accept whatever we choose to do?” She didn’t know many men who listened half so well to the women in their lives. Even Dapo, who she cared for deeply, often spoke over her and subtly insisted his own ideas were best.

  “It’s your past and your future on the line.”

  “Yours too,” she countered. She hadn’t forgotten the part where Jasper glossed over Ambassador Leng breaking in during the middle of the night and demanding Jasper steal for him.

  Jasper’s voice turned lighthearted once more. “I’ve never been one to worry over the future.”

  “How ironic. I’ve never been one to keep a death grip on the past.”

  Jasper leaned in ever so slightly. “What a barmy pair we’d make,” he said softly.

  Ju’s full frame warmed at his alluring tone, especially with her arm just under his touch. “Wouldn’t we though?”

  Wei shu’s warning about Jasper being a flirt and a flake forced all the warmth away once more and she rocked back pulling her arm away from him and placing both hands against the windowsill. “Perhaps I ought to . . .” She waved toward her Mama, still sleeping near Ju’s own cot.

  “Are you sure you’re all right? I’ve just given you quite a bit to shove inside your brainbox.”

  His sincere concern brought back the warmth she’d felt earlier. After all, if her father had sent him, Jasper couldn’t be too horrid a flake and flirt, right? Perhaps she’d just have to find out for herself.

  Jasper leaned his shoulder against the outer wall beside the open window. “I’m not leaving until I’m sure you’re feeling calm about this whole debacle.”

  “Oh, I won’t be feeling calm for a while,” she muttered. Her gaze moved back over to Mama and her lips pinched to one side. How could one feel calm when there was so much at stake? “No, I don’t suppose I could sleep just now.” She didn’t know nearly enough about this ambassador to keep her mama safe. Tomorrow, first thing, she’d do a little digging, a little researching, and see what she could learn about this man who was threatening her family.

  “Then I’ll keep you company until you feel you can.”

  The thought of spending more time with Jasper, in the middle of the night no less, brought more of a thrill than Ju probably ought to have felt. “All right. But I don’t want to talk about my father.” The word was hard to say; it truly would be awhile before she’d come to terms with all he’d told her. “Or any of that. How about, instead, you tell me about your childhood.” She hadn’t forgotten the way his tone had sobered the other day as he’d muttered the words, “There are worse places to grow up.”

  “My childhood? Perhaps that would be for the best. It’s bound to be a boring enough tale to put you straight to sleep.”

  Ju went up on her toes and sat atop the windowsill, resting her back against the opening. “There. I’m comfortable and ready for a boring tale.” This is what she needed, just someone to talk with, about nothing important. At least for a while, until her troubled heart eased.

  “As you wish, my dear,” Jasper said. “One terribly boring tale coming up.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Jasper brushed the adhesive to the back of the paper, snatches of his conversation with Miss Zhi ju a few nights previous flitting across his mind, then pressed the paper down hard onto the sidewalk. He placed all his weight onto it.

  One. Two. Three. Four.

  How was Ju holding up? He’d given her a lot to swallow the other night. True to his word, he’d not bothered either woman nor rushed them to decide the best next course of action. But he was bursting at the seams to speak with her again. Everything about Ju drew him toward her. Everything about her was intoxicating. Her courage, even while hearing her mother’s life was being threatened.

  The calm way she’d taken it all in.

  The way she’d looked in moonlight.

  Ah, drat. He’d lost track of his counting.

  Why was it that art nearly always included counting? Oh well, he was fairly confident he’d pressed this area of the large strip of paper down long enough for the adhesive to begin hardening. Hopefully it would hold. For this experiment to work, it needed to be most secure.

  Jasper leaned back on his heels. That was the last section. A few dreadlocks had worked their way free of their leather strap. Jasper eyed his work which stretched down the sidewalk even as he untied and then retied the leather strap, this time so that
it held all of his dreadlocks. The long sheet of paper before him stretched out for two, almost three yards. In the early morning light, it looked like he’d gotten the paper the correct color. It hadn’t been easy, but the paper nearly looked the same shade as the sidewalk. He’d just have to hope that most people walking by wouldn’t be paying enough attention to their surroundings to notice.

  Standing, Jasper pulled out an old glass perfume bottle he’d picked up for a song the other day. It hadn’t been hard to empty the bottle and fill it with his own concoction. He sprayed the paper liberally. The moisture made the paper darken. The browns especially became more prominent.

  Jasper waited as the early morning sun dried the paper again. He nodded, quite satisfied. The paper was again nearly unnoticeable. He slipped behind a large shrub and hunched down low.

  “What are you up to, Jasper?”

  Jasper clenched his teeth to prevent himself from jumping clean out of his skin. “Tom!” he whisper-yelled. “Don’t sneak up on me like that.” His heart was pounding worse than if he’d dashed the full length of London. “And keep quiet.”

  “Sorry.” Even though Tom was only half-leaning, with his hands against his thighs, he still wasn’t taller than Jasper, who was bent low on both knees. The boy was small, even for his age.

  Tom plopped down and crossed his legs. “Are you a’spying anyone?”

  “Unfortunately, no.” Since he’d doubled backed on his tail a few days previous, Jasper had been to the same building his tail had run to but hadn’t been able to get inside. His ghost friend, Mr. Zhi, and he, had spoken only once since their first meeting.

  Mr. Zhi kept saying Jasper had to protect his wife and daughter and learn what Leng was up to. When Jasper admitted to confronting Mrs. Zhi and said she’d told him the truth about Mr. Zhi’s death and the ambassador, Mr. Zhi only grew angry. When Jasper insisted Mr. Zhi investigate the building Jasper’s tail had run to, Mr. Zhi had said that Ambassador Leng wasn’t there and it wasn’t worth their time. Mr. Zhi, Jasper was learning, always assumed he was right and had little room for the opinions of a “young, rash Londoner”. It hadn’t been the most productive meeting.