One quick flip of her wrist and the rods transformed into huge fans, one painted with the image of a warrior wearing a long golden robe and a sword belt. The other depicted a golden dragon lounging at the bottom of a river. She began to dance with slow graceful movements, manipulating the fans so it looked like the warrior first fought with the dragon, and then as if the dragon emerged from the warrior.
“She’s good,” Cole breathed.
“Now, how am I supposed to compete with that?” I asked.
Vayl fixed me with the icy-blue gaze that I inwardly referred to as his “intellectual” look. And then, because I knew him so well, I could see him imagining me in my costume, undulating to ancient rhythms while he watched. His eyes darkened. “For some, there will be no comparison,” he said.
My throat went dry. As my eyes dropped to his lips I wondered what would have happened if either of us had been bold enough when we’d kinda kissed to just let go. Would our worlds have exploded with new colors, wonders, miracles? Or would we have already destroyed each other?
Our eyes locked. By his count he hadn’t known me long. But he knew me well enough that I could often tell him things without speaking. Usually it was job related.
This time I had something else to say.
He sat back, a smile slowly lifting one side of his mouth. When his eyes softened to brown and he gave me a brief nod I knew we were all right.
The sound of clapping brought my attention back to the TV. The dancer had finished. She waited for the applause to fade, then turned toward the dining/entertainment area and bowed so low she could’ve gnawed her knees if the urge had hit her. The rest of the crowd bowed as well as Chien-Lung emerged from the shadows and stepped into camera range.
I’d seen pictures of Lung taken on his previous trips to the States. They’d showed a robust man of average height with an elegant mustache and beard, fierce brown eyes, and an expression of haughtiness that told you right away he totally bought the concept of racial supremacy. This shot of Lung showed a radically changed man. He’d lost so much weight his skin seemed to adhere directly to his skull, with no layers of fat or muscle to soften it. No hair covered his head. He didn’t even have eyebrows to soften the harsh lines of his face.
“Does he have cancer?” asked Cole.
Nobody knew how to answer that.
The dancer held out her arm. Lung rested his hand on it. At first I thought he wore gloves. Then I realized dark material covered both of his hands. Something about the shape of them bothered me, but before I could get a better view the dancer turned and led him toward a cushioned chair that had been set up for him at a point exactly opposite that of the doors he’d just exited. Two flags that hadn’t been there before hung from the edge of the awning. They flanked the chair, and though they flapped steadily in the breeze, I could tell they depicted gold dragons on a lush green background.
Lung swept past his guests at a stately rate of speed, his golden neck-to-ankle robes swishing with each step. When he reached the chair, the dancer stood in front of him, blocking the view while he rearranged his clothes. When she stepped back he was sitting. On his knees.
“Okay, that’s just weird,” I said.
Eating, drinking, and polite conversation followed, during which the dancer played an instrument she’d retrieved from inside. Though it wasn’t the kind of music you could rock to, it worked for drinks and appetizers. Then she started to sing.
“Holy crap!” I exclaimed. “It sounds like somebody’s seesawing dental floss inside her nose!”
Cole stuck his fingers in his ears. “Are you sure she’s not our target? Because I think a strong case can be made for that racket being a threat to national security.”
“Bergman,” said Vayl, ignoring our juvenile outbursts, “do you have any idea why Lung is sitting on his knees?”
“None at all. Every part of him but his head is covered, so I can’t tell how the armor is interacting with his body.” Very professional wordage, but underneath it all Bergman’s voice shook with a rage that said, “If I had the son of a bitch alone in a lawless universe I’d rip his head off and parade it through town on a pike.”
Responding to those unspoken feelings, I said, “Vayl, I wonder if you and I should go back out there.”
Vayl nodded. “It looks that way. But he has not lived this long through carelessness.” He thought awhile. “We will wait,” he decided. “Let him believe his current security measures suffice.”
“They probably will,” said Bergman, managing to sound depressed and proud at the same time. “As soon as the armor detects danger, the hood will automatically cover his head. This vamp is not going to die by conventional weaponry.”
“He’s got to have some vulnerability,” I said, getting the urge to throw something. Like Bergman. “You do want to get your invention back, don’t you?” I asked him.
“Of course!”
“Then you’re going to have to find a way to beat it!”
Bergman tapped a few keys and said, “Do you think there’s any way I can get a piece of it? I could do some tests.”
“Why can’t you just make some more and test that?” asked Cole.
“Because it physically changes once it’s been put on according to who, or what, is wearing it. We had that, at least, figured out before it was stolen.”
“How much do you need?” I asked.
“A fingernail. A scale—”
