Funnily enough, though these flyers were the only thing people reported regarding the new monster business, nobody had actually gone to the address. Many had already been vaccinated by the Larkspur and thought it unnecessary, or they didn’t believe the flyers to be real. The blackmailer wasn’t smarter than Paul Dexter after all. Because they hadn’t built any of the reputation that the Larkspur dove into Shanghai with, and now nobody trusted the idea of a new vaccine enough to actually go get it.
“And besides,” the merchant behind her was saying once Juliette tuned in again. “Your cousin has said that the Scarlets are close to a breakthrough on their own vaccine. What use is another?”
At this, Roma choked on his drink, managing to suppress his cough before it was too obvious. The man prattling on did not notice because he was Scarlet-affiliated and had been pretending that Roma did not exist. Even if the merchant was happy to speak as if the White Flower heir was not two steps away, he was, and he could hear everything that the man did not even realize was sensitive information. Juliette’s eyes slid to Roma as the last of his cough died, checking only that he did not need a great big thump on the back. He seemed to recover. A shame.
“My cousin is not to be trusted,” Juliette said. She traced her finger around the cool edge of her glass. There was no one that the man could be referring to save for Tyler. She highly doubted Rosalind or Kathleen was going around gossiping with Scarlet-affiliated French merchants. They could—they had the linguistic ability, but not the stomach.
The merchant leaned one shoulder against the wall. This corner of Bailemen was rather empty, hosting one or two tables that had a poor view of the stage. Of course, Roma and Juliette weren’t standing here to watch the show; they were here to peruse the crowd and see if there were any more people worthy of approaching.
“Oh?” the merchant said. “If I’m not overstepping, Miss Cai, the city seems to trust your cousin more than they trust you.”
Juliette turned around, fixing her eyes on him. The merchant flinched a little, but he did not back down.
“I’ll give you two seconds to take that back.”
The merchant forced an awkward laugh. He feigned deference, but a certain note of amusement colored his stare. “It is merely an observation,” he said. “One that notes how daughters will always have their attention elsewhere. Who could blame you, Miss Cai? You were not born for this like your cousin was, after all.”
How dare he—
“Juliette, let it go.”
Juliette cast Roma a glare. “Stay out of this.”
“Do you even know this merchant’s name?” Roma looked the Frenchman once over. Apathy oozed from the gesture. “On any other day, you’d have walked away. He’s irrelevant. Let it go.”
Her grip tightened on her drink. By all means, it was foolish to make a scene in a dance hall, especially among so many foreigners—among those she needed to respect her if she was going to get any information out of them.
Then the merchant grinned and said, “You take instructions from White Flowers now, do you? Miss Cai, what would your fallen Scarlets say?”
Juliette threw her drink down, the glass shattering into a thousand pieces. “Try me one more time.” She lunged, pushing the merchant into the wall, so fiercely that his head made a crack! against the marble. Juliette reared back, her fist closing for another strike. Only then an iron grip came around her waist, hauling her two steps away.
“Calm down,” Roma hissed, his mouth so close to her ear that she could feel the heat of his lips, “before I throw you into the wall.”
A chill swept down Juliette’s neck. In anger or attraction, she wasn’t quite sure. It seemed unnecessarily cruel that each time Roma Montagov decided to get so close, it was to make threats, especially when Juliette was hardly in the wrong here.
Anger won out. It always did.
“So do it,” she said through her teeth.
Roma didn’t move. He wouldn’t—Juliette had expected that. Threats were easy to make, but they could not be seen fighting with each other, not when their collaboration was supposed to be some big stand against the blackmailer.
“That’s what I thought.”
By then the merchant had regained his bearings and, without sparing Juliette a second glance, hurried toward the back of the hall, scampering off like a frightened animal. Roma let go, slowly, his arm winding away bit by bit, as if he was afraid the merchant was only going to come running back and Juliette would need to be reined in again.