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Juliette shrugged. “Fine.”

“Excellent, excellent,” Paul crowed. She didn’t know why he was responding so enthusiastically to her uninspiring reply. “Let me say, it’s most—”

“What do you want, Paul?” Juliette interrupted. “I already told you that we don’t want your business.”

Undeterred, Paul only ramped up his zeal and took Juliette by the elbow to lead her away from the food. At the back of her mind, she considered shooting him, but because this was a party with hundreds of rich foreigners mingling about, she decided that probably would not be the best course of action. She tensed her arm, but allowed Paul to lead her away.

“Just to talk,” he said. “We’ve taken our business straight to the other merchants. Worry not. I have no more intentions to bother the Scarlet Gang.”

Juliette smiled sweetly. Her teeth were gritted hard.

“And if that is the case, why are you bothering with me?”

Paul smiled sweetly back, though his expression appeared genuine.

“Perhaps I am after your affection, pretty girl.”

Gross. She would bet her life savings that he only thought her pretty because she was digestible to Western standards. Her feminine beauty was a concept as fleeting as power. If she acquired a tan, put on some weight, and let a few decades pass, the street artists would not be rendering her face to sell their creams anymore. Chinese and Western standards alike were arbitrary, pitiful things. But Juliette still needed to keep herself in line, force herself to follow them if people were to look up to her. Without her looks, this city would turn on her. It would claim that she didn’t deserve to be as competent as she was. The men, meanwhile, could be as tan, as fat, and as old as they wished. It would have no bearing on what people thought of them.

Juliette removed her arm from Paul’s grip, pivoting on her heel to return to the food.

“No, thanks. My affection is not won with such humdrum energy.”

It was as thorough a dismissal as any. Juliette thought she had been left alone when she picked up a drink. But Paul was persistent. His voice came over her shoulder again.

“How is your father?”

“He is well,” Juliette replied, barely biting back the aggravation that wanted to climb into her words. Out of social courtesy, she asked him in a light voice, “And how is yours?”

Juliette was the queen of socialites. She had had nothing but practice. If she wanted to, she could have turned her slight, polite smile into a megawatt grin. But she did not think she could get any information out of Paul, and associating with him seemed pointless.

Perhaps Paul could tell. Perhaps he was smarter than Juliette gave him credit for. Perhaps he had indeed detected the restlessness of her tapping fingers and the ceaseless movement of her craning neck.

So he made himself useful.

“My father and I have started working for the Larkspur,” Paul said. “Have you heard of him?”

The Larkspur. Juliette’s tapping fingers halted midmovement. La-gespu. Larkspur. That was what the old man in Chenghuangmiao had been trying to say. Hearing one lunatic scream about a mysterious figure, claiming he had received a cure for the madness, was unworthy of notice. Hearing that same mysterious figure mentioned twice in a few days was strange. Her eyes focused properly on the British smooth talker before her, for once settling into a steady gaze.

“I’ve heard some things, here and there,” Juliette replied vaguely. She tilted her head. “What do you do?”

“Run errands, mostly.”

Now Paul was being deliberately vague, and he knew it. Juliette watched the lines of his small smirk, the curve of his eyebrows drawing together, and read him to an inch of his life. He wanted attention for his involvement with the Larkspur, but he was not allowed to give answers. He would hint at all he knew, but he would not give anything up just for gossip.

“Errands?” Juliette parroted. “I cannot imagine there is much to do.”

“Oh, that’s where you’re wrong,” Paul said, his chest puffing up. “The Larkspur has created a vaccine for the madness. He has merchants rushing for it in droves, and the organization of such a large affair requires workers the size of an army.”

“Your salary must be fantastic.” Juliette eyed the chain of a golden pocket watch draped through one of his buttonholes.

“The Larkspur sits upon stacks of money,” Paul confirmed.

Is this Larkspur benefiting off the panic of the madness, then? Juliette wondered. Or does he truly have a vaccine that is worth the money of these merchants?

Juliette could have voiced her musings aloud, but Paul was looking too satisfied to give her a truthful answer. She only asked bluntly, “And does the Larkspur have a name?”

Paul shrugged. “If he does, I do not know it. If you would like, I could arrange for you to meet him.”