Page 56 of Only a Monster

As she did, Ying put together bowls of love-letter wafers and fresh strawberries and shelled peanuts. With some careful jigsaw-puzzling, he squeezed all the food onto a tray. The impulse to feed guests reminded Joan acutely of Dad.

‘Please.’ Ying gestured for Joan and Aaron to follow.

He led them through the back door to a beautiful, if overgrown, courtyard garden. It seemed to be the centre of the Lius’ residence: a square surrounded on all sides by buildings. A covered walkway ran between the courtyard and the buildings.

One covered section had been set up for a painter, with a table and an easel. Ying placed the tray on the table. His niece had been here too. The table legs wore striped tights in mismatched colours—blue and red, and green and pink. Joan caught Aaron glancing at them with mild horror.

The courtyard had a pleasantly casual feeling. Fern fronds encroached on the table. The air smelled of paint and jasmine. The sun had come out, turning the air thick and summery. There was no sign of yesterday’s storm.

In the covered walkway, most of the doors had sneakers and flip-flops outside them. There were half-painted landscapes and portraits propped against the walls.

‘One of my son’s works,’ Ying said, and Joan realised that she’d been looking at the nearest painting. It was of a man standing outside the door of a little town house, his back to the viewer. ‘Jamie loves the hero myths,’ Ying said.

‘The hero myths?’ Joan said.

‘The hero knocks,’ Aaron murmured, as if it were a familiar subject of art.

Joan was more shaken than she’d have expected. Nick. The painting showed the hero standing outside a monster’s door. Even from behind, he didn’t look much like Nick. He had light brown hair to Nick’s dark, and an immense muscularity to Nick’s human frame.

Joan had thought she’d understood that the boy she’d kissed at Holland House was a figure from legend. But seeing him like this—mythologised in a time before his own birth—made the hairs rise on the back of her neck.

‘Joan,’ Aaron said.

Joan blinked at him. ‘Yeah.’ She pulled herself away from the painting with some effort.

‘Please,’ Ying said. ‘Sit.’

There were no proper chairs in the courtyard. Joan sat on the raised brick edge of a bed of violets. The brick was warm and dry. Ying sat on a low stool by the painter’s easel. Aaron remained standing, leaning against one of the thick white pillars that separated the courtyard from its corridor.

Ying poured hot water into the teapot. The scent of green leaves made Joan feel acutely homesick, as did the little teacups he unstacked. The cups were decorated with multicoloured birds. They had sweeping tail feathers and outstretched wings. Phoenixes.

‘I’ve been wondering,’ Aaron said to Ying from his place at the pillar. ‘You identified our families just by looking at us.’ It was a detail that Joan hadn’t noticed. ‘A Hunt and an Oliver. How did you know that?’

‘Most monsters are recorded in the Liu family records,’ Ying said matter-of-factly. ‘The two of you are Joan Chang-Hunt and Aaron Oliver. Joan is the daughter of Pei-Wen Chang—a human. And Maureen Hunt—the estranged daughter of Dorothy Hunt.’

Estranged? That wasn’t right. Everything else was, though. Joan folded her arms, feeling exposed and in awe at the demonstration of the Liu family power. Perfect memory.

‘And you,’ Ying said to Aaron, ‘are the youngest son of Edmund Oliver.’

It wasn’t a question, and Aaron didn’t answer.

‘By Edmund’s second wife,’ Ying said. ‘Marguerite Nightingale. The wife they executed.’

‘That’s enough,’ Aaron said tightly. His back was very stiff. His mother had been executed? Joan forced her eyes from his face—she felt as though she were intruding on something horribly private.

‘As I said, the Liu records are very comprehensive,’ Ying said. ‘But you didn’t come here for me to tell you things you already know. You came here to bargain. So, let’s bargain. What is it that you want?’

‘Information,’ Joan said.

Ying inclined his head in acknowledgment. ‘Rules first, then. My family likes to keep things simple. We will have a conversation, and at the end of it, my family will be owed one favour.’

‘What favour?’ Joan said.

‘You’ll know when we call it in,’ Ying said.

By the pillar, Aaron shrugged slightly at Joan. He’d apparently been expecting these sorts of terms. Joan didn’t like them at all. Buying something unknown for an unknown price was a stupid thing to do. But there’d been no other leads. And if she could get any information to save her family . . . She nodded at Ying.

‘Very well, then.’ Ying leaned over to the table and poured tea into the little cups. He passed one to Aaron and one to Joan. ‘What do you want to know?’

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