The Wicked and the Willing: an FF Gothic Horror Vampire Novel by Lianyu Tan

Author:Lianyu Tan
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780648994831
Publisher: Shattered Scepter Press

CHAPTER 31

AN ASS

PO LAM

Tuesday, 28 February 1928

“I hate snakes. I hate snakes. I hate them,” Gean Choo mumbled as they got into the car. Her knees bounced as if unable to keep still.

Po Lam reached for her canteen and passed it over. “Small sips.”

The simple act seemed to soothe her. They were both quiet along the drive to the house. It began to rain, pounding across the shell of the car, the wipers waving madly. How differently things could’ve gone. The snake had been a king cobra, albeit a young one. Venomous. A snake like that had taken down a bull elephant somewhere in Malaya.

She had to spend a few minutes working on her breath, calming her racing pulse. If Gean Choo had died… if she’d had to gather her limp body in her arms, feeling the life draining from her…

She couldn’t think about that. Was she going soft? Why now? And why her?

It was still raining when they arrived at the house, turning the walkway into treacherous slick tiles. Po Lam turned to her passenger. “Let’s not worry Mrs. Edevane. She’s already fretting about this party as it is.”

“I won’t say anything.” Gean Choo brushed a bit of leaf from her skirt. “Can I give you the present now?”

“All right.”

They both got out of the car. Po Lam put the machete away but brought the bag in with her. The sky was stormy grey overhead, but it was still daylight, not yet past three o’clock. Time enough to catch a few hours of sleep before the mem woke up.

Po Lam’s dreams had become vicious as of late. Haunted by murderous intent, by the thought of turning on her mistress. Sometimes she crept upon the mem when she was sleeping, bracing herself to run a stake through her chest, only to find Mrs. Edevane wide awake, lunging from her slumber and tearing through Po Lam’s throat.

Po Lam wasn’t a killer, even though she was a kidnapper and a liar. But a person who enabled murder was just as guilty as the murderer themselves, weren’t they?

She went to her room and unpacked the bag. Her hand hovered over the cartridge choices for a moment, then reached towards the smaller box. She loaded the revolver with six wood-core cartridges. The gun went into a sling she’d tied under the bed, out of sight, along with the ammunition.

A hesitant knock came at the door. “May I come in?” Gean Choo had changed for sleep, wearing a flimsy nightgown with a matching robe thrown over the top, an outfit that no self-respecting unmarried woman would dare to be seen in. She would’ve looked right at home in a brothel.

Po Lam swallowed. She nodded and glanced down at her hands. Anywhere but at her.

The bed sagged next to her as Gean Choo sat. Po Lam spied her robe in the periphery of her vision. The pink of a lotus blossom. Was her skin beneath as soft as it looked?

“I mended your shirt for you,” Gean Choo said, shifting with a rustle of fabric.

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