“If you take your passport with you, they will likely waive the entrance fee. Since you are a visitor.”
“Thank you.”
“Of course.”
Waive the entrance fee? That was a new one. So far, he’d had to pay to get… well, just about anywhere. Even the hutong, the historic neighborhoods in Beijing, asked visitors who were walking through to pay an entrance fee. Was it legal? Who knew? But everyone did it, so Ben didn’t argue.
Walking through the luxury mall with its glowing six-foot ads and discreet security, Ben started to feel conspicuous again. He saw a few tourists surreptitiously snap pictures on their phones, which made him grit his teeth. It was habit to avoid the camera by now. Giovanni and Beatrice kept a few pictures in the house, but when you were immortal, it was best to not keep around photographic evidence of how much you didn’t age. The human brain could convince itself of almost anything—like when the neighbor who had lived quietly in the house down the street didn’t look a year older than he had ten years ago—but photographic evidence was harder to dismiss.
He reached the end of the mall and left through the soaring glass doors. New construction surrounded him. He slipped on his sunglasses and scanned the street to find the best place to cross, following the old women who were selling baskets of plums.
According to Akil, Ürümqi was divided between the Han neighborhoods and the Uyghur ones. The museum was in a mostly Han area, but he still saw an intriguing mix of faces. Xinjiang was becoming more and more interesting the longer he visited.
He passed through security at the museum, then walked up the steps and into the cool interior. A glowing map of Xinjiang spread in front of him, and curious groups of Chinese tourists gathered around it, taking turns pressing the lights that highlighted the various routes of the Silk Road. He turned left to follow the crowd.
Ben took his time in the exhibits. He had at least three hours to kill, and the museum looked like it would eat up more than enough. As he toured the hall highlighting the various ethnic groups that made up the province, he scanned the crowd. No one was following him. Other than a few curious glances, no one seemed to pay him any mind.
Nothing suspicious.
He heard a small group mention the mummies that Akil had spoken of, so he followed them.
Up the stairs and around the atrium, Ben headed toward another hall.
The minute he stepped inside, he could feel her.
Tenzin.
She was there. He didn’t know how. Or why. But some sixth sense alerted him. It had always been that way with her.
“The Tarim mummies of Xinjiang”—a tour guide caught his attention as she stood before a glass case—“are only some of the evidence that this province has been continually occupied for over four thousand years. DNA evidence suggests that the mixed populations of the Tarim Basin had origins in Asia, Europe, Mesopotamia, India, and many other regions. This evidence confirms ancient Chinese historians who reported tribes who appeared to be European passing through and even inhabiting these areas. There were reports of tall men and women, with blue and green eyes. Red and blond hair. Even full beards.” The group laughed quietly. “As you can see, the population of Xinjiang continues to represent this diversity.”
A shadow passed to his right, and Ben walked into another room.
Tenzin was a day-walker. While most vampires needed to sleep for most of the day, a few did not. Beatrice said it was because Tenzin was so old, but Ben knew other old vampires who needed to sleep. Tenzin wasn’t like them. She was just as active during the day as humans were. She just couldn’t go out in the sun. As long as she kept out of the light, she was fine.
Was it age or something else? He didn’t really know. Beatrice had taken a lot of Tenzin’s blood because her father and Tenzin had been mated, so Beatrice didn’t sleep much either. It wasn’t something his aunt liked and she often spent much of the day meditating in the dark while her mate slept.
Ben had never heard Tenzin complain about it.
He couldn’t imagine never sleeping. He loved to sleep. Loved to dream. Missing that would make him a little crazy.
He walked quietly through the hall, trailing behind another tour group, stopping when they did, hanging on to the edge of the crowd, listening and trying to ignore the invisible eyes he could feel watching him. He wouldn’t see Tenzin until she wanted to be seen.
Ben wandered to the next room, heading over to the first case he saw with a mummy inside. He leaned over, trying to see her features beyond the glare of the protective glass.
Qiemo Female Mummy, the case read. The mummy was exhumed from No. 2 tomb. Date: 800 BC. Height 160 cm. She belongs to a mixture of Europoid and Mongoloid traits.
The mummy in the case was remarkably well-preserved, with a deep crimson robe that was intricately sewn. She had swirling tattoos along her face and four thick braids hung past her shoulders. 160 centimeters meant… He did a quick calculation and determined the mummy was over five feet. Taller than he would have expected.
800 BC.
Ben stared at the mummy, thinking of the vampire he could feel in the air around him, as if her ghost hovered over his shoulder.
What had this woman seen? What had her life been like? How old was she when she died? Had she had a happy life? Someone had taken care when they buried her. Her body was carefully positioned and her jaw wrapped with the same crimson thread her robe was made from. Maybe she was a beloved wife. A mother.
The woman in the glass case was almost three thousand years old. Had Tenzin been alive then? Probably. He didn’t really know how old she was. No one talked about it. Then again, no one really knew, did they? Maybe not even Tenzin herself.