by Liz Williams
“That is as may be,” Lao remarked. “However, I also stand a far better chance of losing my soul. I’ve no intention of undergoing supernatural procedures in your presence.”
Zhu Irzh shrugged. “Fair enough.” If Lao didn’t trust him, he thought, mildly and irrationally hurt, then Lao would just have to do without his assistance. Leaning back in his chair, he closed his eyes and felt himself become as still as stone.
14
After Chen’s phone call informing her that he would not be back that night, Inari went back into the bedroom of the houseboat and sat flatly down on the bed. Such dependency on her husband was both foolish and unfair, but it was a hard habit to break. She knew very well that because he had saved her once, it did not mean that he could do so again. She thought back to the sinister figure she had seen on the dock, and to the anxious days of her betrothal in Hell.
She had been affianced to Dao Yi for seventy years, ever since they were children. Although she had never met her fiancé, in keeping with polite custom, she had grown up in the expectation of the marriage, like any typical scion of the underworld bourgeoisie. Her father was wealthy; her mother was beautiful, with only the vestiges of old scandal hanging about her head to sour the marriage. Inari had never known what this scandal was, only that her parents never spoke about it. She learned of it from overhearing fragments of sentences in half-whispers from older cousins:
“It’s lucky that Dao Yi doesn’t know … if he did, he’d never take her …”
“Explains a lot about her, don’t you think? Not really quite the thing …”
“Always been a bit of a peculiar family …”
So from an early age, Inari had grown up with the ominous expectation that some day, something terrible would happen: she and her family would be disgraced, her father summarily dispatched from his solid job in the Ministry of Wealth and sent with his children scurrying at his heels to some lower echelon of Hell. Inari had heard stories about such places: the worlds of ice, the iron lands where souls do not possess bodies but run shrieking from torment to torment. But scandal did not break, and her family was not sent into exile, and at last the day came when Inari was presented to the fiancé to whom she had been engaged for so long.
And it had been the worst moment of her life. From the days of her childhood she had been hearing stories about Dao Yi: his subtlety; his intelligence; the cruelty which Inari, as demonkind, had been brought up to admire and yet somehow never could. Dao Yi would be different, she told herself, lying to herself with such conviction as only the young can muster; his cruelty was just a front, hiding a heart as gentle as her own. He had a good job, too: he was a well-respected official in the Ministry of Epidemics. Inari had been in love with this illusion for years; she longed to meet him. And when at last that meeting came, she learned what no one had bothered to mention: that her fiancé was a walking hive of disease, his flesh liquid with gangrene and mottled with hemorrhage. She still remembered that moment of revelation: like black lightning through her veins. After a single look, Inari had gathered the skirts of her robe and fled from the room.
Her revulsion was, moreover, all her own fault. Her family was astounded that she found her fiancé so repulsive. Where could she have inherited such fastidiousness from? they asked with mocking irony, darting cold, reptilian glances towards Inari’s mother, who sat with her head bowed in the corner of the room. Any demon worthy of a place in Hell would surely have been thrilled rather than revolted. Inari’s response was almost as weak and spineless as a lesser being’s would have been … a human, perhaps. And at this Inari’s mother let fall a single tear, that lay in her lap like a bright coral coal, and Inari had learned the truth. Her mother’s father had not been a demon at all, but a human. A courtier in the house of the Han Emperor, who had one day seen a spirit walking along the shores of an ornamental lake, and been seduced.
“The family’s blood is tainted,” Inari’s mother said, twitching her tail in anguished mortification. “Who knows what weaknesses we have inherited? Your father was good enough to ignore it, but of course we kept it as quiet as we could, for your sake. Dao Yi’s mother would never have agreed to the marriage if she’d known.”
“Pity she didn’t,” Inari had replied, weeping hot tears of her own.
Pity indeed. Dao had not taken his rejection lightly. He promptly sued for false engagement, citing Inari’s human blood. The judge, an old family friend of the Yi’s, was sympathetic. Inari’s father lost much of his wealth paying off the promised dowry, her mother lost her looks, and it had only been with the help of her brother Tso that Inari had been able to run away, stumbling through the streets of Hell until she blundered through a door and found herself in the courtyard of the temple of Kuan Yin. And there, she had found someone waiting: Chen Wei.
Now, just over a year later, the sea slapped against the sides of the houseboat, and a single footstep echoed across the deck like a gunshot. Jolted from her humiliating reverie, Inari started, then rose swiftly from the bed and crept to the window, standing a little back, so that she could not easily be seen.
She could hear someone moving across the deck of the boat. The footsteps were stealthy; the person was walking slowly, and with an irregular rhythm. It was this last thing that unnerved Inari: those who knew demons walked thus, because an enemy may be recognized by the pattern of their tread. Inari held her breath. Behind her, under the stove, the teakettle bristled into animal life. There was a tiny movement at the door of the houseboat and Inari’s skin prickled. Someone had placed a charm across the lintel. She glided backwards, toward the opposite window, but the stalker was coming around the deck. That left the stairs that led onto the roof. Silently, step by step, Inari climbed the steps to the hatch, and paused. The visitor was still below, moving around the deck, perhaps peering in. As quietly as she could, Inari lifted the hatch and slid out onto the roof. Edging to the side of the roof, she glanced down.
The man was standing with his back to her. She could see the long coat, and the iron-gray hair caught back in a thin ponytail. And then he turned and sprang, all in one quick, rushing movement. He landed beside her. The sword trailed fire as it came down; Inari heard it hiss through the air, but she was no longer there. She was running swiftly backwards, to the far end of the roof. The assassin leaped again, springing the length of the deck. Inari somersaulted backwards and landed lightly on the lower deck.
“Run,” the badger whistled behind her. “Inari, run—” but she did not. This man was human. She could smell him, and that made her suddenly angry. She might have fled from Hell, she might have spent the past year licking her wounds on the houseboat and relying on Chen to provide for her, but despite her human blood she was still demon enough for instinct to take over under threat. The sword was a blur in the darkness but she twisted beneath it and struck out. Her long claws raked the assassin’s shin. He gave a hiss of pain and sprang backwards, out of her reach. Inari rushed forwards in a scuttling crouch, avoiding the lashing blade. The assassin cut down; she leaped up and over the sword, kicking out wildly. The hard sole of her foot connected with the assassin’s cheek, and he staggered against the railing. Inari rolled out of reach. She glimpsed a shadow of black and white fur, moving fast. The badger wove between the assassin’s ankles and she saw the glint of teeth. The assassin cried out and flailed backwards against the rail. The badger’s eyes were red sparks in the darkness, and Inari could trace the passage of both protector and assailant as they went over the rail and down. There was a distant, muffled splash.
Inari ran to the side of the deck and looked over. There was no sign of anything: the water had swallowed them both. Then, far across the harbor, she saw a narrow wake, heading for shore. It was too small for a human being; it swam too swiftly. Inari leaped down from the houseboat, landing on one of the pontoons. Hopping from deck to deck, she made her way to shore. It was only when she got there that she realized that she was bleeding from a shallow cut in her forearm. Her blood his
sed and spat as it reached the salt sand. She was, Inari also realized, still wearing her dressing gown. The badger staggered onto the sand and shook itself like a dog. Inari ran across and dropped to her knees to take it in her arms.
“Are you all right? Are you hurt?”
“No,” the badger said, sneezing seawater. A paw clawed the side of its nose. “Must go. Must hide.”
The urgency in its voice lit Inari’s panic like a flame to kindling. She picked up the badger, which sagged in a heavy, wet bundle in her arms, and ran, sprinting down the harbor wall as the rain once more began. She did not dare look back.
15
Forty minutes after the séance had begun, a frustrated Chen was prepared to admit defeat. Lao had prepared the séance with his customary meticulousness. The protective circle had been drawn seven times with a stick of crimson incense, the guardians of the cardinal directions had been summoned, and the room was now thick with the bitter smoke of nineteen herbs, but the dim, dark circle that formed the channel between the worlds was notable principally for the absence of Pearl Tang. This was not to say that it was entirely silent. Other things kept trying to break through: the shadowy, contorted faces of spirits lost in the depths of the city, but Pearl was not among them. Chen glanced uneasily towards the door, wondering whether involving the demon might not have been worth the risk, after all. At least Zhu Irzh was fixed in one spot, always assuming he had not managed to break free of the subtle restraints that Lao had covertly imposed upon him immediately prior to the séance.
“After all,” Lao’s sardonic voice echoed in Chen’s head. “We don’t want him roaming around all over the place, do we?” The more control they had over Zhu Irzh, Chen reflected, the better he would feel.
“It’s too obvious,” Lao murmured, energetically wafting the smoke from the brazier. Chen stifled a cough.
“What is?”
“Pearl. Talk about being conspicuous by your absence. It’s almost pointed.”
“So what does that mean?”
“It means that someone’s blocking us. Even if Pearl’s spirit is trying to reach us, it can’t get through. See that?” He indicated a patch of shadow in the midst of the circle. “See how solid that is? That’s a deliberate block, and I can’t even tell where it’s coming from. But I can guess.”
“Pearl’s father?”
Lao nodded. “If he’s trying to reach her himself, or—worst case scenario—he’s done so already, then one of his paramount concerns will be to make sure that no one else succeeds in doing so.”
“All right. Then we should abandon this now and go back to Tang’s.”
Lao rose stiffly and wearily to his feet. “I think you’re right. Well, we’ve failed with the séance, but that doesn’t mean there aren’t other things we can try … Give me a moment while I close this down.”
Chen waited patiently as Lao went through the closing ceremony and the smoke gradually cleared. He held his breath as they stepped through the door into the living room, but Zhu Irzh was exactly where they had left him; sitting as still and silent as an elegant statue. A molten eye opened as Chen appeared.
“No luck?” the demon asked sarcastically. Chen was too relieved to find him still sitting there to resent the tone.
“Nothing. Lao thinks Tang is blocking us.”
“I did try to convince you that my simple presence would probably have been an invaluable addition to your efforts,” Zhu Irzh said, with gentle reproof. “But you wouldn’t have it … So what do we do now?”
“We’re going back into Tang’s house. There’s always the chance that he might have succeeded where we failed.”
“Remember that Tang is Pearl’s murderer,” Zhu Irzh said. “And although even the feeblest ghost will take pains towards revenge if the opportunity presents itself, Pearl’s even more terrified of her father now, after what happened last night.”
“I’m counting on that to keep her away from him,” Chen murmured. “But he might be too powerful for her, especially if he has help … I was hoping Ma might be able to distract him, but it doesn’t seem to have worked. I don’t suppose your contacts back in your own realm have any idea who Tang might be working with?”
“I’ve asked around,” the demon said evasively, avoiding Chen’s eye. “Haven’t come up with anything yet, but you never know.”
“All right,” Chen said. There was no use in pushing Zhu Irzh. “Now, I need to call the precinct.”
The voice on the other end of the telephone was crackling and distorted, and it was a moment before Chen realized that it belonged to Sergeant Ma.
“Detective Inspector? Is that you? You’re very faint. I’ve been trying to get through to you. I hung on as long as I could at Tang’s, but then his lawyers showed up.”
Chen said, “I’m at Exorcist Lao’s. I can barely hear you. There’s probably too much interference. What is it?”
“Well, there are two things,” Ma said, then hesitated.
“Go ahead.”
“The first is Tang. He hasn’t left his house. I’ve left a van on watch with infrared; they’ll let me know as soon as Tang does anything.”
“Good. What’s the second thing?”
“I think there may be a problem at your home,” Ma said. Chen felt as though the floor had suddenly opened up to reveal the gaping void beneath his feet. He stopped dead.
“What sort of problem?” His voice sounded very distant, as though it spoke from the bottom of a well.
“I think something may have got into your houseboat,” Ma said. He lowered his voice, making it doubly difficult for Chen to hear him through the crackling static. “A you know what. A demon.”
“How do you know that?” Chen said, still in that voice that was not his own.
“The captain thought things might be getting too much for one person to handle on their own,” Ma said. “So, yesterday, he called in reinforcements. Someone’s come from Beijing. A demon-hunter.”
“A demon-hunter? Why wasn’t I told?”
“The captain says he tried to get hold of you, but he thinks your mobile was switched off.” Chen thought back to the previous day, moving through Tang’s house with the mobile silenced in his pocket.
“Why didn’t he leave me a message on my voicemail? Or send text?”
“He did, but he said it bounced back—there seem to be problems with the whatsit, the bioweb, at the moment. Anyway,” Ma continued, “the demon-hunter arrived yesterday evening. We still couldn’t reach you, so he went to your houseboat. And apparently he found—someone.”
“Oh, goddess,” said Chen involuntarily. “Inari.”
“Mrs Chen didn’t seem to be there,” Ma said. “Probably she was out shopping or something.” He sounded none too convinced. “There was no sign of her, anyway—just the creature, and some kind of animal.”
“What happened?” Chen asked.
“He engaged the—the thing in combat but it threw him in the harbor,” Ma said. Chen’s eyebrows rose. Inari was demonkind, true, but hardly a warrior.
“Where is this man now?”
“Back here, in the captain’s office. I think he’d like a word with you.”
Chen sighed. “All right. Put him through.”
The voice that greeted him was one of the coldest Chen had ever heard. A single syllable could have iced the South China Sea. “Comrade Chen?”
“Yes. Good morning.”
“Good morning, comrade. My name is Citizen No Ro Shi. You must have heard of me. I’ve rid the capital of over two hundred hostiles over the last twenty years.”
“Yes,” said Chen with a sinking heart. “Yes, I know who you are.”
“You haven’t done so badly yourself,” No Ro Shi said magnanimously. “I’m looking forward to working with you. But I’m afraid I have black news. You had a visitor last night. It’s fortunate that you weren’t at home. Ma told you what happened?”
“Yes.”
“It’s rare for me to be defeated,” N
o Ro Shi said, without a trace of self-satisfaction. “But the hostile caught me unawares. It was a female.”
“So I gather,” Chen said tightly.
“I’m afraid there’s no sign of your wife, not yet.”
“That’s okay. She’s at her mother’s,” Chen said, lying furiously. He’d pay for it later, when the small disruption in the path of Truth reached Kuan Yin, but for now, it was worth it.
“Reassuring news,” No Ro Shi said, with apparently genuine relief. “What a fortunate thing, that she should have been absent from home. She would almost certainly have been slain.”
“I’ll tell her to stay where she is for now,” Chen said hastily. “Just in case the thing comes back. Do you have any idea where it went?” As he spoke an unwelcome vision of Inari’s photograph, which customarily sat on Chen’s desk, floated into mind. In the picture, Inari was almost unrecognizable behind hat and sunglasses, but No Ro Shi was a suspicious and competent professional. Chen would just have to hope for the best.
“I knew you’d want to get straight on the case,” No Ro Shi was saying. “I haven’t been able to trace the hostile, but I’m making it a priority.”
“Look,” Chen said. “I’m right in the middle of an investigation at the moment, so I can’t come back to the precinct just now. Can we meet up later?”
“No problem. Anything I can help with?”
“No, I’ll explain when I see you.”
“I’ll get on with finding the intruder then,” No Ro Shi said. “See you later, comrade.”
“Listen,” Chen said, thinking quickly. “Don’t worry about me. If Hell’s sent someone after me, I must be on the right track. Right now, my main concern is Tang. I want someone close to that house, keeping an eye on him. He’s a dangerous man, and a prime suspect.”
There was a short, considering silence on the other end of the phone, then No Ro Shi said, “I commend your professionalism. It’s rare to find someone these days who puts their duty to the State above their personal feelings. I’ll get over there. Where will you be?”