The Demon and the City

the plaster had been gouged out of the wall, gave a bouncing bow and opened the hinged doors of the box. Inside, a portrait gazed out at Zhu Irzh: dark, upturned eyes beneath elegant brows, an aquiline nose, a smiling mouth. The earlobes were stained red. Grandmother picked up the stub of a scarlet candle and lit it. Fake flowers surrounded the icon, along with a greeting card featuring violets, a chocolate bar and a small blue bottle. The grandmother noticed Zhu Irzh's transfixed stare.
    "Yes!" she croaked at him. "You know her! Everyone does." She pointed to the Paugeng tower, the home of the object of her reverence. Imperial Majesty! thought the demon. The corporate executive as religious icon. He must remember not to underestimate Jhai Tserai.
    On returning to Paugeng, he was told that Jhai was now available, and would see him shortly. Zhu Irzh was whisked into the upper reaches of the tower in a mirrored lift, which gave him the opportunity to correct any minor details of his person that failed to pass muster. It was fortunate, the demon reflected with a trace of distaste, that his particular brand of Hellkind did not sweat. Humans were really quite unfortunate in that respect. He plucked a stray hair from his silk collar, and the lift came imperceptibly to a halt. Zhu Irzh stepped out into a leafy atrium, almost as large as the hallway below. A demure, smiling secretary, his hair fashionably long, greeted him. Zhu Irzh glanced at the young man with approval; it seemed Tserai had excellent taste.
    "She'll be right with you," the young man said.
    "Excellent." Zhu Irzh was ushered into a pleasant lounge overlooking the port. A hazy afternoon sun shimmered through tinted glass and there was a clean smell, partly antiseptic, partly floral. A bank of orchids stood along one wall, engineered into fantastic creations. At the far end of the room, a voice said, "Seneschal Zhu Irzh, I understand?"
    The demon turned to see a young woman stepping through the double doors. He recognized her immediately; he had, after all, just seen her face in iconic representation. In person, however, Jhai Tserai seemed to glow. She wore a saffron sari; gold sparked at her wrists and throat. She glided, smiling, down the length of the room and extended a languid hand in the Western manner. Zhu Irzh took her long, cool fingers and immediately felt as though someone had slipped a soft, gentle hand against his groin. The sensation was unexpected, wonderful, and entirely inappropriate. Jhai Tserai's hand closed briefly around his own fingers, but the touch was experienced somewhere else entirely. How did she do that? Zhu Irzh wondered through the red mist in his head. Some kind of pheromonal enhancement perhaps. Still, he wasn't about to complain.
    To his intense relief, Jhai released his hand and stepped back. Desire receded to a part of Zhu Irzh's mind where it could be unpacked later and examined in detail. He took a deep, shaky breath. The industrialist was regarding him with some amusement; he realized, with dim horror, that Jhai Tserai was well aware of the effect that she had just achieved. Flustered, the demon said quickly, "I've come with regard to a sad matter, I'm afraid. Do you know a young lady named Deveth Sardai?"
    Jhai's eyebrows rose. "I do indeed. We were in school together. I've known her for years. In fact," she added in a murmur, "I'm pleased you're here." She leaned forward confidentially to meet the demon's eyes and Zhu Irzh was astounded to find himself blushing.
    "Are you?"
    "I was beginning to worry," Jhai said, suddenly earnest. "I couldn't help feeling that something might have happened to her. Deveth and I keep in irregular touch—sometimes we see a lot of each other; sometimes our social lives take us in different orbits; you know how it is . . . We're all so busy these days and it's hard to catch up with old friends, no matter how much one might want to. But a young girlfriend of hers told me that she hadn't seen Deveth for days, and naturally, I was becoming rather concerned." She reached out and put her hand briefly over Zhu Irzh's own, as if readying herself to be brave. "Tell me. What's wrong?"
    "I'm afraid she's dead," the demon said, watching Jhai narrowly. It was hard to concentrate. His hand was still warm where she had touched him.
    Jhai stared at him. "Dead? How? Oh Goddess, don't tell me she overdosed." She put a hand to her mouth in dismay.
    "Was she in the habit of using drugs?" Zhu Irzh asked,