The Demon and the City

and she recognized none of them.
    At the center of the square stood a stretch of trees, as though a wood grew in the middle of the buildings. Robin knew, however, that this patch of acacia and thousand-flower concealed the Shaopeng cemetery. The cemetery boundaries seemed to be much more extensive than she remembered, and this made perfect sense to Robin. It was night, after all, and she had only ever visited in the day. All at once she understood what was happening, here so close to the eve of the Day of the Dead. The world was dreaming, the city re-creating itself in sleep, and changing itself to its other form, the form of its counterpart in Hell.
    "Isn't that right?" she said aloud to her companion.
    And it replied, "What do you think, Robin? Tell me what you see."
    "I can see the temple roof," Robin said obediently, "and the trees, and look, they're coming into flower." She could see the starry white blossoms of the thousand-flower swell out from their buds and burst outward the petals curling like a ghost's soft hand, expanding to propel pollen in a dusty shower into the night air. A great breath of sweetness came from them, engulfing Robin and the animal in its perfume. The petals fell in a pale shower to the earth and the process began again, petals budding, shaking out and falling, until the ground beneath the trees was covered in a snowdrift of flowers.
    "Perhaps we should go in," the animal told Robin, murmuring, and when she looked at it, it was no longer a beast, somehow, but something else, a form of darkness, strangely vivid yet undefined. Robin nodded, and stepped through the ornamental gate of the cemetery. The petals were still falling, but more slowly now, and the air was filled with sweetness. The cemetery was full of light, lamps and votive candles set upon the tombs, beckoning through the scented dark. Robin could see the little temple at the center of the cemetery, and its curving roof seemed to hold the stars. Something shot over the temple roof in a burst of light and buried itself alarmingly close to Robin's feet. A firecracker? Robin's companion bent and plucked it from the ground, digging with animal swiftness in the damp earth. Steam rose from its indistinct fingers. Robin felt something placed in her hand. She looked down. It was a small piece of metal, glossy as though wet, and still warm. She felt her companion smile. Teeth glittered in the half-light.
    "Heaven's falling, Robin," it said, and the voice was now thin and old. Robin put the meteorite in her pocket.
    "Are we going to the temple?"
    "It's not a temple. It's an exchange." And Robin thought, How stupid of me . It was indeed a money-changing kiosk, with the little metal slot in its side through which a slip of paper was expelled after the completion of the transaction. Together, they walked to the exchange. Someone knocked on the door, from within; a ritual three times.
    "Yes?" Robin's companion said.
    "May I come out?" a very small voice asked. The animal looked at Robin, and smiled.
    "Up to you, Robin."
    Robin opened her mouth to call it forth, but she surprised herself. She heard her own voice from somewhere, high and frightened.
    "No," she said, "No, you may not!" and her companion's smile vanished.
    "Ask him to come out, Robin," it said. It sounded sweet, as sweet as the petals of the thousand-flower that now blew around them, a white whirling cloud to settle in Robin's hair. Robin felt a hand caress her spine, running lightly down the vertebrae, leaving a trail of warmth behind it.
    "Ask, Robin, ask," and it was the experiment's voice murmuring in her ear, gentle, whispering. Do this for me, Robin . . .
    "No, no!" Robin shouted, and broke away, running blindly through the graveyard. She caught her foot and fell, landing across a granite barrier. She felt a hot burst of pain shoot through her knee and something fiery licked her cheek. She thought that she had fallen against one of the votive lights, but then she felt it again and knew it for the animal's tongue, sliding affectionately across her face. It stung and she cried out.
    "Get up, Robin," the creature said. Robin clambered to her feet and stumbled against the tilted stone, half-falling. She had broken her knee, she thought. The sensation seared through her, a pulsing lump of pain. Someone put their arm around her waist, and it was longer than a human arm, and stronger. She looked up fearfully. Her companion's voice rasped in her ear like a tongue.
    "Ask, Robin,"