The Demon and the City

This time, she did not smile.
    They passed through into a second airlock, and then into a long, narrow room, clearly a laboratory of some kind.
    "Now," Jhai said, motioning toward a desk. "I have a confession to make."
    "All right," the demon replied, carefully. "What kind of confession?"
    "Not to the killings. I didn't do those, Zhu Irzh. But I know what did."
    "What? Not who?"
    "Who and what. Zhu Irzh, your aggressive lapse, the other day—I'm afraid I have to take responsibility for that as well."
    He stared at her. "You?"
    "When you went to the site where the murder victim was found, you caught something from the body. A virus."
    Zhu Irzh stared at her. "What was it?"
    "Okay. You know that I use a drug to repress my—my other side. It's based on a Keralan folk remedy, oddly enough—a combination of herbs, made into a magical balm. It was once used in exorcisms. The drug I take is the synthetic equivalent. You contracted the same kind of thing, but in a viral carrier, and reversed. A few molecular tweaks here and there, a little refining, and one has a drug that can tap directly into the response centers of the brain. In your case, the drug was on a time-release, just in case anyone made the connection between your visit to Paugeng, and the attack on Paravang Roche."
    "That's outrageous," Zhu Irzh said hotly. "I could have killed the man."
    "Oh, come on. You're a demon. Don't tell me you've got a conscience, Zhu Irzh."
    He didn't want to admit to that weakness, so he said, "No. The attack lacked style. But why?"
    "What I have in mind for this particular pharmaceutical range is something—quite ambitious. Come on. I'll show you." She rose and gestured toward the door. "I'd like you to take a walk, Zhu Irzh. It's only a short distance into the hills. Come with me."
    Curious and annoyed, the demon followed her. They went back out through the airlocks and into the day. Heat struck the demon like a wall.
    "Where are we going?"
    "I'll show you."
    She led him up a dusty path, through groves of acacia. Looking back, he could see the compound far below, like a child's building blocks. They came to a razor-wire fence, a substantial thing that was also clearly electrically charged—and spell-warded. The demon held out a considering hand and felt the snap of magic along his palm. Jhai halted.
    "Is this the perimeter?" Zhu Irzh asked.
    "No. This is an enclosure."
    "Enclosing what? Jhai, if this is a trap, I think I should point out that I'm wearing a trace. It's embedded in the bone of my arm, so you'll have to have me searched and then cut it out if you want to remove it. If anything happens to me, the trace will deactivate and alert my colleagues. And I have my own wards, too." He was lying, of course, but it wouldn't hurt to make her think a little.
    Jhai smiled. "Glad to see you've taken precautions. But this isn't a trap. Not for you."
    "For what, then?"
    "Go and look."
    The demon regarded her doubtfully for a moment, then nodded.
    "All right." He wasn't happy about it, but curiosity won out over unease.
    "I'll meet you later. Just follow the path up the hillside."
    "You're not coming?"
    "No," Jhai said. "I don't want to attract attention to myself." She pressed her hand against the gate lock, and it opened. Cautiously, Zhu Irzh stepped through. A tingling sensation ran up his spine like a mouse. At first, he thought this was some aspect of the gate security system, and then he realized. It was natural.
    "There's a ch'i meridian running along here. I can feel it, under the ground."
    Jhai nodded. "You'll notice more of them. This was a sacred place long ago. There's some powerful feng shui around here." Gently, she shut the gate behind him, and turned. "See you later."
    Wondering if there would be a later, the demon made his way up the hillside. It was very quiet. A single small bird turned in the air above him, spinning on the wind, but only a faint breeze stirred the hillside grasses. Beneath his feet, Zhu Irzh sensed the meridian, its pulsing presence humming under the arid ground. He squatted on his heels and listened. He could hear his own heartbeat, beginning to pound in time to the meridian. There was a change in the wind, beginning to turn to the south, a warm wind bearing the salt-mud smell of the delta, which was just visible in a fan of light through the hills. He could hear the wind and the voices that it carried, once startlingly loud in his ear, speaking a long, liquid language, coming from far out to