The Demon and the City

fretfully, an old complaining voice hushing it still. At last, they came out into a square. The myriad dead crowded around Robin and Mhara. She felt hands lift her hair and stroke the collar of her jacket. She caught glimpses of their faces, the fleeting tilt of a smile, eyes catching the light. A girl's long hair brushed her sleeve and the girl was gone into the air, drifting by. Robin turned her head wonderingly and a swarm of lights sailed up through the eaves; she saw a hand come out of the air and catch a handful. By the sudden blaze she saw a lantern full of fireflies and the patient face of a child, the jaw eaten away, and Mhara was pulling her on. She felt as though she were running through water, the dead flowing past her and then they were gone. The road curved round to a high, carved gate, and then she realized where they were.
    "Mhara . . .this is like Ghenret."
    "What?"
    "I know where we are. That was Hangsu Square, and there's the Lion Gate."
    "The Night Harbor mimics the world sometimes. Just as Hell does."
    Sure enough, as they drew closer, she could see the ornamental carved beast high on its lintel, exactly the same as in the world of the living. Mhara put out a warning hand and caught her wrist. Before them, in the portal of the Lion Gate, was a familiar form. It was the non-dog no longer, but the indeterminate thing that had brought Robin to the cemetery.
    "Well, Robin," it said to her lightly. "So we've found one another again." It made a quick sidling movement. "Don't you feel it might be destiny, after all? Didn't you always feel that it was meant?" and now its taunting voice had changed, rang familiar in her ears. "But maybe it wasn't meant, after all," the new voice said, sadly mocking. "Maybe we should end it here." Deveth, sitting on the sofa, after Robin had uttered her one word of rebellion.
    "It's you," Robin said. She felt a peculiar sense of anticlimax.
    "Isn't that what you're supposed to do, haunt your murderer?" The animal shook its heavy, dull coat, and then Deveth was there, just herself, hawk-faced and wearing her old green jacket. "You went to see my mother, didn't you? She still doesn't believe I'm dead; she's still doping herself up with her trendy sickness pills. And my dear friend Jhai's making new friends, or so I've just seen." Deveth's face twisted and slid, dissolving into the air. "But I am dead. Your new friend tore me to pieces. At least it was quick," she glanced at Mhara. "I suppose I should say thanks for that. And he's prettier than I ever was," she added, turning back to the transfixed Robin. "Well, Robin, aren't you going to say sorry, that you never had the guts to stop tormenting some poor imprisoned thing and turning it into a killer? But you never let principles stand in your way, did you?" Her features slipped and slid once more, and she was half-Deveth, half-something other, shot with lights the color of illness.
    Robin suddenly found that she was angry. She spat, "Well, fuck you. Don't think I haven't blamed myself enough. If you hadn't treated me like some little trophy, maybe you wouldn't be here now, so don't get self-righteous with me. I think I prefer you, Dev, as a hyena or whatever you're supposed to be. Maybe that's more real."
    "Maybe," the thing said softly. Deveth was gone, and so was the beast. The spirit rose up into the air, a whirling mass of color. Pressure built inside Robin's skull, and there was a sharp bursting pain at the bridge of her nose. Automatically she wiped her upper lip: her nose was bleeding and she felt wetness trickling down her cheeks. Her heart hammered in her ribcage, great, slow beats growing louder and louder until all she could hear was her heart and a thin, high wailing. Through a pinpoint she saw Mhara, on his knees with his arms futilely raised. His face was streaked with blood and the swaying mass was beating at him, each lash laying open his arms and his ribcage. The silvery droplets of blood trailed slowly up into the air and floated away. Something was licking his face as it bled.
     

Twenty-Six
    As the car pulled out behind the Pellucid Island Opera House, Zhu Irzh broke a long, tension-filled silence and said, "That—thing—that attacked me. You saw it, I'm sure."
    "Yes. Yes, I saw it." Jhai shifted in the seat beside him.
    "It was a Celestial being, wasn't it?"
    "Yes, it was."
    "I thought they were supposed to be nice?"
    "They are."
    "Well, that one wasn't. It tried to garrote me with its