The Demon and the City - By Liz Williams Page 0,110

around her waist. "Robin," he said into her ear, "it's winter here. Look—the air's full of snow. We should get moving."—and after a moment she put her hands over his.

"We should," she agreed. She could not tell whether it was snowflakes or flower blossoms that drifted through the frosty air.

Sixty-Two

A day later, Jhai and her mother were standing outside Paugeng, surveying the impressively improbable angle at which the building now leaned.

"Hell of a lot to do," Jhai remarked, almost cheerfully. Her mother gripped her hand in sympathy.

"Oh, Jhai, I'm so sorry. All your hard work . . ."

Jhai looked at her. Opal seemed older, somehow; it must be the stress of the last few days, not to mention her daughter's confession, but at least she was still alive. Jhai said, "Well, mother, we've gotten away with it. You know what I mean. And I can start again. Sometimes it helps, having a clean break." She was aware of a curious sense of anticipation, almost eagerness. Perhaps Heaven would come after her, or Hell. She didn't know how things would work out with Zhu Irzh, but perhaps it didn't matter. After all, she reflected, lovers came and went, but the city—well, the city and Paugeng would endure as long as she could help it. There would be a lot of rebuilding to do. And then, when she had finished with the city, there was the rest of the world to consider. She thought that her business interests had been a little narrow up to this point.

With Shai shattered and fallen, a major gate between the worlds was closed. It wasn't the only one. There had been reports all over the city, from people unable to contact their dead relatives anymore. Hell was sealed and silent. But not, Jhai thought, for long. There were other gates, after all. She thrust the thought aside. They'd solve that problem when they came to it.

"A lot to do," Jhai repeated. She met her mother's gaze, and pulled her fur-collared jacket closer against the unseasonable chill.

Sixty-Three

"I have to go back to Heaven," Mhara said. They were sitting on the steps of the little, ruined temple, looking out over the city. The dust from the various quakes had resulted in a magnificent sunset: the sky was a blaze of glory across the port.

"I know," Robin said. She reached out and took his hand.

"My father wants me to begin taking things over." Mhara sighed. "I expect that means he wants me to do things exactly as he would do them—continue the process of withdrawing Heaven from the other realms. That's not what I have in mind."

"No," Robin said. "I didn't expect you to."

"And you, Robin." He turned to her and smiled. "What are we going to do with you?"

"If I could be with you, up there," Robin began hesitantly, but she knew that the Jade Emperor was still in charge, and mortal humans just didn't get to be consorts of Celestial princes. "But I don't think I can. And besides, Mhara, it really isn't my kind of place. Maybe when I die . . ."

Mhara was looking at her strangely. "You haven't realized, have you?"

"Realized what?"

"You're already dead, Robin."

"What are you talking about?" She looked down at her own apparently solid flesh. "It looks real enough to me."

"But it isn't. You died in Shai. Senditreya killed you."

"Why aren't I in the Night Harbor then?"

"Because I'm keeping you tethered here. But you're free to go wherever you want now. Heaven, if you wish."

"But I can touch things, pick things up."

"I said you were dead, not that you were a ghost. You just can't die again, Robin. You'll remain in this form, forever, until you should choose to move on."

"But people can see me?" Robin was still grappling with the concept.

"Yes, you're quite visible."

"I need some time," Robin whispered. "Time to think about all this."

"Then you shall have it. I'll come back tomorrow." Slowly, he faded away until there was only a faint shine upon the air.

When he had gone, Robin rose from the steps of the little temple and walked out. She walked past the shattered shops and collapsed awnings of the upper half of Shaopeng, past the dust-covered parks and gardens, all the way to the port. She stayed there for a long time, looking out across the harbor, the emergency shipping dashing to and fro, the helicopters soaring overhead. And gradually, over the course of the day, she knew what she must do, and when night eventually