The Demon and the City - By Liz Williams Page 0,111

sank over the port, she walked all the way back again to the temple, to tell him.

He came back the next day, as promised. She told him then.

"You're sure?" Mhara said. He was leaning on the ruined framework. Robin had already made a start in cleaning the temple out. The broken bricks had been removed, and she had discovered a kind of hut at the back, equipped with a sink and other facilities, half-covered in vines. Presumably, it had been the home of the previous priest. She felt light and clear and not hungry—better than she had felt for some time. If this was what being dead was like, then she could live with that.

"I think so. I need some space, to think about things. What I've done, how I can make amends. I need some space away from you, and some time with you. So that's what I'll do, Mhara. I'll keep your temple here on Earth, turn it into the sort of place that's worthy of you. I think you've earned your worship now, and with one less goddess on the scene, they'll need all the help they can get. The people round here look as though they can use it. And maybe I could come and see you?"

"Or I could come here," Mhara said.

"We'll work it out," Robin said, as she kissed him a temporary goodbye. After all, it would really be just like any long-distance relationship.

Sixty-Four

Paravang Roche sat back in the armchair and stretched his feet toward the fire. At least it was warm. Dark, though, but he didn't mind that. There were a few things he missed about his little apartment, but not many, and he had to admit that there were compensations. As long as Mahibel wasn't fussing too badly about the forthcoming wedding, they got along well enough and he had to admit that it was pleasant, being looked after like this. Somehow, he'd always expected the food in Hell to be terrible, but the dishes served up every night were surprisingly good, although he couldn't always tell what they were. And the neighborhood bar was full of elderly gentlemen who held a rather similar view of the world to himself. He and his new bride wouldn't have to worry about money, since the goddess' partners in this neck of the woods regarded Paravang as having conducted their vengeance on Senditreya on their behalf and had been generous in consequence. A good thing that the lords of Hell could be both opportunist and lazy. There had been no reliance on living relatives, which was just as well, since Paravang couldn't see his father parting with much cash in the world of the living.

Even his mother's frequent visits were less unwelcome than they might have been. She was obsessing about the marriage ceremony, of course, but that was only to be expected and it would be over soon. Paravang was letting the women get on with it.

Rising to fetch more tea, he glanced out of the window into the yard. Senditreya was grazing placidly on the little patch of grass. As he watched, she raised her black head and looked at him out of a sour crimson eye. Her mouth opened: she emitted a long, mournful bellow. She was, Paravang thought, of much more use as a cow than she had ever been as a deity, though he didn't think much of the milk. Perhaps a more varied diet might help . . . But as a dowry, she had saved him a fortune.

He turned away from the window and reached in his pocket. Chen's written guarantee was still there. Paravang studied it for a moment, smiled grimly, and then he threw it into the fire.

An excerpt from the next

Detective Inspector Chen novel:

PRECIOUS DRAGON

ONE

The spirit was singing her heart out, her ethereal voice soaring up into the air. Uneasily, the demon peered sideways, trying to see, but his view was impeded by a crimson edge of rock. He stamped from one foot to another, trying to concentrate, but the spirit's voice seemed to drown out the whole world. Beside him, his demonic kin swayed in a ferocious display of hatred, surging forward to follow the dragon as it charged toward the singing spirit. Soon, it would be upon her . . .

The demon, hopeful, looked up and to his intense relief saw that the hero's feet were now visible, descending rather jerkily from a cloud. With a sweep of his wand, the hero (mighty