The Demon and the City - By Liz Williams Page 0,13

anyone ever found out . . . She and her mother, and her grandmothers as far back as the seventeenth century, had taken such care, such pains. They had bred selectively, never marrying, always choosing the most auspicious elements of the gene pool, revealed through reliable oracles; treading a fine line between power and discovery. Technology made things a lot easier. If Paugeng's genetics division got its research right, then the next generation would be simply cloned and the knife-edge dangers of breeding would lie safely in the past. But that, Jhai thought with a thin smile, was the fallback position. If her plans worked out, then her heritage wouldn't matter any longer anyway. It would not be necessary to merely pass.

Jhai weighed the capsule again and left the terrace, closing the door softly behind her. She headed for the penthouse's lavish bathroom, ignoring, for once, the invitations of the gilded jacuzzi or the sauna, and put her hands on the porcelain basin. She stared hard at her own reflection in the mirror, willing it not to move. It remained fixed, the perfect mimic, and Jhai breathed a sigh of relief. She did not like taking the drug. She played a game of cat and mouse, leaving it as late as possible before the next dose, but this time she had almost overstepped the line. She could feel the change starting within her, itching to be freed from the remains of its neurochemical shackles. She let the silk robe rustle to the floor and turned to examine herself in the mirror.

Naked, she thought without vanity, she was close to perfect, as long as the drug kept the changes at bay. But as she scrutinized her own reflection, she could see the faint tiger stripes along her ribcage, a golden light behind her eyes. Sliding a hand behind her, she felt the tug of growing bone at the base of her spine and for the thousandth time she was tempted to just let it happen, go all the way, see what the result would be . . . But she already knew. The collection of Keralan miniatures that her mother kept locked in the safe had shown her that. Warmth crept between her legs and Jhai crossed her hands over her aching breasts and arched her back. That was another reason to stop taking the drug: to exchange frigid humanity for unnatural desire. What an irony, Jhai reflected bitterly. The very source of her charisma and her legendary sexual appeal had to be kept in check, otherwise it would get her banished down to Hell. She was human enough not to want that, and if she kept taking the drug, she could have it both ways, even if she was unable to enjoy the results of the attraction she generated. She could retain enough of her ancestress' glamorous powers to keep the corporation and her fortune together, and still pass as wholly human. You can have it both ways, Jhai told herself grimly, swallowing the black capsule at last and watching the stripes fade from her flanks and the fire from her eyes. But you can never have it all.

Eight

Normally, Robin would never have gone anywhere near Bharcharia Anh. Her little beat was confined to Shaopeng and Battery Road, with occasional trips out to the countryside along the delta to visit her grandparents, who were proud of their made-good granddaughter. Robin had never been this far up into the heights. The car avoided the congested town center, sweeping out beyond the city limits and then rumbling back onto the fast arterial road. It reached Bharcharia Anh close to three o'clock.

The white turret where the Sardai family lived looked wet, as though dew had gathered on the pallid surface, and the grounds were green and lush, dense with imported hibiscus and oleander. The hallmark of the homes of the rich, Robin understood, was not their opulence but their silence. From up here, the rest of the city, the whole squalid, roaring mass, may just as well not exist.

Inside the tower, it was utterly still. A doorman showed Robin to the elevator and left her there. The elevator glided upward and then opened out into the wide atrium of the Sardais' apartment.

To Robin's left, a water sculpture gushed into a pool filled with carp. Before the pool something was being created, molding and shaping itself on a plinth. Robin watched, fascinated, as it became a running horse, a rose, and at last settled