The taxi slowed to a halt at the end of the road where Tang's mansion stood, and Chen leaped out, throwing a handful of change at the driver. With a growing sense of unease he saw that the street had been cordoned off. Two of the department's new anti-riot vehicles were parked at the entrance to the road and a mesh of nanowire had been erected to form an impenetrable barrier. As Chen drew near, a white-faced SWAT officer leaped down from one of the vehicles and began motioning him frantically back.
"Go back, go back! The road's closed!"
Chen flashed his badge and saw the officer's eyes widen in comprehension.
"Sorry, sir, I didn't realize—go on through."
Pausing to check that the flickering form of the demon was still at his shoulder, Chen went down the street at a run. As he drew closer to the mansion he saw that the bulky figure of Sergeant Ma was standing in full view out in the road. Ma was surrounded by uniformed police, a fire engine, and the surveillance van, and as Chen watched, a tall figure strode out into the light. Chen could see the hilt of a ritual sword hanging from the man's back: this, then, must be No Ro Shi, the demon-hunter.
"What's all the fuss?" Zhu Irzh's puzzled voice said in his ear.
"I've no idea." But clasped in Chen's arms, the ghost-tracker gave a rattle of alarm and struggled to be free. Chen dropped it, none too gently, upon the pavement, and it tore the lead out of his hand and disappeared into the bushes. Chen swore.
"Never mind," Zhu Irzh said. "We're better off without it, if you ask me."
There was a cry of recognition as Sergeant Ma spotted Chen. Panting, the sergeant hastened up and began a long, garbled explanation that made no sense whatsoever.
"Sergeant, calm down. I can't understand a word you're saying."
Taking a deep breath, Ma managed to utter a single intelligible word. "Look."
Chen glanced towards the mansion and with an increasing sense of incredulity saw that it was no longer there. Where Tang's pompous, nouveau riche house had stood was nothing more than a whirling cloud of darkness, shot with neon. Chen's stomach churned; Ma's unusual pallor was suddenly explained.
"Ma, what the hell?"
Before Ma could open his mouth, Chen found his hand grasped in an iron grip and a voice barked, "Comrade Chen!"
Chen looked up into a storm-dark gaze. He had never met demon-hunter No Ro Shi before now, but he had seen him plenty of times on documentaries and the news, and No Ro Shi's austere features were frequently plastered over the pages of the Beijing press. Chen's horror at the demon-hunter's presence was slightly softened by admiration: No Ro Shi refused to give way to the cult of celebrity (recognizing, perhaps, that this was in itself a secure pathway to Hell) and apparently eschewed a personal life. His job was all-consuming, from what Chen had heard, and doubtless he would be assured of a prominent position in the hereafter, always assuming that he didn't slip up first. A position of which Chen himself might have been assured, before his marriage; there had been plenty of subsequent nights on which he had lain awake, wondering precisely what the gods had in store after his death. As long as he stayed with Inari, he told himself over and over again, he did not greatly care. He risked a second glance at the phenomenon that had been Tang's house.
"Remarkable," he said as calmly as he could. "Perhaps you'd like to bring me up to speed on what's been going on, Mr—that is to say, Comrade—Shi."
"There's been a surveillance team at the residence since early this morning, as you're aware. I've been watching Tang myself through the infrared; there was relatively little movement until an hour or so ago. He stayed in his study; we've been logging his e-mails. At 1:25 P.M. the scanners showed evidence of hostile activity: increased s/r levels and biomorphic patterning systematic of an incursion from another realm. Tang appeared agitated, seemed to be attempting communication with something unseen. We're analyzing the voice-vibrations now. At 1:48 levels rose and there appeared to be some kind of implosion within the house, centering on Tang's study. The house began to fragment. As you can see, it is still doing so."
"We think Tang was trying to recapture his daughter's spirit," Chen said. "Perhaps he over-reached himself."
"It's a possibility. However, it is also a possibility that one of his associates has decided that the price of failure is termination."
"You're suggesting that Tang's been assassinated? That's quite probable."
No Ro Shi's moustache bristled with satisfaction. "Hostiles rarely tolerate failure. Tang was becoming a liability. He bungled his daughter's illicit passage to Hell and attracted the attention of both the police and the Celestial authorities. You say he was trying to recapture his daughter's spirit? I wasn't aware that it was missing."
Chen gave a brief account of recent events, omitting for now any mention of the demon. He gave an idle glance around him as he spoke, but there was no sign of Zhu Irzh. Chen did not know whether to be relieved that Zhu Irzh had managed to avoid No Ro Shi's attention or alarmed that the demon was no longer in view. His narrative was interrupted by a sudden, soundless explosion in the direction of the house, and a violent shove in the small of his back as someone knocked him to the ground. The shockwave flattened him against the tarmac and a great blast of heat passed overhead. The air itself changed: he was spread-eagled fleetingly in the midst of a spinning cloud of darkness, and then it passed. Spitting dust, Chen raised his head.
Nothing remained of Tang's mansion; not even a smoldering hole in the ground. Instead, a garden was blooming. Roses with soft, ebony petals and thorns as curled as a mandarin's fingernails entwined themselves around the shadowy branches of vines, hung with grapes the color of night. The crimson tongue of a great dark orchid flickered out to catch an unwary cockchafer, humming over black grass. There was a heavy, soporific odor of incense and opium and old honey. It was, Chen silently admitted to himself, something of an improvement upon Tang's vulgar mansion. A hand grasped him by the wrist and hauled him to his feet. No Ro Shi spoke into a voice recorder.
"Termination of direct hostile activity; placement of incursion, 2:33 P.M." His voice echoed through a silence that seemed to fill the whole of the world.