"Who are you?"
"I think you misunderstand the situation, Collector. I'm the one who'll ask the questions. Now tell me — where the fuck is the girl?"
"You don't listen well, do you? If I knew where the girl was I wouldn't be here. Of course, Wai-Sun could've probably found her for you, if you hadn't gone and torn out his throat."
"You expect me to take criticism from a monkey? Wai-Sun was useless. He might as well have thrown open a window and shouted for her, for all the good he did. No, to find her I need someone with a connection to the girl — which, for the record, is the only reason you're still standing."
"If you think I'm going to deliver her to you, you're out of your fucking mind."
I didn't even see him move. One moment, he was standing half a room away. The next, his hand was on my throat. His eyes met mine, and I was plunged into darkness so complete, for a moment, I thought I'd ceased to be. Then he threw me across the room, and the darkness lifted.
I crashed into a stack of half-assembled wooden chairs. He was on me in a flash. He yanked me from the rubble by my arm. Something in my shoulder snapped. "I think with the proper encouragement, Collector, you'll tell me everything I need to know." He let me go, and I tumbled to the floor. Then he kicked me so hard my vision went dim and my mouth filled with the copper tang of blood.
The kick lifted me up off the floor and sent me sailing across the room. I slammed into a bank of shelves and crumpled to the floor, the shelves crashing to the ground atop me. Pain blossomed in my head and in my chest — exquisite, clarifying — and the world snapped back into focus. I clambered to my feet, shrugging aside the splintered wood and shards of glass that used to be the contents of the shelves.
I flashed him a half-crazed smile of defiance. "So tell me, demon, do you have a name?"
Again he struck. Just a momentary blur, and then darkness enveloped me, and I saw nothing. Great claws dug into my chest and I was lifted skyward, slamming into the ceiling before falling back to the floor, the storeroom rubble scratching and piercing my skin. I coughed and tasted blood.
"Are you the one who did this to her? Killed her family, set her up?"
The blow came from behind this time. It was like a fucking bus. I ricocheted off the workbench and smacked head-first into the wall before tumbling to the floor. A close one, I thought — if I hadn't gotten my arms up in time, that woulda been curtains for this meat-suit. Two in two days — it might have been some kind of record.
Then again, if I had died, I would have missed out on all this fun.
"You can make all of this stop, you know," the demon said to me. "Just help me find the girl, and I've no further quarrel with you. I promise I'll dispatch this vessel of yours quickly and you'll be free to go about your wasted, scavenging existence."
"That's a lovely offer, really." I lay prostrate on the floor, and drew breath in ragged, hitching gasps. "And after careful consideration, I've decided you can go fuck yourself."
The gap between us disappeared. A hand, cold and unyielding as marble, closed around my neck. My ears filled with the sickening noise of my own strangled gurgles; my legs pistoned in the rubble. I was running out of time.
"Wait!" I squeaked, and the grip slackened, just a shade. "Wait. I'll help you find her." The demon released my neck, instead grabbing me by the collar and dragging me out into the front room. He dropped me to the floor, and, once again Wai-Sun, wiped blood — my blood — from his hand onto the wooden top, smearing the rest onto the map.
"You have made a prudent choice, Collector. Once I have the girl in hand, you have my oath that I shall kill you quickly."
I nodded, and spat blood onto the painted concrete floor.
"Now — clear your thoughts. Think of nothing but the girl. If you attempt to deceive the map, I will find out, and when I do, your suffering to date will be nothing compared to what you have in store. Are we clear?"
"Clear," I rasped.
The false Wai-Sun closed his eyes. I didn't. Instead I watched him as he descended into trance, my grip tightening around the dagger I'd snatched up off the floor of the storeroom. It was an odd little thing — pure silver by the look of it, with an ornate filigreed handle and a series of characters etched along the blade, in what to my eyes looked like Aramaic. I didn't know for sure if it could hurt a demon, but Wai-Sun's talents were acknowledged by Merihem and this creature both — the way I figured it, this was the only shot I had. All I could think was I'd better not miss.
The demon began to hum — a low, atonal, guttural tone, which was soon accompanied by a second higher one, and then one higher still. The top righted of its own accord and began to spin. At first, it skittered wildly around the table, and then it settled into an elliptical orbit. I tried to force any thought of Kate from my mind, which was about as useful as, I don't know, something not so useful. The top's orbit began to decay — it spun in ever smaller ovals, until it had centered on an area of maybe six by nine blocks. At least she was still somewhere on the island, I thought, but this had gone on long enough — any longer, and I'd be giving up the farm.
I dove toward the false Wai-Sun, drawing the dagger high overhead and plunging it deep into his chest. His eyes snapped open, and he staggered backward. The humming ceased, and the top skittered off the desktop and across the floor. The demon's eyes registered shock and surprise; he backed into a cherry end table and stumbled. His mouth opened, and closed, and opened again, emitting a dry, whistling rasp that built upon itself like waves capping against the shore. Tears sprung up in his eyes and spilled down his face. Soon his whole body was shaking, and he doubled over, bracing himself against the corner of the desk.
The demon, I realized, was laughing.
He said, "You fool. Did you really think that pitiful blade would hurt me? I'm a fucking demon. But don't worry — that's one mistake you won't have long to regret."
He approached, slowly this time, as if savoring the moment. I backed away. My hip connected with a mahogany buffet, and I tried too late to scramble over it. He backhanded me, and I sailed across the room, toppling a pile of furniture and sending a half-dozen vases shattering to the floor.
I made for the front door of the shop, but my way was blocked. The demon just smiled. I clawed at the mound of junk that barred my path, tossing anything and everything toward my assailant in a desperate attempt to slow him down long enough to make my escape. I bounced a pearl inlay music box off his temple, but it left no mark, and he just laughed — that horrible, wheezing laugh, like dry leaves on pavement. I heaved a wooden chest to the floor between us, but he simply gestured, and it moved aside. It was clear he was enjoying this.
I flung myself atop the pile as the demon closed the gap. As I clawed my way to the summit, he grabbed my leg in an iron grip. I kicked at him with my free leg, connecting with his jaw. It was like kicking a fucking tree. But daylight was so close, the shop door just a few feet beyond the mound of junk I lay atop — surely he wouldn't chase me into a crowded street?
I was pretty sure I knew the answer to that question, but still, I had to try.
Despite my efforts, he dragged me backward, daylight dwindling to nothing as I slid backward down the pile, loosing a small avalanche of timeworn junk. I grabbed whatever I could and winged it at him — a wind-up clock emblazoned with Mao's wizened face, a cane in the shape of a serpent — but still backward I slid. As he dragged me down to face him, my hands closed on a small ceramic Lucky Cat, the kind you'd find in Asian restaurants the world over, this one chipped and faded and ugly. But I was too late: his eyes, black as starless night, bored into my own, until nothing left of me remained, it seemed. His brittle cackle filled my head as I tumbled toward oblivion. In one last frantic act of rebellion, I brought the cat down hard onto his face. The way I figured it, if I was going down, I was going down swinging.