Part 17 (2/2)

”How did it go? Did you meet Pak Hitam?”

”Yes, yes,” said Idris impatiently, ”I've got to go now.”

”Did he agree to help?”

”Yes, yes he did.” He looked back at Zani and grinned. Just ravis.h.i.+ng.

”How much he charge you?”

”Not much, not much,” Idris replied as he motioned Zani to enter. Two hundred Malaysian was peanuts for this.

”You waste your money.”

”Why?” countered Idris.

Zani smiled adoringly as she came in. Idris' heart soared. It was going to be a heavenly night. He would soon be lying next to that gleaming long hair, stroking it...oh, stroking it.... ”Waste your money.”

”Look Cindy, I'm willing to pay ten times that. She's here,” Idris said triumphantly, ”Zani is here in my flat!”

”Oh no, dear G.o.d!” hollered Cindy.

”What do you mean?” asked Idris irritably, angry at himself for letting her keep him on the line. Zani closed the front door with a thud that jolted Idris' heart like a gunshot.

”Zani died in a car crash on Friday after work.”

The phone clanged onto the tiled floor, leaving Cindy's hysterical warnings flying aimlessly like buzzing insects. Idris' mouth was dry and gaping like that of a hooked fish, his eyes wide in terror. Sweat dripped down his pale face.

Zani smiled, the long, gleaming hair creeping down, her incisors, long and sharp, flas.h.i.+ng in the fluorescent light. Her eyes blinked, reddened and turned crimson; her face, like a rotten egg, was cracked all over, thick green liquid oozing out, spilling in huge globules down her blouse.

”Oh, darling, I'm yours.”

”No, no!” shrieked Idris as he backed away.

She floated slowly across the room to him, gleaming hair billowing in an invisible wind, arms reaching for an embrace.

Even as Idris felt the hard concrete wall press against his back, he cursed the bomoh, the b.l.o.o.d.y awful power.

Zani floated down from the ceiling with a hungry smile, mouth open wide, incisors long and sharp, lunging longingly for his throat.

And all Cindy could hear was endless screaming.

”The Lost Xuyan Bride”

Aliette de Bodard.

Aliette de Bodard lives in Paris and has been publis.h.i.+ng stories steadily since 2006, several of which take place in the world of this story. She won the Writers of the Future compet.i.tion in 2007, and is currently working on more stories and a novel.

They say you are the one to see if I want to track down a missing person,” the woman said, pulling to her the only chair in my office. She wore silk, embroidered with a qi'lin unicorn--a rank reserved for the highest businessmen of Fenliu.

I saw her long, lacquered nails and the impeccable yellow of her skin, the way she moved--sinuous and yet in perfect control--and I came to a conclusion. ”I don't take clients from your background,” I said.

”Indeed?” she asked, raising an eyebrow. ”Too much trouble, Mr Brooks?” She'd switched from Xuyan to English on the last sentence. She was good. Likely she also spoke Nahuatl, the language of Greater Mexica. A true businesswoman, who would be at ease anywhere in North America.

”Yes,” I said. ”How odd that it's the richest who cause the most difficulties.”

”I a.s.sure you I have no intention of causing difficulties,” the woman said. ”I will be straightforward.”

That was familiar territory. ”And leave me free rein?” I felt myself slide into the rhythm of an oft-practised dance, politeness relayed back and forth until we both reached an agreement. Xuyans could be difficult to handle, but I was used to dealing with them.

She surprised me by putting both hands on the table. ”I have no time to bargain with you, Mr Brooks. If you will not take the case, I will find another investigator.”

Money was tight; tight enough to make me regret moving west of the Rocky Mountains, into Xuyan territory. I could not afford to refuse her, and likely she had seen the peeling paint and the basic computer on my desk. But she was good at showing nothing. A good liar.

”Tell me the case,” I said. ”And I'll see whether I can take it.”

She looked at me from under long lashes. ”I am He Chan-Li. I work for Leiming Tech. I want you to find my daughter.”

I said nothing, watching her. Watching her eyes, which told me all I needed to know: she was deciding what she could afford to tell me. And when she started speaking again, I knew I did not have her full trust.

”He Zhen did not come home seven nights ago,” He Chan-Li said. ”Her fiance hasn't heard from her either.”

”Seven nights is a bit early to declare her missing,” I said slowly.

He Chan-Li did not look at me. At last she said, ”She had a tracking implant. We found it abandoned in a derelict building south of Fenliu.”

A tracking implant. Not really surprising, for most of Fenliu's elite equipped their children with those, fearing kidnappings. Though...I remembered the fiance. ”How old is she?” I asked.

”Sixteen,” He Chan-Li said.

Sixteen was old. Sixteen was adulthood for girls in Xuya, far too late to bother with tracking. Most teenagers ran amok anyway, tracking implants or not. But I said nothing.

”Why a private investigator? The tribunal militia could--”

He Chan-Li shook her head. ”No. This is a private matter, Mr Brooks. I will not bring the militia into it.”

”I see.” There probably was a reason, then, and I was going to have to find it--and soon. ”Do you have leads? She might have run away--”

”No,” He Chan-Li said. ”She is not that kind of girl. And how would that explain the tracking implant? She never went into that area.”

I could think of a few reasons for the tracking implant's location, knowing that Xuyan teenagers were no wiser nor more well-behaved than their American counterparts. But I said nothing, merely noted the ”running away” as a possible explanation.

”I can show you her room,” He Chan-Li said. ”And you can talk to Wen Yi, her fiance.”

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