Shadow Pavilion by Liz Williams

look in Go’s eyes was one of fear. “Shit,” Go whispered. There were footsteps coming along the passage. “Lara. ” The name was a breath. Go’s face was ashen. “I can—I can smell her.”
    â€œStay there,” Chen commanded, unnecessarily, and rushed for the door, which was unlocked. But he was too late. The door swung open and a woman stepped inside.
    â€œHello, Detective,” said Jhai Tserai.

17
    S eijin left the Temple of the Emperor of Heaven shortly before nightfall and decided not to return to Shadow Pavilion. Hospitality at the temple had been offered, of course, but Seijin had declined. The Dowager Empress had already departed for her Celestial home and Seijin did not fancy the prospect of a night in a temple to a dead, failed god, surrounded by nervous servants. But there were temples and temples. Singapore Three was not all that distant; there was certain to be lodging there. Besides, male self had come up with an idea.
    Seijin chose to travel swiftly, rather than merely to step between the airs. Standing still, female self brought the world to them, wrapping woodland, folding the small trickle of a river. Seijin stood still while the golden leaves whipped by, tasted water on a breath, watched as the lights of the city burned closer.
    There. It was lit by its own light, to Seijin’s otherworldly vision, standing on a slight rise before the roar and tumult of the city. Such a small place, humble, unassuming. It was clear why the Dowager Empress held such objections. Seijin, on the other hand, rather admired this approach; it was certainly to be respected. But a contract was a contract, after all, and Seijin permitted only the occasional sensation of personal sentiments.
    Shortly before the temple came within stepping distance, female self gave Seijin an anxious nudge and, with a nod, Seijin acquiesced. A woman stepped from the air, middle-aged, hard-faced, and weary. She’d had hopes, once, of an education and children, but prostitution and drugs had taken care of all that long ago. She’d managed to go straight, however, and she had an offering, in thanks: a small bunch of golden leaves. Seijin, all selves, retreated a short way behind her eyes and watched as the temple drew close.
    Very modest, in fact, and recently restored. Interesting.
    A knock on the door—tentative, as if unsure of admission, although there was a lamp burning in the window of what was evidently the main hall. It was a moment before the door opened and Seijin braced a little, reaffirming the disguise. It was to be hoped that this would not be too easy; there was no satisfaction in that.
    â€œGood evening?” Not the new Emperor, of course—but who knew? He seemed the type who might very well answer his own front door. Instead, a young woman stood there, dressed in a monk’s gray tunic and loose white trousers.
    Why, my dear, Seijin thought. You’re dead. Even more interesting.
    She was not an obvious ghost; Seijin wondered whether a human would even be able to tell. A slight transparency about the face was the giveaway, but she seemed solid enough in the world, able to open doors, for a start.
    â€œHello,” Seijin stammered, looking down. “I brought a gift—that is to say, I have an offering, I wanted to give thanks—”
    â€œOf course.” Very professional, but they must get all sorts here. “Would you like to come in? The temple is open and you can stay as long as you need to. If you would like me to pray with you, please ask.”
    â€œThank you,” Seijin whispered. “You’re very kind.”
    Heaven hit as soon as Seijin walked through the door. It had not been like this in the temple of the former Emperor and, somehow, he did not think that place had ever possessed this luminous quality—not the overcontrolled atmosphere of Heaven as it currently was, which made it such an irksome place to be, but a wild,