inappropriate. Jhai Tserai's hand closed briefly around his own fingers, but the touch was experienced somewhere else entirely. How did she do that? Zhu Irzh wondered through the red mist in his head. Some kind of pheromonal enhancement perhaps. Still, he wasn't about to complain.
To his intense relief, Jhai released his hand and stepped back. Desire receded to a part of Zhu Irzh's mind where it could be unpacked later and examined in detail. He took a deep, shaky breath. The industrialist was regarding him with some amusement; he realized, with dim horror, that Jhai Tserai was well aware of the effect that she had just achieved. Flustered, the demon said quickly, "I've come with regard to a sad matter, I'm afraid. Do you know a young lady named Deveth Sardai?"
Jhai's eyebrows rose. "I do indeed. We were in school together. I've known her for years. In fact," she added in a murmur, "I'm pleased you're here." She leaned forward confidentially to meet the demon's eyes and Zhu Irzh was astounded to find himself blushing.
"Are you?"
"I was beginning to worry," Jhai said, suddenly earnest. "I couldn't help feeling that something might have happened to her. Deveth and I keep in irregular touch—sometimes we see a lot of each other; sometimes our social lives take us in different orbits; you know how it is . . . We're all so busy these days and it's hard to catch up with old friends, no matter how much one might want to. But a young girlfriend of hers told me that she hadn't seen Deveth for days, and naturally, I was becoming rather concerned." She reached out and put her hand briefly over Zhu Irzh's own, as if readying herself to be brave. "Tell me. What's wrong?"
"I'm afraid she's dead," the demon said, watching Jhai narrowly. It was hard to concentrate. His hand was still warm where she had touched him.
Jhai stared at him. "Dead? How? Oh Goddess, don't tell me she overdosed." She put a hand to her mouth in dismay.
"Was she in the habit of using drugs?" Zhu Irzh asked, evading the question.
Jhai frowned. "I don't like to speak ill of a friend, but I must be honest. I knew it would get her into trouble one day. She took a lot of opium, sometimes coke, sometimes the new, more experimental stuff . . ." She sat down on one of the overstuffed leather couches and patted it, inviting the demon to sit by her side. "Can I be honest with you?"
"I'd rather you were," Zhu Irzh replied dryly.
"The girlfriend. Robin Yuan. You see, Seneschal, I believe in giving the more disadvantaged members of our community a chance, and Robin's been a good, solid worker. But I do keep a very close eye on my personnel, and lately, well, she's been behaving a little erratically. I made a few discreet enquiries, and there have been suggestions—nothing more than rumors, mind—that Robin has a history of dealing. Nothing on the police books, she's never been charged, but there are—rumors. Now if this has led to poor Deveth's death—"
"Is Robin here today?"
"I'm afraid she's off sick at the moment," Jhai said firmly. "Seneschal, please—don't think that I'm casting suspicion on Robin. It's just that it's better to be open about these things, even if it casts doubt on myself as an employer."
Her beautiful eyes were guileless, but Zhu Irzh was left in no doubt that suspicion was exactly what Jhai had intended to cast. His admiration rose. The girl would do well in Hell, no doubt about it. And she was still having this unfortunate effect upon him . . . desire was washing over him in waves, making it difficult to think. If the interview got protracted, he'd have to make an excuse to visit the bathroom and do something about it, undignified though this might be. Any notions he might have had of dominating this particular interview were well past their sell-by date.
The secretary glided in with tea. Zhu Irzh sipped it, wondering absently what variety it might be; it had a faint sweetness, like decay, but it was not unpleasant and it helped
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