“Shouhushen!” they screamed, half teenagers at a pop concert and half an orcish horde storming Helm’s Deep. “Shouhushen!”
Back when demons first came to Earth it had been an invasion wave, convicts plucked from Hell by the traitorous god Erlang Shen and let loose in the Bay Area to wreak havoc. Quentin and I had defeated the worst of them and foiled Erlang Shen’s schemes to the point where it would have been an exercise in cruelty to forcefully send the rest back to Diyu.
But the Jade Emperor, the ruler of Heaven, had tasked us with managing the yaoguai we’d shown mercy to, rather than dealing with them himself. I was now responsible for the well-being of the slavering demons, by virtue of being the only one who gave a rat’s ass about the consequences. If I didn’t want ogres and goblins wandering around populated areas into the nearest juice bar, I had to keep them away from civilization and hope for the best.
The best, as it turned out, was some kind of quasi-medieval system where each yaoguai theoretically kept to itself on its own plot of land in a centralized area of wilderness. About once a week, I had to visit them to hear grievances, settle disputes, and make sure they weren’t inching closer to the boundaries of humanity.
I didn’t know how we’d settled into this pattern. Maybe it was what the yaoguai gravitated toward, or maybe I’d watched too many fantasy miniseries and they’d imprinted onto my subconscious. I would have been open to alternate solutions because I really, really did not like holding court.
The yaoguai were impossible to get a read on. They seemed to hate every word that came out of my mouth during these sessions, and yet each week, more and more showed up in this designated meeting place to demand my judgment on this matter or that.
“Ugh, what is this, double the number of demons since last time?” I said.
“It was double,” Guanyin said dryly. “Until I took care of most of them. What you see right now are the ones that refused to deal with me and insisted on addressing the Great Divine Guardian in person.”
The slightly irked way she spoke my official, Heaven-appointed title highlighted the other issue here. Really, it should have been Guanyin in charge of all things supernatural on Earth. She knew it, I knew it, and the Jade Emperor knew it, which made appointing me the Shouhushen his way of spiting us both.
By mutual agreement, we’d shifted as much as we could to her plate while I tried to gain my footing as the Divine Guardian. It was . . . an ongoing process. Without her help, the entire Bay Area would have probably been awash in human and demon blood combined.
I was determined to make my own contribution, no matter how meager, even if it was mostly for the sake of not looking worthless in front of Guanyin. Deciding to go in reverse size order, from smallest to largest, I pointed at a yaoguai who’d squirmed his way to the front.
“State your name and your business,” I said.
A chorus of disappointed howls filled the air. The Quentins bellowed for everyone to shut up but didn’t get compliance until they started showing their fangs.
The imp who shuffled forward grinned obsequiously. He was only about three feet tall and barely human-shaped. He rubbed his clawed hands over each other as he spoke with an accent I’d never heard before.
“Oh most Great Divine Guardian, I beg a thousand pardons for disgracing your presence with my filthy visage,” he said, never dropping his over-toothed smile. “I am but a poor spirit known as Benboerba, an unworthy minnow looking only to survive in a shark-filled ocean by the grace of your hand.”
Ugh. This guy.
“That’s . . . great,” I said. “What is it you want?”
My question caused the already tiny demon to wither before my eyes. “Oh Shouhushen, you have already provided so much for such a despicable character such as myself,” he groveled. “A lair in this blessed Kingdom of California to call my very own, where I neither have to fear the wrathful eye of Heaven upon my brow, nor the grasping claws of Hell around my ankles. It would be a crime against the justice of the Universe to ask you for anything further.”
Pfft. If that were true, he wouldn’t be wasting my time right now. I made a rolling motion with my hand. “But?”
“I should be flayed for my impudence in even mentioning this,” he said. “In the past, I was accustomed to gardening as part of my meditative rituals, raising gouqi as a technique to cultivate the Way. I do so miss that practice . . .” Benboerba trailed off to let me put two and two together.
The Way, huh? He was definitely using a scripted catchphrase that was becoming common among the yaoguai petitioners. A demon could make a request on the grounds of personal development by mentioning the Way, but the Way was vague enough it could encompass nearly any activity. I was waiting for the day when one of the yaoguai grew bold or dumb enough to claim eating babies was crucial to understanding the Way.
This, however, was harmless. “Sure,” I said. “Gardening is fine. Keep it to a ten foot by ten foot patch, and only what you can raise by hand. If I see a plague of magic wolfberries taking over the country, there’ll be hell to pay. Got it?”
“Oh, supremely understood, Shouhushen,” said Benboerba. “Your clarity befits your skills as a leader, as does your illuminating beauty.”
Oh my god. I might have thrown up on my shoes right there on the spot, had Guanyin not given me a look that told me to maintain composure. I shooed the demon away before his “thousand thanks” became more than a metaphor.
I thought that one went pretty smoothly, all things considered. But as soon as Benboerba turned his back, his obsequious grin re-formed itself into a cold smirk. He walked away not with the hunched, submissive posture he’d used to approach, but with an upright swagger, hands clasped behind his back.
I pulled one of the Quentins closer to me.
“Why’s that guy trying to make an exit like he’s a stone-cold badass?” I whispered. If Benboerba was hiding something, he’d forgotten that I could see straight through his skull to his face on the other side if I wanted to. The only reasons why I hadn’t had true sight on was because it had been hurting a lot more lately, and Guanyin said that not using it would establish trust.
“He thinks he’s gotten one over on you,” Quentin said.
“What? How? He asked for a favor that wasn’t a big deal and acted like a turd while doing it.”
“That’s not how he sees it. The gouqi were his way of proving his mental superiority. When he tells his yaoguai friends about them, he’ll claim he tricked you into disgracing your authority by using your weakness for flattery. It’ll be a big boost to his status around these parts.”
I was running out of ways to be exasperated with this job. It would have been easier if everyone weren’t so concerned with maintaining face and playing games and climbing a demonic social ladder that I didn’t know existed until recently.
I mean, they couldn’t even help me out by lining up. Chinese yaoguai didn’t queue at all. At least Dante’s demons kept themselves in ordered levels of the Inferno.
An unfamiliar noise caught my ear. A cluster of yaoguai was cheering. And it wasn’t for me.
A very large demon stepped forward from the group. His smaller friends pushed him forward, slapping the parts of his back that they could reach, hollering encouragement at him. The champ was here, making his way through the crowd.