The Sunlight Slayings by Kevin Emerson Page A

the shops, the scaffolding, and the gutters began bending and hinging at millions of joints, rearranging themselves. The shops spun so that they were floor-to-roof, one above the next. Ladders arranged themselves downward from one shop to the next. The gutters made tight zigzags down the walls. Now the Yomi looked like it had been built on the side of a cliff wall.
    A hissing sound heralded the arrival of fresh petroleum, rushing downward, splashing carelessly at the zigzagging corners, then igniting with a great sucking of air.
    Light returned to the Yomi. Oliver noticed that everyone around them was quickly taking a firm hold of the nearest ladder.
    â€œDean, grab my arm,” Oliver said, holding out his hand as he stepped toward a ladder.
    â€œWhy—”
    A second air horn exploded, and now gravity reasserted itself. “Down” became down again, and Oliver’s and Dean’s feet slipped off the floor. Oliver lunged and was just able to reach a ladder as his body started to fall. Dean managed to grab Oliver’s sleeve and swing over to the ladder with a tearing of fabric, and a burst of pain in Oliver’s side. He looked up from below. “Sorry.”
    Everyone in the Yomi began moving again, scaling up and down the ladders. Oliver and Dean continued down slowly, Oliver favoring his arm and leg. He was nearing where the ladder branched like an inverted Y, splitting into two aisles, when he spied Emalie. He swung to the outside of the ladder. “Dean, stop.” Oliver pointed. “There.”
    Emalie was standing across the way at a shop counter, looking so short beside two looming figures. The cloaked Merchynt behind the counter, his eyes and long teeth glowing a luminescent white, was dealing with a zombie on her right. The figure on her left was enormous, with a black business suit tailored to his four arms. Short horns protruded from his bald head.
    Emalie was wearing her cheery green vest, her black sweater underneath. A braid slipped out of her black hat. She stood innocently, patiently, a tapping foot the only sign that she might be nervous about her situation. It hurt Oliver to see her there, in such danger. No more dangerous than being with you , she might have said, but it was, so much more so. It also hurt just to see Emalie, to imagine her turning around and being glad to see him across the way, yet knowing that if she really did turn and see him, she might just try to kill him.
    It occurred to Oliver that this was the clearest he had seen Emalie lately. That black shroud seemed to be missing.
    â€œWhat is that to her left?” Dean murmured.
    â€œTrolgoth demon, I think,” said Oliver. “That thing should be having Emalie for a snack right now—”
    As if on cue, the Trolgoth sniffed at the air. It turned its eyeless, waxlike face down toward Emalie. She didn’t seem to notice at all. The demon’s four arms reached toward her—
    â€œHey,” Dean said nervously, preparing to jump, “we should—”
    Oliver felt frozen. Even if they went leaping to her rescue, they were no match for a Trolgoth demon—
    A high-pitched hissing sound froze the Trolgoth in its path, its hands inches from Emalie’s thin, unaware throat. Oliver looked up to see a fluid ripple of black streaming down the ladder from above. It spiraled around Emalie, coiling like a snake around her body, then lunged up, ready to strike the demon. What had appeared aboveground as merely a shadow had much clearer details here in the Yomi. Oliver could see the smoky black impression of a face hidden by a veil, of bared teeth, and of small, clawlike hands with long nails.
    â€œWhat is that thing?” Dean asked.
    â€œA wraith,” said Oliver.
    The Trolgoth demon lifted its hands away and bowed respectfully toward the wraith, which uncoiled itself and hovered just behind Emalie’s shoulder. It had a vaguely human form, long and lithe, and looked a bit