Forbidden City. Alex Archer

no one would bother it, and walked up the embankment following the crooked steps with his guitar hanging over his shoulder. The walkways were made crooked because everyone knew that ghosts could only walk in straight lines.

      Suen didn’t believe in ghosts, but he appreciated the craftsmanship that went into the building. As he trudged along, carrying the fish in the basket he’d brought, he looked out over the city. He was sixty-two years old. His daughter had come to him late in life, and she’d truly been a gift from the gods. But even in his lifetime, Shanghai had changed. He loved the history of the city, the good and the bad, and he hoped that it was never truly lost.

      At the top of the hill, the Bund began in earnest. Shops and merchants’ pushcarts filled the thoroughfare. Voices carried an undercurrent of pleading and feigned insult, haggling and desire.

      Suen lived a few blocks away. He was looking forward to his daughter’s visit. It had been almost two years. The last time she’d come, he’d had to nurse her back to health. Her work had nearly gotten her killed. He had asked her then to step away from it, but she hadn’t been able to.

      Though he had never told her, he thought maybe her work was the result of the curse that had been put upon his family. It was the only thing that made sense to him. He had wanted to tell her about the curse, but he didn’t think she would believe him. More than that, the story had been passed through generations of his family. It was time for it to die.

      Since that visit, there had been several phone calls and e-mail. Neither of them mentioned her work.

      Suen was lost in thought when a van screeched to a halt on Zhongshan Road. He paid no heed because he knew he was safely out of the street.

      Footsteps slapped the pavement, coming close to him. Suen turned, but by then it was too late.

      Two men took Suen by the arms and lifted him from his feet. He tried to escape, but they were stronger than he was. Then a third man pointed a pistol at him.

      “What are you doing?” Suen demanded. “I’ve done nothing to—”

      The man shot him. Sharp pain spread out from Suen’s stomach, just below his breastbone. He looked down and spotted the small feathered dart jutting out from his body. Looking at the men, young and dressed in American clothes, Suen thought of Ngai Kuan-Yin and the document the man had wanted.

      Suen tried to speak, but he was quickly sucked into a whirlpool of blackness.