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he didn’t react, just simply stared at Elizabeth. It should have been discomfiting, but he exuded an earnestness no amount of brashness could cover. Handsome by any standards, he was the very definition of the All-American Boy--tall, easily over six feet, sun-streaked hair and a dimple in his chin you could crawl inside.
    “And your manners,” the older woman prompted. “How you could possibly be a relation of mine is beyond me.”
    “She’s my distant aunt,” he said by way of explanation.
    “And growing more distant with every passing moment.”
    Elizabeth liked her immediately. She was Helen Hayes with attitude. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”
    She waved her hand dismissively. “No, no. Maxwell was just leaving. What can I do for you, dear?”
    Elizabeth’s throat went dry. This was the moment of truth. “Mr. Holland sent me.”
    A brief flicker of surprise and then recognition crossed the woman’s face before she smiled as though Elizabeth had just complimented her prized petunias. “Oh, isn’t that lovely,” she said coming down a few steps and holding out her hand. “I haven’t heard from him in ages. Won’t you come inside dear and you can tell me how everyone’s doing?”
    Just like that Elizabeth was being shuttled into the house.
    “Another of your secret liaisons, Aunt Lillian?” Max said trailing behind.
    Mrs. Eldridge never stopped escorting Elizabeth inside and merely said over her shoulder, “Goodbye, Maxwell,” and promptly shut the door behind them. Once they were a few feet into the entry hall she squeezed Elizabeth’s arm gently. “Welcome to 1906, dear.”
    ***
     
    Simon’s dizzying journey from intangible to tangible ended abruptly, punctuated with a hard fist connecting flush with his chin.
    The vague light of consciousness dimmed as he stumbled backwards and collided with something. The painful grunt in his ear told him that something was a man. Loud, garbled voices he couldn’t understand reverberated around him causing the sharp pain in his jaw to radiate up to join the timpani in his temple.
    Simon took a tentative step forward and shook his head trying to clear it. His vision was still blurry, but he had enough faculties left to know that one blow was usually followed by another. He tried to steady himself for the next attack and realized there wasn’t one man standing in front of him; there were six. All of them wore identical, over-sized, dark blue silk sacks and trousers and shocked expressions. Braided queues of black hair peeked out from beneath their flat-brimmed hats.
    Tendrils of sandalwood smoke wafted between them and Simon’s eyes followed them back to the source. Lines of Joss-sticks billowed with incense. Bright red banners fluttered in the breeze down the narrow cobblestone street.
    “ Gangui !” one of the men cried. “ Gangui !”
    As his muddled brain instinctively recognized the phrase, the last piece of the puzzle slipped into place. Dear God, Simon thought. I’ve landed in China.
     
     

 
    Chapter Six
    “ G angui !”
    The men who surrounded Simon were confused and frightened. Judging from their expressions and what he knew of Chinese mythology, they seemed to think he was some sort of demon. Simon rifled through his mind searching for some way to press his advantage. Surely, it wouldn’t last long.
    Even before that discouraging thought had taken root the leader stepped forward and quieted his men with a harshly barked order. Once sure they feared him more than any demon, the leader turned and gave Simon an exceedingly discomfiting appraisal. The vague shadow of fear lingered in his eyes, but keen logic was winning out. The initial shock of Simon’s arrival was wearing off and the incongruity of a Chinese demon appearing as a white man, all irony aside, begged questions Simon didn’t want asked. The man lifted his chin in defiance and spoke to Simon in what was clearly a challenge.
    When Simon didn’t reply, the shadow of fear