John made his way through the streets. By the time he’d arrived at the place the dispatcher had mentioned there were already two police cars and a couple cops canvasing the area. Gunfire sounded not to far off, a good indication they’d found their guy. Nothing for John to do here, so he kept looking.

The neighborhood was rough, part of the reason John had picked it. Everywhere he looked, trash lined the gutters, women with dead eyes called out to passers by, and men stumbled from one bar to the next. John glanced over as two rough-looking drunks were shoved bodily from a nearby brothel to the shouted screams of the women inside. One of them had the beginnings of a bruise on her cheek. It was pretty clear the drunks had slapped her around. Good. That was just what John was looking for. Or at least a start.

He crossed in front of the two, making a show counting his money and as he ducked into an alley. The two drunks ignored John’s bait, laughing with eachother as they continued on.

John frowned, the girls tried to call out to him, probably thinking he was a potential customer. He didn’t respond, instead he pocketed the money and headed deeper into the dark alley.

The sun came up before long, John made his way back to the apartment. He was hungry, tired, and annoyed. Not a great start to the day. That wasn’t helped when he walked into his apartment to find the kitchen more or less disassembled. Cassandra searching through his mostly empty cupboards with seeming abandon.

“. . .What are you looking for?” John asked.

“Something to eat. All you have is beer.” Cassandra gave him an odd look. “Where were you?”

“Getting a smoke,” John lied. “Shouldn’t you be in school?”

“I’m too colored, the good schools around here won’t take me.” Cassandra pinched the skin of her arm for emphasis. “Mom taught me up ‘till now, but she said she’d find me somewhere soon.”

John was so taken aback by the bluntness he honestly had no idea how to respond.

Cassandra paused, looking John over. “Did you sleep okay? Because you don’t look like you did.”

John crossed to the kitchen, putting a few of the old dishes that had come with the apartment back in their place.

“I slept fine.”

Cassandra hopped down from the counter, grabbing a mug of coffee, and putting it in front of John, eyeing him the whole time.

“I think you’re lying. Your beds still made.”

“I made it before I went out.”

Cassandra looked like she was about to argue some more but thought better of it.

John tried not to laugh as he watched the the internal struggle play out on her face.

“You see if your mom’s back?”

“. . .She isn’t.”

John could hear the worry in her voice. Now that he looked at her, it didn’t seem like she’d slept well either. He took a drink from the cup, then regretted it.

“This isn’t coffee.”

“No. It’s cocoa.”

John resisted the urge to pour the cup in the sink, but only just. Cassandra was still staring up at him, obviously expecting something. Given what had happened last afternoon, and what little he’d seen of her apartment, there was a good chance she hadn’t eaten since yesterday. He could relate.

Resolved, John set the mug down.

“So, you’re hungry huh?”

“Starved.” Cassandra nodded.

They’d found a diner about a block from the apartment, it was old, run down, but clean enough. Both John and Cassandra moved to a booth in the back, Cassandra looking uncharacteristically nervous as she glanced around the restaurant.

“What’s wrong?” John asked.

“I’m…”

Before Cassandra could continue a waitress approached, all smiles until she saw them.

“We’ll take a menu,” John prompted.

“Mister, I. . .” The waitress trailed off with another glance to Cassandra. John noticed the discomfort, then the sign behind her.

[-We only accept WHITE trade-]

Of course.

“I’m paying,” John continued. “That going to be a problem, or did you want to get your boss?” John made sure his voice indicated that would be a bad idea.

“No, sir.” The waitress quickly set down a menu, moving off as quickly as she could.

He looked back to find Cassandra looking a little ashamed. she pushed the menu back towards John.

“I don’t think mom can pay you back. For the food, I mean. Usually, we go to the soup kitchen.”

“Nothing wrong with that. Done it a few times myself.”

“She don’t like charity.”

“It’s not charity, I’m just being neighborly.” John glanced out the window, trying to think of how to word his next question. “. . .What if your mom doesn’t come back today? You have somewhere to go?”

Cassandra shook her head. “No. I already told the cops. It’s just me and mom.”

“Where’s she work? Maybe they heard from her?”

“At home, mostly. Reads palms.”

“. . .She’s a psychic?”

Cassandra must have heard the skepticism in John’s voice. She shrugged.

“Not really. She just tells people what they want to hear. That their loved ones have moved on – that kind of stuff. And she’s not lying. She’s real smart. Reads lots of books to me about folklore, and the supernatural.”

Not a topic John wanted to get into, he tried to shift the subject.

“And your dad? He’s not in the picture?”

“No,” Cassandra replied. “Mom says we only have each other, so I need to grow up quicker than most.”

“And you’re sure you don’t know why she left?” John asked.

“Probably something important, like you said.”

John considered that, looking at the girl critically. He didn’t think she was lying to him, or that she had any reason to. That only left a few possibilities, none of them good.

“Your mom. . . Would you say she’s a good person? Is she maybe hiding from someone who isn’t?”

“If she was, she’d take me with her.” Cassandra’s reply was sharp, as if she’d expected the question. She looked at John, as if daring him to contradict her.

“’Course she would.” John agreed. “Sorry.”

Deep in the heart of Chinatown Cassandra’s mother walked with purpose. The veins around her eyes were dark, her skin paler than it had been just a few hours before. She ignored the shopkeepers opening for the day, calling out to her with familiarity. Instead, she made her way towards an older building hidden in a nest of alleys and switchbacks. An occult shop she’d been to on more than a few occasions.

The bell to the shop rang as she entered. The shopkeeper, an elderly Chinese man by the name of Pheng, was busying himself cleaning the cluttered shelves overflowing with various knickknacks. Pheng looked up as she approached, beaming.

“Ms. Song. Back so soon?” Pheng’s demeanor changed as he got a good look at her, his expression turning to one of concern. “Miss, are you okay?”

Cassandra’s mother gave him a sad smile as she appraised the shop. “Yes, just tired.”

Books upon books covered nearly every surface of the shop, Cassandra’s mother moved away from Pheng, looking them over appreciatively.

“Have you read all of these?”

“Of course.” Pheng answered. “Some of these have been in my family for generations, copies of course but the secrets they hold are genuine.”

The woman moved towards the man, as she placed her hand on the counter, Pheng noticed her blackened fingernails. Thin skin peeling away from them.

Pheng took an involuntary step back.

“Ma’am, are you sure you’re okay?”

Cassandra’s mother turned to him then, the plastic smile still plastered on her face. She appraised him a moment before leaning in, cupping Pheng’s cheek in her hand intimately.

“. . .I’ll be fine.”

Blackened rivulets snaked from her and into Pheng. Seconds later, Cassandra’s mother fell to the ground, dead. Pheng just stared down at her spent body, a strange coldness in his eyes.

“. . .Just fine.”

Then the thing that possessed Pheng got to work.