The row of shophouses at the end of the road had a neglected look. Their windows were shuttered, and some of the doors were boarded up. Even the mosaic tiles on the five-foot way separating them from the street had chipped off to reveal dusty cement. But, defiantly, a familiar-looking two-story building stood out from the tired field.
Painted in bright shades of burnt orange and red and alabaster, the shophouse was a cheerful shout among the bland beige. It was distinctive,just like the mage who lived there. Round red paper lanterns hung across the awning, swaying in the breeze like a welcoming wave of a hand. Zizi lit them at night, along with random fairy lights he had strung across the gate for no discernible reason.
As Rui approached, her eyes followed the seafoam swirls etched into the pillars of the shophouse. The murals of old gods inked onto the facade seemed to come alive. She could hear her mother’s voice asking,Do you think this place has a story, Ru-er?
There used to be more neighborhoods dotted with colorful buildings like these when Rui was little. She’d go on walks with her mother on weekends when her father was busy with his research work. They would explore the less-trodden parts of the city, where old temples appeared in corners, their roofs decorated with stone dragons, their grounds rich with tales from the past. Rui loved stuffing her face with mung bean pastries and walnut cake from the mom-and-pop bakeries they would pass, and she’d make up stories about the places and people she saw.
But over time the city razed its history to the ground, erecting new titans of tomorrow wrought in steel and glass. The city of her childhood was moving on, but some part of Rui was stuck in the past, afraid that her memories of her mother would fade and disappear, just like these old neighborhoods.
Her chest twisted painfully. Her mother would have loved Zizi’s quaint little shophouse.
Enough.
She wasn’t here to mope about the past.
After making sure she was alone, she slipped through the gate and into the front courtyard. People came to see Zizi for one reason or another. People who were willing to pay a pretty penny under the table for spells to be tested, talismans and charms to be written, magical objects to be authenticated, and so on. Zizi provided all kinds of services, and his clients were all sorts of characters—characters that an Exorcist-in-training should not be seen with.
Although it was common knowledge that there was a black market for magic and the supernatural in the bowels of the city, such dealings were technically unsanctioned by the authorities. The Guild Council was tasked with keeping an eye on things, but they kept that eye half-closed, balancing the line between moral high ground and pragmatism. Most of the time, people who dabbled in everyday magic, mages like Zizi, and places like the Night Market were left alone unless they stepped over the line. No one was foolish enough to cross the Guild Council.
Rui knew she was playing a dangerous game here. If Zizi ever got into trouble with the Guild, it would mean thatshewas in trouble, too. The Guild’s arms were long and its grip tight enough to choke off anything it considered threatening to its cause or reputation. But Zizi covered his tracks well, and he was the only one who could help her.
Heaving a sigh, she opened the door to the shophouse.
Sandalwood incense shot through her nostrils, and her eyes watered from the smoke. Coughing, she flung the windows open. The breeze ruffled the stacks of hell money lining the shelves; they were fake bank notes used as offerings for ancestral rites. Sunlight filtered through the skywell, spilling onto the stone fountain in the middle. The water shimmered and gurgled. But there was no sign of the mage.
Rui hollered, “Zizi?Zee zee!”
She ripped off her earbuds and stomped through the length of the shophouse to the small room at the back. It opened out to a whimsical rear courtyard surrounded by climbing vines. A tree stood in the center, its opulent lilac-blue and purple flowers cascading from hanging branches. It wasn’t the season for wisteria, but Zizi kept his tree in bloom all year round with magic because he liked the colors.
Zizi himself was draped on a chaise, lounging in that annoyingly insouciant manner of his. His eyes were closed, and he had headphones on. An unlit cigarette dangled precariously from his mouth. Rui had never seen him smoke, but he was never without a cigarette. It could’vebeen a nervous habit, but Zizi was the least anxious person she knew. Sometimes, he’d hold the cigarette between his fingers, brandishing it around when he talked. Other times, he’d stick it behind his ear, and Rui had to resist the urge to pluck it off.
She leaned in. “Zizi!”
He sat up with a jolt, swearing loudly. His eyes were glazed. Had he really been asleep? She had thought he was pretending.
Blue-and-white-striped pajamas hung on his lean frame, dotted with small red hearts. Rui spied the edge of a tattoo creeping out from the low dip of his top. When Zizi caught her staring, he pulled his favorite black bat-winged cardigan close and buttoned it like a fussy grandmother.
Rui didn’t actually know if it was hisfavoritecardigan. But he wore it so often she’d assumed so. She did ask him once why he was in pajamas all the time. He’d expressed surprise, as if there were an obvious answer.They’re comfortable, he said, his tone so cutting she never questioned him about his sartorial choices again.
“I was sleeping, Rooroo,” Zizi grumbled now.
There it was again. That gods-awful nickname he’d come up with in a moment of affection after Rui had successfully traded a spell for a boring-looking teapot he’d lusted after for months. It had been cursed to brew any tea into delicious poison, and he was planning a soiree with the less desirable elements of the underground magic community.
She gave him a sour look. “I’m here.”
“I can see that.” Zizi grinned in that off-kilter way of his. Rui imagined a charming serial killer might look like this before they made their move.
“Well?” she said. “What job do you have for me?”
“A client showed up a few weeks ago with a rather curious request, so now I’ve a spell that needs testing.”
“What kind of client?”
Zizi shrugged. “Don’t know, don’t care. Didn’t like the smell of that one. But hey, business is business, and they offered me a good price.”
His reputation depended on his discretion. Rui knew she wasn’t getting more out of him. She scanned his expression, searching for clues. There were none to be had.
He looked like... well, he looked like how aZizimight look. Dark wavy bangs shadowed his gaze, skimming his granite cheekbones. His nose was a dagger, his jaw freshly chiseled, and his otherwise vulpine face tempered by his eyes. They were mono-lidded and fringed with thick dark lashes, the irises an impossible blue like the hottest part of a flame. Rui had always thought they were kind eyes, and they were the first thing she’d noticed about him four years ago.
