She nodded. “They left a present on the front door. I’ll get some paint and cleaning supplies from the store.”
Her father strained a smile. “No need. I have some leftover paint under the sink. I’ll do it.”
How many times had he repainted the front door? Now that she was here, it was clear that her father needed more help than a paint job. But her stubbornness returned. It washisfault things were the way they were. She couldn’t solve his problems for him. Carefully, she sheathed the sharp edge of anger that had long overcome guilt and worry.
“I’ve nothing planned until tonight’s patrol,” she said. “I can stay and help with the door.”
Her father’s smile became less strained, and he patted the spot next to him. “Will you sit with me for a while?”
Rui sank to the floor. The chill from the tiles seeped through her jeans, bringing gooseflesh to her skin. She couldn’t remember when she’d last sat with her father or paused long enough to share a moment—or anything—together.
“How’s school?” he said. “How’s my miracle child doing?”
Miracle child.Rui’s mother used to tell the story of how she’d gotten into an accident while pregnant, and how she had been in danger of losing her baby and her own life. But the paramedics arrived in time, and Rui was born, albeit prematurely. Her miracle child.
“I’m fine,” Rui said, staring at the mold at the edge of the shower curtain. “How much do you owe them?”
Matthias Lin’s head drooped, like a puppeteer’s string had loosened and he no longer had the strength to hold it up. “You don’t have to worry about that.”
It took her every effort not to yell at him. “As long as no one gets hurt,” she said monotonously, unclenching her hands.
“No one will get hurt,” he said.
Empty words, empty promises. Empty everything. Rui was sick of it.
She was about to get up when her father did the strangest thing. He took her hand in his. Squeezed it. His hand felt warm and big and safe, like she remembered from when she was a little girl. For the briefest of moments, she let herself believe that everything was fine. That Matthias Lin was the larger-than-life doctor who wanted to save the world. The man she’d looked up to and had wanted to be like when she grew up.
“You know I miss her, too, right?” her father said softly.
Rui swallowed the lump in her throat. It was the first time in a long time that he’d acknowledged the loss of his wife.
Rui leaned against him, resting her weary head on his thin shoulder.I know you do, she thought, and squeezed his hand back.
7
Yiran
Yiran pulled up across the entrance to a busy street, wild thoughts in his head buzzing like a swarm of wrathful hornets. He hadn’t paused to think twice since stealing a car from the family garage and driving to a place he knew he shouldn’t be visiting. There was still time to back out, to sneak the car home without getting caught. Or, if hewerecaught in the act of returning, there was still a chance to grovel for his grandfather’s forgiveness.
But years of pent-up rancor had calcified in his chest, clogging any path to rational thought. If he was being forced to leave the city, he was going to do it his way by sending a parting gift to his grandfather.
Yiran turned the engine off and got out of the car, slamming the door shut. Popping the collar of his leather jacket, he locked his jaw and walked into the Night Market.
Smoke ribboned against the indigo sky, and the air smelled charred and sweet from incense and burning hell money. Red plastic plates and bowls filled with fruit, cooked rice, and steamed meats lined the sidewalk—offerings for hungry ghosts and spirits. There were so many stalls, selling everything from street food and ingredients for potions to antiques and allegedly magical items. The place was a delirious explosion of noise and color, busy with different dialects singing the same song of trade.
Unlike his friends, Yiran had never been to the Night Market before. No Song family member or Exorcist of good repute would be caught here, and Yiran’s mother had never brought him when he was little. He stared curiously at the people milling around him.
On the surface, the merchants and customers looked like ordinary people. Noisy aunties, uncles smoking smelly cigarettes, younger people dressed in the latest trends, kids and elderly folk too. They were normies, like him.
But there were also magic practitioners to be found at the Night Market. Not practitioners like the Exorcists. The other kind. The kind who would get Yiran into more trouble if he was caught consorting with them.
Troublewas exactly what he sought.
He stopped at a stall selling an array of talismans. It was larger than the rest and parked in front of an old shophouse with red lanterns. The lanterns had black markings, a sign that there was a magic practitioner living there.Mages.That was what they were called.
Red lantern good, white lantern bad.Theo’s dad had said that once when Yiran had asked him about the Market. Mr. Wang was a shrewd businessman who didn’t mind resorting to some lucky charms and the like. But he would never go further than that by dealing with actual rogue mages who supposedly dabbled insorcery—magic that was absolutely forbidden by the Guild. Those were the white lanterns.
The middle-aged woman at the talisman stall looked up from her wares, squinting at Yiran through her cat-eye spectacles.
