“No,” Yiran replied. “I can’t cast it myself. It’ll have to be a spell that will work regardless of that.”
A slow nod. “You wish to capture something that will bring you fame. What is the object you seek?”
“I want to catch a Revenant.”
“You mean you wish tokilla Revenant.”
“No. I want a spell that can help me lure one in and immobilize it. I want it alive.” The words sounded outrageous to his own ears. But this was Yiran’s parting gift—one last spiteful hurrah, a monstrous middle finger to his grandfather. He stared at the mage. “And I want everyone to see it—even the normies.”
The long silence that followed his words was damning.
The old mage stood abruptly. “See him out. Tell Lian to screen our customers with more care. We are not in want of money.”
Yiran jumped out of his chair. “Do you have a spell like that? Can you make a Revenant visible to everyone?”
The old man ignored him and retreated into the alcove.
“Wait—let go of me!” Yiran shoved the barrel-chested man away.
The man grunted, his brows meeting in a dangerous line.
Throwing him a dirty look, Yiran straightened his leather jacket. “I can walk out myself.”
He strode out the door and turned left toward another stall, but the barrel-chested man blocked his way.
“Look, buddy,” Yiran said, raising his hands. “Let’s forget about what just happened, okay? I’ll get out of your hair. We’re good.”
The man glared. “Outis the other way.”
Yiran’s hand curled into a fist.It’s not worth it, the cool-headed part of him cautioned. He wanted to throttle that voice. But he knew it was right.
“Fine. I’m leaving,” he said, moving backward.
The man didn’t budge. Just stood and stared. Finally, Yiran turned onhis heel. Lian caught his eye as he passed her stall again. She winked.
Cursing, Yiran walked on.
He’d messed up. What was he thinking, coming down here? His plan seemed so amateur and childish now. Heknewthat, and yet he’d let his anger get the better of him, the way it always did when it came to his grandfather. He had nothing to show from this gamble, and there was hell to pay when he got home.
He stood outside the Night Market, staring at the red plates of offerings on the sidewalk.
Once, when Yiran was small, before he’d ever been to Song Mansion, his mother told him the story of a boy who’d accidentally kicked the plates of offerings meant for hungry ghosts. From then on, the boy was plagued by spirits who haunted him until his last days for messing with their meal. Yiran had been frightened by that story, and his mother soothed him by telling him that—
Why are you thinking of her?he scolded himself, shoving that memory away. His mother had made it clear she didn’t want him in her life—why else would she leave him at Song Mansion without even saying goodbye?
Yiran lashed his foot out, connecting with a bowl by the sidewalk. Rice spilled everywhere. Finding satisfaction in destruction, he kicked another plate. Oranges rolled onto the road. He pulled his foot back for another round.
“What do you think you’re doing?” said a voice behind him.
He turned and saw a girl with choppy bangs and a giant scowl on her face.
8
Rui
“What do you think you’re doing?” Rui asked the tall boy who was kicking the offerings left on the sidewalk near the Night Market. She had taken a shortcut on her way to the meeting place for her patrol and was passing through the neighborhood. She didn’t expect to encounter a vandal.
The boy shot her an irritated glare, his dark brown eyes flashing. He reminded her of someone, but she couldn’t put her finger on it.
