Footsteps shuffled down the stairs. Jin struggled to wriggle through the open window without putting her weight on the pocket that held the precious figurine. Her other pocket caught on the handle that turned to open and close the pane. With a silent curse, Jin backed up and freed herself, then slithered out and dropped to the ground in a clumsy roll.
Jin stumbled to her feet, and the workshop light went on. She sprinted into the darkened alleyway, despite a sharp pain in her hip where she'd hit the ground.
****
Jin burst clear of the alleyway and into the night market's busy crush. Neon signs advertising beer, cigarettes, and spirit cleansings hung from brick facades, illuminating the patchwork quilt of shacks and tarp-draped booths at the bases of the buildings. With a few quick motions, she lost herself among the milling mass of people.
She pulled her cap lower on her head, making sure her hair was safely tucked, then stuffed her hands in her pockets and hunched her shoulders, curling in on herself. With the collar of her jacket raised, her face was nothing more than a shadow in the neon haze. Her diminutive height and stick-thin body hidden behind loose-fitting clothes made her look more like a young boy than a teenage girl.
A pair of spinsters haggled over pickled eggs while a klatch of young men huddled at the corner warming their hands over a brazier and smoking cigarettes. They looked straight past her. Good. If no one noticed her, no one would connect her to the theft.
The figurine seemed to throb in her hand. Jin released it and pressed ahead. She could hear the river now-the slosh of the water sliding through its concrete banks, the thrum of motors struggling to press boats upstream, the shouting and cursing of cargo men working to unload a supply ship. She moved towards the market street's edge and ducked behind the stalls. Auntie Bai Wei's shop was close, but easy to miss.
Jin ran her hand along the rough brick wall. Hot chili sauce perfumed the air by a noodle seller's cart. A low growl rumbled up from her center. It had been months since she'd tasted something other than the nutritional bars provided by the Orphan Care Authority or the remnants of discarded fish, too poor a quality to can.
Jin's fingers slipped into a nearly invisible seam running up the mortar. She pressed against the next brick and the wall slid inward, releasing a haze of smoke, reeking of opium, that obscured the entryway to Auntie Bai Wei's domain. You only found Auntie's shop if she wanted you to.
After ducking through the entry, Jin pushed the wall back into place, leaving her in near-total darkness. Time to close her eyes and wait until she could see again. A steady throb of heat pulsed in her pocket. Jin reached inside with a tentative hand and touched the jade lion. It felt like a dying ember. Her eyes flashed open and she pulled it out.
An amber glow radiated from its belly, illuminating the stone from deep inside. Dark veins shot through the jade, where small impurities gave it texture. The red edges pulsed. Jin stared, transfixed, for a moment, then stuffed the thing back in her pocket. This was no simple piece of jade, she realized. There was a spirit trapped in its depths. She needed to be rid of it.
Afterimages danced across her vision while she inched her way through the storeroom in a carefully precise straight line. If she veered even a little she'd stumble over barrels and crates, and Auntie Bai Wei would deduct any damage she caused from the purchase price. It didn't matter that she wasn't there in the storeroom to see it. She always knew. You either waited until you could see, or risked breaking spirits-knew-what. There were folks who were indebted to Auntie so deeply they'd be working off the damage for years.
It didn't matter that it had been Auntie Bai Wei who found Jin at the O. C. A.'s employment fair and coerced the cannery into hiring her, although Jin had already been passed over for being too small. Nor did it matter that she had gone on to recruit Jin into her band of "collectors," and occasionally slipped a new textbook for Yao, full of technical details Jin couldn't begin to comprehend, into the payment. If you broke Auntie's stock, you paid for it.
Jin had learned the lesson early, and she'd been lucky. All she'd broken was an old teapot that had already been cracked and glued once before. Auntie Bai Wei took the bronze medallion Jin had just snatched from her neighbor-an old blind soldier who had stumbled into Yao in the hallway, then started bellowing that Yao was a spirit host-and called it even.
It was the only time Jin hadn't felt a moment of remorse when she stole. Anyone foolish enough to accuse a small boy of being a spirit host deserved what came to him. It was only luck no one else had been home and come to investigate the shouting. She'd seen what happened when the government workers came to take away suspected hosts. The protective gear as if they were entering a quarantine ward, syringes full of "medicine" to keep the spirit at bay when they dragged the host off to the black prison perched at the river's edge.
If they had come for Yao, the old soldier might have found himself dead rather than short one small medallion. Even Jin's mother's perpetually disapproving voice in her mind didn't say a word.
Jin found the inner door by walking straight into it. The purple-rimmed, lion-shaped holes in her vision refused to clear. Wincing at the sharp pain where her knee hit the door, Jin opened it and stepped into the cluttered chaos of Auntie Bai Wei's shop.
Thick incense hung in the air and tickled the back of Jin's throat. A brilliant riot of colored paper lanterns hung from the exposed rafters, their flickering light illuminating the room. Cases with sagging shelves lined the walls and mapped a maze through the center. An ancient guqin stood in a corner, quietly playing itself, a haunting, traditional melody. The counter stood on the far wall behind a row of carved wooden chests.
Jin descended the two steps to the shop floor. There were no customers and no Auntie Bai Wei. Aside from the guqin, nothing made a sound. Jin had never been there without at least one other person browsing the knick-knacks, jewelry, antiques, and benevolent-spirit-occupied objects like the guqin, or waiting to haggle with Auntie over the price of a new offering.
"Auntie Bai Wei?" Jin called. Her voice sounded unnaturally loud as it bounced off the cinder-block walls.
There was no reply. Jin crossed the shop, picking her way past the row of vases lining the ends of the shelves, exactly where everyone would have to walk by to reach the counter. Perfect for someone clumsy to brush against and topple, with luck starting a domino wave of destruction they would then have to pay for.
When she reached the counter, Jin picked up a mallet resting on a porcelain platter and banged the gong that stood on the shelf. The clangor reverberated through the shop, temporarily overwhelming the guqin's song. When the noise dissipated, Jin listened for any sign of Auntie's response.
Nothing.
A sense of unease sank into Jin's bones. It was too early for the shop to be closed, and Auntie Bai Wei wouldn't have left the outer door unlocked if she'd stepped out. Besides, she had to have been there to light the lanterns.
"Auntie?" she called again.
A gust of wind swirled through the shop. The lanterns flared, then died, plunging the shop into blackness. Jin's cap flew from her head and the wind pressed her back against the counter. The gong vibrated, sending up a low din, and the guqin went silent.
Heavy footsteps clomped down the stairs. When they reached the cement floor, a sound like bone on rock scraped into the shop.
Jin dropped into a crouch. Whoever, or whatever, was coming, she had no desire to meet it. She inched backwards along the counter's edge, grateful for her hand-me-down trainers that made no sound.