by Zen Cho
She was in a foul mood by the time the Grab driver dropped her off at the end of a row of shophouses. She stepped over the drain up onto the five-foot way. The café was at the other end.
Sherng had messaged. I’m on my way.
Jess might have passed most of her life in America, but she was Malaysian enough to know what this meant. She was in for a wait, then. She didn’t mind. It would be nice to hang out with a drink by herself and not have to pretend to be fine for a little while.
She had a premonition of danger before she saw the guy. A shiver ran up the back of her neck. She spun around, half expecting to see Ah Ma, or—please, no—the Black Water Sister.
When she saw the man parking his motorcycle, her first sensation was of relief. Then he leaped off his bike and came toward her.
She recognized him, though it took her a moment to place the face, with its prominent black mole on the cheek. It was Mole Boy—Ah Tat, they’d called him. The young man who’d turned up with Ah Ku’s raggedy posse at the garden temple. His intention was written across his face.
Jess started running, even as her brain chattered, But he’s not going to do anything, not out here in front of God and everybody—
It was a mistake to assume any gods were on her side. Mole Boy caught her arm, smothering her scream with a hand over her mouth.
Jess bit down, tasting salt, and heard Mole Boy swear. His grip loosened. She tried to bolt, but he hung on to her, twisting her arm painfully.
“Let me go!” she snarled, trying unsuccessfully to tug her arm away. “What the hell is your problem?”
Mole Boy didn’t answer. He looked mad and scared, but determined.
There were only the two of them on the five-foot way. Jess’s Grab had driven off. But there had to be people in the shops, people who would come out if she managed to make enough of a commotion . . .
“Fuck off!” she yelled.
The door to the restaurant where she was supposed to meet Sherng opened. A young man stepped out. He was wearing a blue and yellow apron, with a cartoon of a smiling soybean on the front.
“Hello?” he called, his voice wavering. He wasn’t a local. Burmese, probably. “Are you OK, miss?”
Jess saw a row of curious faces behind the glass frontage of the restaurant, watching the confrontation in air-conditioned comfort. She felt a jolt of mixed anger and pity. Of all the people who could have tried to help, it was the migrant worker who’d come out to check on a stranger.
Mole Boy ignored the waiter, digging his fingers into her flesh. She drove her heel into his foot, trying to get free of him.
“Excuse me, sir,” said the waiter.
Jess leaned away from Mole Boy, putting all her weight into resisting him, so when he released her arm, she collapsed to the floor. Triumph flared in her chest, but then she saw his knife.
The waiter had seen it too. He froze. There was a disturbance inside the restaurant as people realized what was going on, but nobody else came out.
The waiter was yelling something. Jess couldn’t hear the words over the panicked hammering of her own heart.
I’m going to die, she thought. I’m going to—
But suddenly she was no longer alone. Someone else was on the floor with her, and it was someone who understood, who had gone through the same thing, who knew what it was like.
The Black Water Sister told her what would happen next. The man would cut her throat and her blood would pool on the ground. It would soak into the moist earth, turning the fallen leaves black. She would be unmoored from her past and future lives, kept hungry by what had been done to her. For more than a hundred years, watching the living as if through smeared glass, except for the brief brilliant moments when she was able to smash the glass and reach through . . .
Horror shivered through Jess, her own fear tangled with the god’s remembered dread. Then a red wave of fury crashed over her, sweeping away fear and dread. In it, the distinction between herself and the god, that had seemed so vital, was submerged and lost. Cringing on the ground, they were one person.
Over them—over her—stood her fate, ready to strike. But she had already died once.
She had been given a second chance. She was not about to waste it.
She reached for power and it came to her hand, flowing into her smoothly—the destructive power of the unforgetful dead.
She wrenched the knife from the man’s hand. She cut herself on the blade as she did it, but the pain was no more than a whisper, drowned out by the roaring in her head. She scratched absently at the back of her neck to ease the itch there.
The knife was slippery with her blood when she slashed at her attacker. That was the only reason she missed.
The man dodged when she tried again, flinging himself backward. She rolled onto her knees and got up. Her attacker was struggling to his feet. She seized the back of his shirt before he could get away.
A man stabbed in the back made a choking noise as he died. That was something she had learned after her death. She was looking forward to hearing the sound again.
But there was something she didn’t know, something she wanted to ask him. She shook her head to clear it. The question bubbled to the surface.
“Why did you come after me?” she said in the god’s tongue. “What did I do?”
“Jess?” said Sherng. “What are you doing?”
The sound of her name cut through the noise in Jess’s head. She came back to herself abruptly, slamming back into her own body.
It was like hurtling into a brick wall. She bent over, gasping. The world rushed back in on her—the warm humid air of midday, the heat reflecting off the cars and motorbikes parked along the five-foot way, the stench of the drains.
The man panting at her feet was not the man who’d chased her down in the forest, but a frightened boy, cowering away from her. The skin on the back of her neck throbbed as though it had been scalded, and her hand ached.
She looked down to see blood seeping from the wound in her palm.
Sherng stood outside the entrance to the restaurant.
“What the hell?” he said.
* * *
• • •
MOLE BOY BROKE loose as Jess stared at Sherng.
“Stop!” she shouted pointlessly.
Sherng stepped neatly out of the way as Mole Boy darted past. The waiter yelped and took cover. Jess lunged after Mole Boy, but it turned out there was someone right behind Sherng—a guy in a green T-shirt, built like a brick wall. He didn’t flinch when Mole Boy crashed into him, but caught him and pinned his arms to his sides, as smoothly as though they’d planned the maneuver in advance.
“Boss, how?” said Green T-shirt.
Sherng jerked his head.
“Can you deal with him? People are staring,” he said. “Call Pooi Mun to come.”
He turned to Jess. “What was that all about?”
“Who is that guy?” said Jess.
Green T-shirt was steering Mole Boy away while talking into his phone. She couldn’t see what was in his other hand, but he must have been holding some effective enforcer of good behavior. Mole Boy went quietly, his face blank.
“His name’s Razak,” said Sherng. “He works for me.”
“Works for you? You’ve got thugs too?”
“Razak’s my bodyguard,” said Sherng sharply. “You’re the one who told me to bring one, remember?”
Jess had forgotten.
“Oh,” she said. “I didn’t think you’d do it. I mean, what kind of threat do I pose?”
“Given you were waving a knife around when I showed up,” said Sherng, “I actually think it was good advice!”
“It’s not my knife,” said Jess. “I took it off Ah Tat. He’s the one who jumped me.”
It hadn’t been real until she said it out loud. A chill swept over
her. She started shaking.
“You knew that guy?” said Sherng, but Jess wasn’t listening.
She said, “He would have hurt me, if I hadn’t—” The world tilted around her. “If I hadn’t—”
The knife clattered on the ground. Jess swayed. Sherng gave her his arm, steadying her. She heard the waiter saying, “Miss, come inside,” and felt the blast of air-conditioning as she staggered into the restaurant. Someone pulled out a chair for her and got her a glass of water.
If I hadn’t let the god in, she’d been going to say. She had drawn on the same wild power that had come to her when she was struggling against the Monkey God, but this time it had been different. This time she had drawn blood, and she had won, and she would have killed that guy if Sherng hadn’t shown up.
Jess looked at the gash in her palm. Her blood. She’d made the sacrifice she had promised, after all—but it hadn’t released her from her bond. It had drawn her even closer to the god.
“Are you OK?” said Sherng. Then, his tone changing: “Shit, what happened to your hand?”
Jess yanked her hand away when Sherng reached out.
“I told you, he had a knife,” she said. Her voice broke. She looked down at the table, furious.
There was a brief silence while Jess tried to will the water blurring her vision back into her tear ducts. A woman in a black suit came and addressed Sherng in low tones. Probably the manager, telling him to get out or they’d call the police. Jess waited to be thrown out, but the woman went away.
Sherng turned back to her. He said carefully, as though Jess was having a breakdown, “How about we try to stop the bleeding? I’m not going to touch you,” he added, when Jess instinctively withdrew. “You can do it yourself—ah, here.”
The woman had come back with a roll of paper towels. Sherng tore some sheets off and handed them to Jess.
Jess pressed the sheaf of paper towels against her wound. Her hands were shaking, but the pain helped ground her a little.
She raised her head, blinking. The urge to weep had passed. The restaurant seemed suddenly weirdly busy, full of people standing by tables, talking.
“Who was that?” she said, but the woman was back again, this time with a first aid kit.
“Thanks, Pooi Mun,” said Sherng, taking the kit. “How are we doing?”
The woman crouched next to his chair.
“All under control,” she said. She spoke good English, with the accent of a primary Chinese speaker. It gave her words a kind of clipped efficiency that matched her appearance. “We managed to catch some of the customers outside. Maybe got some witnesses who got away already, that one no choice lah. But majority we have captured. The captain is very helpful. We talked to the waiters also. I will keep an eye on social media. The one hard to manage is WhatsApp. But at least the names all that, people don’t know. Miss is low profile, means easier to handle.”
“Do we know if people got any images or video?” said Sherng.
Pooi Mun said, “Two people here took. We made sure they delete already. But maybe miss knows if there’s more . . . ?”
“I wasn’t really paying attention,” said Jess. “Um, sorry, who are you?”
“Oh, my bad,” said Sherng. “This is Pooi Mun, she works for my—for us.” Jess noted his discomfort over mentioning his dad. She wondered if he suspected Ah Tat of being sent by Ng Chee Hin. “She’s helping to manage the situation. I figured you wouldn’t want this in the press or on social media or whatever.”
“Oh,” said Jess. “So you’re, like, their fixer?”
“Fixer?” said Pooi Mun.
“Fix—no! She’s an executive assistant.” Sherng ran his hands through his hair. “‘Fixer’! You think this is The Godfather or what?”
“I mean, you literally have a team of professionals to help you with cleanup,” said Jess. “Normal people don’t have that.”
“If you don’t want me here, you can tell me,” said Sherng. “I can go. Do you want me to go?” He sounded more defeated than exasperated.
“No,” said Jess, after a moment. She let out a breath. “I’m sorry. I appreciate the help, I just . . . why are you helping me?”
“You’re asking me,” said Sherng grumpily. “I also don’t know.”
Jess was getting annoyed again. “It’s not that I’m not grateful. But you have to admit it doesn’t stack up. You’re sweeping in saving the day, when the last time we met—”
I tried to choke you, she was about to say, when Pooi Mun interrupted.
“Mr. Ng,” she said, “do you mind if you all go off? That way easier to manage. If you stay here, you’ll draw attention only.”
Now that Jess looked at the other customers, she could see they were staring at Sherng. She shrank down behind the bright blue and yellow menu propped up at the center of the table.
“Yeah,” said Sherng. “We’d better get out of here.” He paused, glancing at Jess. “Will you let me take you home? You can take a Grab or something if you prefer. We’ll follow.”
Let Ng Chee Hin’s son find out where she lived? Jess could imagine how Ah Ku would react to that. Or Ah Ma—if she ever heard from Ah Ma again.
“There’s no way we could talk at my place,” said Jess. “Let’s go somewhere else.” She looked at Pooi Mun. “Got any ideas?”
* * *
• • •
POOI MUN’S IDEA was a quiet corner of a Starbucks in a nearby mall. It might have lacked the charm of Tau, but its advantages were evident: huge glass windows looking out on the Saturday afternoon crowds. Great for people watching—and great for being seen.
Jess wasn’t sure which of them was supposed to be reassured by the fact they were so visible. Sherng? He didn’t seem scared of Jess despite the whole “tried to choke him to death” thing. But then, why would he be? He only had to snap his fingers for a team of staff to rush to his aid.
Of course, he didn’t know about the Black Water Sister.
Jess hunched over her panini. Don’t think about her.
She should know by now that her mind wasn’t a locked room. If she wanted to avoid drawing the god’s attention, she needed to watch her thoughts.
“Pooi Mun’s amazing,” she said, to distract herself—and any spirits listening. She glanced down at her hand in its white bandage. Pooi Mun had bound it up, working with practiced ease. “How did you guys find her?”
“I poached her from my friend’s skincare company,” said Sherng. “He still hasn’t forgiven me. She’s great, right? The only thing she won’t do is call me Sherng.” He sighed. “It’s always Mr. Ng this, Mr. Ng that.”
“Why don’t you want her to call you Mr. Ng?”
“It’s so formal! It’s the same thing she calls my da—” Sherng coughed. “It makes me feel like an old man. I’ve known her for so long already. She’s my friend, not just my coworker.”
Jess saw that he really believed what he was saying. Whoever his dad was, whatever his true motivations were, Sherng wanted to be liked. Jess could use that.
“Why did you agree to meet me?” she said. She glanced around. They were way off by themselves and nobody was paying attention to them. Razak was strategically positioned between them and the entrance, not close enough to overhear what they said, but not too far to step in if needed. He was staring down at his phone, apparently engrossed, but Jess had no doubt he’d be at Sherng’s side in a second if she so much as looked at Sherng funny.
She lowered her voice. “I tried to kill you.”
“I wanted to see you because you tried to kill me,” said Sherng. “It seemed out of character for you.”
“You don’t know anything about my character,” said Jess. “What makes you think I’m not a murderer?”
“No offense, but I was there and you’re not very good at it,” said Sherng. “You had all those guys ready to help
you and you stopped strangling me halfway to go off and start whacking the altar. You didn’t even try to come after me when I escaped. You had to know if you made the attempt, you had to go all the way. If I got home alive, you were screwed.”
“Nothing’s happened to me so far,” said Jess. She corrected herself: “Except for the guy who tried to knife me, and he’s not one of yours.”
“Yeah, because I don’t have that kind of person on my payroll!”
Jess took a bite of panini to stop herself from pointing out that his father definitely did, even if Sherng claimed not to.
“What happened?” said Sherng. “Why did that guy go for you? Do you know him?”
“About as well as you know him,” said Jess. “He was at the temple that day. He was one of the guys who caught you when you were running away.”
Sherng blinked.
“That’s why,” he said. “He looked familiar. So what, he was mad at you for not getting rid of me properly? Why not go after me, then?”
“I don’t know. It’s not like we talked about it.” Jess remembered Mole Boy’s expression as he’d come toward her. He had looked like someone determined to get an unpleasant job over with.
“But I don’t think it was about you,” she said. “I think it was about the god.”
“The god?”
“The altar I destroyed,” said Jess. “It had a god inside it.”
“Oh,” said Sherng. “Oh shit.” He paused. “I did some digging. There are some weird stories about that temple. I’m surprised my dad was willing to get involved.”
Jess glanced at him. “Is he superstitious?”
“Not really,” said Sherng. “It’s just messy. He doesn’t like messy. But there’s a lot of money riding on the Rexmondton Heights development. He’s not the kind of guy to let stories put him off a good deal.”
The reference to the development reminded Jess that she had been going to ask him what Sejahtera was planning to do about the accident at the site. It felt like it had taken place a long time ago now, even though not quite two weeks had passed.