Ficorpio
Chapter 1
I presided over a haunted shrine that buried nothing but lingering obsessions. For three years, no one had come near it—except for one girl who trudged through the snow to pray three separate times.
The first time, the tip of her nose was bright red from the cold. She said she would trade ten years of her life for her grandmother’s recovery.
The second time, she raised the offer to twenty years. Her fingers had gone stiff with cold, but she kept bowing until her forehead touched the floor.
The third time, she stared at the empty altar and muttered, “Why isn’t it working?”
Hidden among the rafters, I answered in a voice cold as frost. “You came to the wrong shrine. I only deal with the dead. I don’t save the living.”
Unfortunately, she couldn’t hear me. She continued with the Full Prostration Rite, then pulled a crumpled five-dollar bill from her pocket and carefully slipped it into the offering box.
Someone had clearly conned her into believing that the god of this abandoned shrine was especially powerful.
I followed her down the mountain and back to a narrow, rundown alley.
A group of older children surrounded her, jeering. “The idiot’s here! Come look at the idiot praying to a god!”
She clenched the sleeve of her coat. Her voice was soft, but steady.
“I’m not an idiot.
“I’m just a little slow to react.”
The children laughed and ran off. She lowered her head and continued toward home.
A little girl with braided pigtails tugged at her sleeve. “Hey, here. Take this.”
It was a one-dollar coin.
“Mom says wishes work best when you use this.”
The girl’s face lit up with surprise and delight. She accepted the coin in both hands. “Thank you…”
Before she could finish, a middle-aged woman came hurrying over, seized the little girl by the wrist, and dragged her back.
“How many times do I have to tell you? Don’t play with idiots. Didn’t you know stupidity is contagious?”
The girl stood there blankly. Only after a long moment did she turn toward the woman’s retreating back and whisper, “It isn’t contagious.”
Dusk crept over the alley, and she quickened her pace.
At the mouth of an unlit lane, an old woman with snow-white hair waited with one hand wrapped around a walking cane. She smiled warmly and called out, “Nora.”
Only then did Nora’s face relax into a relieved smile. She took Margaret Whitaker’s free hand and laced their fingers together.
“Grandma, the manager gave me an extra ten dollars today. I secretly spent five of it at the shrine…”
Watching them walk home side by side, I reached into the shadows and hauled out the heavyset con artist hiding there by his collar.
“Talk. What were you planning to do?”
His eyes were dull and vacant. “We made a bet to see who could be the first to get their hands on that idiot.”
Disgusting.
Chapter 2
I shoved him into a trash can. When that still didn’t satisfy me, I called over two stray dogs and had them relieve themselves on his face.
I should have returned to the Underworld Bureau.
There was only so much trouble I could stop. I couldn’t protect her from everything forever.
I reached into my pocket for a cigarette, but my fingers closed around the five-dollar bill instead.
“Damn it.”
I turned around and walked into the old courtyard house.
Broken junk was piled everywhere, leaving barely enough room to set down a foot. In the unsteady yellow light, tree shadows rippled across the walls. Somewhere inside, I heard the faint sound of laughter.
Poor, sick, and living in a place like this—and somehow they still had something to be happy about.
I raised my hand and knocked on the door.
Margaret’s wary voice came from inside. “Who is it?”
I opened my mouth.
“Meow.”
Nora opened the door. Her eyes brightened.
“Grandma, look! It’s a little black cat!”
Nora lifted me into her arms and asked gently, “Where’s your mom?”
Margaret smiled. “A kitten only a few months old has to leave its mother and start fending for itself.”
“That’s so pitiful.”
Nora stroked my head with delicate fingers. “I still have my grandma, but you don’t have anyone now…”
After saying that, she set me on the table. “Do you want dinner?”
There were three dishes in front of her: a plate of greens, a plate of tofu, and two bowls of white rice.
I backed up a few steps, then hopped onto a stool and crouched there.
Nora was still puzzled, so Margaret explained with a laugh, “Cats don’t eat that. Cats eat meat.”
“Oh?” Nora looked a little flustered. “Then what do we do? We don’t have any meat for it.”
“You don’t need to raise a cat too carefully. It’ll catch mice on its own.”
Nora finally relaxed, then looked back at Margaret with hopeful eyes. “If I don’t have to feed it, does that still count as raising it? Will it run away?”
“You want to keep it?” Margaret asked.
Nora nodded with a grin, the expression so earnest it was almost silly.
“Then you should give it a name. Once it has a name, it’ll stay tied to you.”
“I have to name it?” Nora frowned, thinking hard. She thought for so long that I was about ready to doze off before she finally said, “Then I’ll call it Shadow.”
“Shadow, Shadow! Here, kitty-kitty!” She called for me, and when I ignored her, she turned helplessly toward Margaret.
Margaret burst out laughing. “Cats are like that. They never mind you.”
Chapter 3
Nora laughed too, and the excitement in her voice was impossible to miss. “Grandma, can I let Shadow sleep with me tonight?”
Margaret reached over and lifted me without ceremony. After a close look, she even gave me a sniff. “Doesn’t smell bad.”
What an insult.
I glared at her, but she only set me back down and scratched my chin. While I was leaning into the touch, she said, “I don’t know if there are fleas on it. Bathe it tomorrow before letting it sleep with you.”
I was utterly defeated.
Nora patted my head with obvious regret. “Then be good and sleep by yourself tonight.”
After dinner, Nora washed the dishes. When she finished cleaning the kitchen, she boiled water and brought it over so Margaret could soak her feet.
By the time she was done, I’d already woken up twice.
But after Nora fell asleep, I was wide awake.
I heard Margaret’s coughing, forced down as hard as she could, still slipping out through her throat in ragged bursts. The old wooden bed shifted slightly, making a dull creak.
Nora didn’t hear a thing. She was too exhausted. Her breathing was slow and even, proof that she had already sunk into a deep sleep.
Morning came, and when Nora woke up, she was still half out of it, looking even more dazed than usual.
It was only after she washed up that she truly came to. She bit down on her toothbrush and smiled at me.
The weather was clear and bright. I gave a soft meow, hopped onto her shoulder, and settled there to doze.
She carried me into the kitchen like it was the most natural thing in the world and boiled noodles: noodles with greens and egg. Most of the greens and half the egg ended up in Margaret’s bowl.
Then Margaret, while Nora wasn’t looking, quietly fished the egg back into her own bowl.
Fortunately, Nora was too slow to notice that the egg seemed to keep multiplying as she ate. Before long, breakfast was over.
“Grandma, I’m heading to work! Don’t touch the dishes. I’ll wash them when I get back.”
While she was tying her shoes, I jumped into her canvas tote. She looked pleased and asked, “You’re coming with me to work?”
I didn’t answer. One of the best things about being a cat was that I didn’t have to say a word if I didn’t feel like it.
Today Nora had two jobs.
The first was at the supermarket. She arrived early and, before opening time even came around, had already grabbed a mop and started cleaning.
A kind female coworker told her, “Don’t be so silly. It’s not even your job.”
Nora gave a shy smile. “I’m not tired.”
“What, do you think you’re made of iron?”
The coworker didn’t press it. Everyone knew why Nora worked so hard. She was afraid of getting fired.