Hi, I’m Lucy

Devilish woman in the background. Stain Devil bottle in the foreground

Cold seeped into her limbs as the breath from her sobs erupted in clouds of vapour curling under her hanging head. She wasn’t sure if she could take any more, but going back meant facing him. An icicle stabbed through her.

“You okay, chick?” A woman’s voice. Jian looked up. Standing opposite the bench on which she sat was a tall white woman. She seemed to be made of shadows, all darkness and shifting folds of fabric, except her eyes, which were gas-flame blue. The woman stepped forward into the light cast by the row of takeaway shops on the other side of the low railings surrounding the park. “Hi, I’m Lucy. You’re Jian Zhang and I’m here to help.”

“You cannot help me,” Jian answered reflexively while touching the livid bruise on her face. But she knew this was wrong. The woman had an aura of capability far surpassing anyone she knew.

Lucy smiled, but there was no humour, just resolve. “Yes, I can. And we both know it.”

Jian simply nodded. Recognition at last. She knew this woman. Her mother spoke of her when she was young. “There will be a price?”

Lucy smiled again, this time hungrily. “There will.”

“Then I will pay it.”

“Good. Let’s go.”

The two of them crossed the busy road, a path parting in the traffic, brakes jamming on, a ripple of blaring horns spreading down the street like a tidal bore of rage.

They entered the flat to find Jian’s husband, Qiang, pouring the last of a Yanjing six pack into a tumbler. He eyed the two of them unsteadily.

“Who are you?” He climbed to his feet and waved the empty bottle in Lucy’s direction.

“You could say I’m a stain remover,” Lucy purred, the menace in her voice plain. “And you’re the stain.”

He took a step forward, raising the bottle. Jian cowered, but Lucy stepped in front of her.

“Stop,” she commanded. He froze in mid-stride. “Sit down.”

He obeyed, fear in his eyes. For the first time, Jian noticed the black messenger bag under Lucy’s cape, as the tall woman pulled a roll of Duct Tape from it.

“Hands.”

Qiang held out his arms, his wrists held together, and Lucy bound them with swift movements. He started to cry.

“Legs.” Similarly, she bound his legs at the ankles. Then, with a flourish, she covered his mouth with a last piece of tape and pulled a long, dark sack from her bag. Pulling it over his head and body, she knotted it below his feet, then struck him on the temple with enough force to throw him to the ground, where he lay still.

Jian gasped. “Is he dead?”

“No, he will never die,” she replied, picking him up easily. Lucy threw him over her shoulder and turned to face Jian.

“My fee.”

Jian pulled down her collar, baring her neck for the dragon woman, and Lucy stepped forward to put her mark on Jian’s soul.

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