Cassandra stood in the shadows, watching a patrol car parked in front of “Pheng’s Occult Shop.” It was a familiar part of town for her. One that she’d spent most of her life in.

She checked the revolver in her coat one last time. It bulged out at her side, too large and heavy to really hide, but she’d managed to get it this far. She eyed the shop, steeling her nerves, then started walking.

Then she was abruptly lifted into the air by her collar, her legs scrambling for purchase.

“Wha-” Cassandra’s yelp of surprise was cut off as she was turned towards her attacker.

She was face to face with John. He was scowling, holding her in the air effortlessly with one hand while the other reached into her coat, relieving her of the gun before she could even react.

“This,” John pocketed the revolver, “-is not a toy.”

Cassandra looked away as John set her back on the ground.

“. . .I was going to give it back.”

“Just what the hell were you thinking?” John asked.

“You weren’t going to help, so what was I supposed to do?”

“Something smarter than this.” John stuffed the revolver into his waistband, annoyed.

Cassandra wasn’t meeting his eye, not afraid, more like ashamed. John took a breath, as stupid as it was, he couldn’t say he wouldn’t have done something like this himself. Hell, he’d have probably done something stupider.

Cassandra kept her eyes on the ground, after a long moment, she spoke.

“. . .How’d you find me?”

“The paper in your room mentioned your mother died here.” John answered. “What the hell were you planning on doing? There’s a cop car parked right in front of the place.”

“I don’t care about the cop. I wanted to find the owner, Pheng, that’s why I took the gun.” She gestured to the store. “Mom used to make me wait outside because he didn’t want me touching stuff. She said he had a temper. I thought, maybe she owed him money or something.”

“Or something?” John prodded, annoyed. “You really think she made you wait outside because of his temper?”

Cassandra paused at that.

“She wasn’t. . . she only did that when she had to. And she wouldn’t do it with someone like Mr. Pheng.”

John sighed.

“Look, I get it, but that kind of work attracts dangerous people.”

Cassandra rounded on him. “So, you admit there’s a chance someone killed her?”

“I don’t know, maybe,” John relented. “But that’s for the cops to figure out.”

“The same cops that couldn’t even stop you from stealing their radio?”

She had a point.

“Look at this.” Cassandra reached into her pocket, pulling out a folded piece of newspaper. An article about a missing person; James Peterson, with a reward offered.

“This is the man that walked up to me and my mom and dropped dead. His family reported him missing three days before.”

“What’s that got to do with anything?” John asked.

“Maybe my mom knew him, that’s why she went to Pheng. She told me she was going to get help, so why’d she go to see him?”

“Cassandra. . . You’re grieving, I’ve been in your shoes before. I get it, but before this goes any further let me get your somewhere safe-”

“I’ll get another gun,” Cassandra snapped. “A knife if I have to.” She stared John down. “My mom’s dead. And I’m going to find out why. With or without you.”

John closed his eyes, thinking.

“. . .If I go in there right now, and get the answers you’re looking for, will you promise to stop this?”

“I promise,” Cassandra answered immediately.

John looked over at Pheng’s shop, and the police car in front.

“Fine. Wait here.”

With that, he headed towards the building.

John ducked through the shop door and stopped. The place was a mess, shelves once filled with merchandise were now torn off the walls. Worse, the entire room gave him a feeling of something wrong, something that wasn’t supposed to be. Before he could get a good look around, a uniformed patrolman sitting by the cash register noticed John and got to his feet.

John took that as his cue, flashing his badge too fast for the man to really register it.

“Philly PD. Who’s in charge?”

The uniform relaxed on seeing the badge, retaking his seat.

“Homicide. But they already left.” The man eyed John as he unwrapped a sandwich. “What’s Philly’s interest?”

“I think we might be chasing the same guy.” John watched as the man’s eyes flitted between him, and the sandwich. “Hey, don’t mind me, eat your lunch. Just wanted a word with the owner.”

“How you going to do that? Guy’s gone missing.”

John stopped short, looking at the man.

“You think he’s good for killing that woman?”

“Dunno. Maybe. His son claims some of the more expensive things he sold here, the older stuff, went missing.”

“What kind of stuff?”

“Books I guess,” the uniform answered, mouth half full.

“Did they canvas the neighborhood?”

“That’s what they’re doing now.”

John looked around the shop, saw an unframed photo of Pheng pinned to the wall. He waited for the uniform to take another bite, then stuffed it into his jacket. That done, he headed for the door.

“I’ll come back later and talk to the Homicide dicks.”

“Not a problem,” the uniform replied. “You got a card?”

John pretended not to hear the man, already long gone.

John moved back to the alley, finding Cassandra waiting not so patiently.

“What’d he say?” Cassandra asked. “Did he do it?”

“The owner’s missing too.” John reached into his coat pocket. “This him?”

Cassandra glanced at the photo, nodded.

“Yeah. So, you think he’s got something to do with my mom’s death?”

“Maybe. Can’t be sure until we find him.”

Cassandra watched him, suddenly suspicious.

“Find him? Why are you all of the sudden ready to help?”

“Because you’re right,” John conceded. “Something about this feels off. Three people missing, two found dead for no reason. Something’s wrong.”

He didn’t mention half the reason he was doing this was to keep her out of a cell. Kid or not, grieving or not, the cops weren’t going to turn a blind eye to her brand of “investigation.” And that was the last thing he needed on his conscience.

“. . .About time you started listening,” Cassandra replied, smug.

John had to smile at that.

“What?” Cassandra asked.

“Nothing,” John assured. “Just reminded me of someone.” He looked back at the girl as they started for the mouth of the alley. “. . .He’d have liked you.”

The thing that used to be Pheng moved into a dark room, dragging the form of a young boy behind him. Newspapers he’d taped over the windows blotted out the sunlight, it was bothersome, but it kept unwelcome eyes from seeing what went on in the crumbling home they’d set up in.

He pulled the boy past the decaying bodies they’d left lining the walls. Young, old, rich, and poor, it didn’t matter, it was all the same in the end. They’d stopped trying to hide them after their first month, there were just too many, and they’d be due to move away from this place soon, anyway, so why bother.

Pheng’s dead eyes searched the back of the home. There, a sickly thin woman, skin nearly translucent, noticed him. She hesitated a moment, eyes searching Pheng, surveying him.

“Nathaniel?” the woman asked. “Where’s you’r father.”

“Hunting, he needed a new skin. He’ll be back soon,” the man in Pheng’s body, Nathaniel, assured.

Then, the woman noticed the unconscious boy at his side. She frowned.

“What are you doing with him?”

“He’s for you.” Nathaniel pulled the child forward.

“. . .He’s a child. He still has a life ahead of him.”

“He’s got typhoid, Ma.” Nathaniel gestured to the bone-thin child. “He’ll be dead in a month anyway.”

At the sudden movement, the kid began to stir, struggling weakly in Nathaniel’s grip. The sickly woman watched, knowing she’d have to come to a decision before he woke up entirely.

It didn’t take long.

“I’m so sorry,” Ma said, laying a hand on the boy’s shoulder.

Nathaniel walked away as his mother’s old body fell to the ground. He moved to back to an old desk by a gaslamp, to the book he’d set aside earlier that night. It was one of the more interesting tomes he’d half remembered since taking over the old man. Pheng’s mind had been incredibly helpful in narrowing his search down.

The book detailed otherworldly contracts, bindings. Those steeped it ancient magic and the blood of the few true immortals of the world.

“What’s all this?” a young boy’s voice asked.

Nathaniel found Ma already in the new skin. She’d dressed it, but even under the baggy clothes he still looked too thin, frail. She looked to be having trouble standing. That would only get worse as the body rotted. He’d have to find her someone new, and soon.

“Insurance,” Nathaniel replied. “In case she comes back.”

“She wouldn’t-“

“She will.” Nathaniel cut his mother off. “And we need to know how to fight her.”

Ma was quiet for a time as he searched the pages. It was only a matter of time before the old woman, or worse, her dog, came looking for them. Sooner or later, she’d want her pound of flesh.

Nathaniel smiled as he found the section he was looking for. The one that Pheng had remembered.

Every predator, no matter how old, or how powerful, was something elses’ prey. Even the old woman. And now, Nathaniel had an idea for who, or what, that was.

John was speaking with an older woman, one that ran one of the nicer florists in town.

“You sure?” John asked the woman, holding Pheng’s photo for her to see. “Haven’t seen him at all?”

The woman shook her head, no. Cassandra crossed her arms, annoyed. They’d been doing this for the better part of the day, with little to show for it.

Then the shopkeeper next door, an Italian man, gestured to John.

“Let me see that.”

John handed the photo over, the man surveyed it, then nodded.

“Yeah. I’ve seen this guy,” the shopkeeper said.

“You have?” Cassandra asked, suddenly attentive.

“This morning,” he explained. “Couple blocks down near the coal factory. Area’s been condemned. Figured he must be hiding from someone.” The shopkeeper looked at John. “What’d he do?”

“That’s what we’re trying to find out.”

John and Cassandra made their way through the rough, abandoned streets. Homeless men eyed them as they walked, John watched them in kind. Just to be sure they didn’t get any stupid ideas.

“That’s weird,” Cassandra said.

John glanced over.

“What?”

“That dog.” Cassandra gestured up the street. “It looks kinda funny, doesn’t it?”

John followed her gaze until he saw a black dog at the end of the street.

No.

The black dog. The same one he’d seen just as he’d been changed. It watched John for a beat, then moved off in the exact direction they were going. Right towards the house the shopkeeper had pointed them to.

“Stay close,” John said. “And if something goes wrong, I want you to run. Do you understand?”

Cassandra hesitated, confused by John’s sudden change of tone.

“Okay.”

“Good.” John unholstered the revolver, checking it as they walked. “And you were right. Something is definitely wrong here.”

Nathaniel sat at a table in the far corner, surrounded by books. Pheng’s mind had made searching through them easy enough, though the old man’s decaying fingers were slowly starting to bloody the pages.

He was looking through one titled “Creatures of the Occult” when he heard a knock at the door. It was likely one of the homeless with more curiosity than sense. He ignored it, instead he took a knife to the page he was reading, cutting it loose.

“Rapientem Corporis” it held an aged illustration of a man crawling into the skin of another.

The knocking persisted, annoyed, Nathaniel closed the book, moving to the door. As he opened it, he found two detectives, O’Malley and Jones, waiting.

“Mr. Pheng?” O’Malley asked.

Nathaniel gave the man a disarming smile.

“Yes?”

“We’ve been looking for you.”

“. . .I had no idea.” Nathaniel opened the door wider. “Please, come in.”