John and Cassandra turned the corner to find a deserted street, with no sign of the black dog. What they did see was a familiar patrol car parked just a few blocks ahead.

BANG!

A muffled gunshot echoed through the street. The two stopped in their tracks, exchanging a look.

John took a breath, then reached for his revolver.

“Stay here.”

Cassandra nodded, moving to an alley for cover.

John made his way towards the brick-and-mortar home beside the patrol car, gun hidden behind his leg. As he got closer, he saw O’Malley in the doorway, the detective’s own gun drawn.

“I heard a shot,” John called. “You okay?”

O’Malley stepped back, revealing Jones’ bleeding form on the ground, Pheng’s body beside him.

“Son of a bitch pulled a gun on us, shot my partner.” O’Malley gestured for John. “Give me a hand here.”

As John closed the distance, Jones struggled to get up, reaching for his holster. O’Malley clocked the movement, turned, and fired another two shots into his partner before John could react.

“What-” John was cut off as O’Malley wheeled on him and fired.

BANG! BANG! BANG!

Three shots slammed into John’s chest, sending him sprawling to the ground.

“Should’ve minded your own business,” Nathaniel said, sneering down at John with O’Malley’s face.

Cassandra’s scream caught Nathaniel’s attention. He saw the girl bolt from the alley, running to John‘s side. There was no hesitation as Nathaniel angled the gun on the girl and fired.

Click. Click. Click.

Empty. Nathaniel cursed.

Suddenly a small form rushed past Nathaniel, and towards Cassandra.

“Get her, Ma!” Nathaniel yelled. “She saw everything!”

Nathaniel’s mother lunged for Cassandra, moving as fast as her frail body would allow. As her hand reached for the girl’s throat, her momentum abruptly stopped. Her world spun, and she was suddenly pinned to the ground, John’s much larger form on top of her.

She screamed in pain and surprise. John only stared down at what he thought was a young boy, more confused than anything. That moment of indecision was all she needed. Black, inky tendrils began to snake from the kid’s hand. John gasped, a wave of pain unlike any he’d ever experienced before washing over him. As it did, the air around him began to liquify almost on instinct.

Smoke poured out of the kid, out of “Ma”, and into John as memories flooded his mind. Snapshots of the woman’s life before she’d become a monster. A sign in a clearing, “Fremont”, her original face, her family, and a fire as it consumed them all. Then, he saw the old woman’s face, the black dog staring down at the “Ma’s” charred body.

Reality came back to John in a flood of noise and pain. His chest was gushing blood, but the wound was already beginning to close. The body of the young boy in his hands remained still.

He got to his feet, grabbing Cassandra’s arm, and running.

“What-” Cassandra started.

She was cut off as Nathaniel tore the gun from Jones’ hand, firing another shot at John. He twisted, covering Cassandra’s body as the shot impacted with his side. He winced in pain but didn’t allow it to slow him down.

“I can’t fight another one of those things,” John said. “We have to go, now!”

Bang!

Another shot slammed into the wall beside John, but they were already gone.

Nathaniel watched the two turn the corner, out of sight. He lowered his arm, moving slowly towards the still motionless body of the kid, his mother, its eyes staring vacantly towards the sky.

“. . .Ma?”

Cassandra half dragged half carried John into his apartment, worried as he all but collapsed into himself. She was exhausted. It hadn’t been far, but he’d been drifting in and out of consciousness as they’d made their way back, Cassandra looking over her shoulder the entire time. They’d attracted more than a few stares, but most had probably assumed John was drunk. They didn’t see the blood that had soaked through his shirt.

“I’ll be. . . fine,” John assured.

“What was that thing? What happened?” Cassandra asked. “Why did he shoot you?!”

“Something was inside that cop, something like me.” John coughed. “There’s three of them, they’re called Dybbuks. They jump from one body to another. Once they do, the body they’re in starts to die. I think that’s. . .” John trailed off.

Cassandra stared at him in disbelief.

“You think that’s what happened to my mom? One of those things got in her?”

“Probably,” John answered. “But not the one I just killed.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I didn’t see her in its memories.”

“Then we should go back! We know where it is.”

“Don’t worry. I intend to,” John grunted with effort, straightening enough to look Cassandra in the eye. “They know the woman that made me like this. I could see her. Only a glance but. . . they’re like me. They have answers I need.”

“Wait. Like you. .?” Cassandra looked at John, apprehensive. “Do they take people’s souls too? My mom’s. . .”

“I. . .” John hesitated. “I don’t know. . . I think they get a sense of the people they kill, like I do. I don’t know if that’s a “soul” exactly.”

Something clicked for Cassandra, panic flashing on her face. She moved to the window, looking outside.

“We can’t stay here.” Cassandra spoke low, afraid. Then her eyes locked on something. “There’s a police car outside.”

“. . .So what?”

Cassandra turned to John, a patient if panicked inflection in her voice.

“If they’re like you, that means they could have read the cop’s mind. My mom’s mind.”

“. . .They’d know where we live,” John finished.

He got to his feet, ignoring the pain in his side as he looked out the window. As he did, a floorboard in the hallway creaked. John pulled out a revolver, moving to the door to find several uniformed cops on the stairs.

John fired into the ceiling, forcing the cops to cover before slamming the door shut, muffling their surprised shouts.

He turned to Cassandra.

“Do you know where the train station is?”

“Yes?”

“Then you need to listen to exactly what I say.”

A crowd of lookieloos watched as a dozen patrol cars screamed to a stop in front of the apartment building. Uniformed police armed with shotguns pushed past the crowd, filing inside.

John watched as the men moved into the stairwell, angling on his apartment. They stopped as John opened the door, hesitant. After a moment, he held out a small white rag, and waved it in surrender.

“Don’t shoot.” John called over. “I’ve got a little girl in here, she’s coming out!”

One by one, they lowered their guns. Before she could object, John abruptly shoved Cassandra out into the hall. Then he stepped back inside and closed the door.

Cassandra played the part of a scared child as a cop with a black mustache hurried her downstairs.

“Are you okay?” the cop asked. “Did he hurt you?”

Cassandra shook her head.

“No.”

The cop shoulder them past the others, at least a dozen police all with long shotguns at the ready.

“Was there anyone else in there with him?”

“Just him,” Cassandra replied.

John crossed to the window; even more cops were arriving. He saw Cassandra on the street below, talking with a group of beat cops. No chance he could drop from the window and make a run for it, he glanced around the apartment, eventually landing on the wall that separated his apartment from Cassandra’s.

“Fuck it. . .”

Another creak from the hall settled things. John got a running start, then slammed his shoulder into the thin plaster, emerging into Cassandra’s apartment just as a shotgun blasted a hole through his front door.

John wiped the dust away as the sound of rushing footsteps flooded the room behind him. He was heading to the window when he saw Cassandra’s journal on the table. He grabbed it and headed to the window opposite. The alleyway below was clear, no sign of the cops. Shouts came from behind him. With no more room for hesitation, John launched himself through the window, and into the darkness below.

It was chaos as the cops searched the area. Cassandra sat comfortably in a police car, being watched by the same mustached man from earlier.

He called out to a group combing the alley.

“Find anything?”

“He jumped out the window,” one cop yelled back, “-think he went this way.”

Cassandra considered the man baby-sitting her, she doubted she could just walk away, but if she stayed, she risked that thing in O’Malley’s body finding her. So, she around for something she could use. That’s when she saw someone in the window of the apartment building.

“. . .Did you get his friend?” Cassandra asked.

“What friend?” The cop responded.

Cassandra gestured to the building, and to the landlord on the first floor. She’d only had a few run ins with the man, none of them good, but right now he was looking right at Cassandra. And she thought she knew why.

“The landlord,” Cassandra said, conversationally. “The two of them were real close. He’ll probably deny it. Better tell your friends about him before he gets away too.”

The cop lingered, hesitant.

“You sure?”

“Think I’d lie about something like that?”

The man did the math, the cops in the alley had already moved off, he took a few steps then turned back to Cassandra.

“Stay here. Don’t go anywhere, understand me?”

Cassandra nodded.

The man took off towards the building. Cassandra waited until he was out of view, then she sprinted away in the opposite direction.

John was in an alcove of the train station, flipping through the pages of Cassandra’s journal. He was looking at what he thought was a drawing on himself working at his desk. The pang of guilt that ran through him was cut short as footsteps sounded some distance away.

John snapped the book shut, finding Cassandra approaching from the station’s entrance. The girl’s eyes lit on the book in his hands almost immediately.

“My journal!” Cassandra shouted.

She took it from him, confirming the photo of her mother was still inside.

“Figured it was important to you,” John offered.

Cassandra considered the journal, John, then stepped forward and hugged him. He stiffened at the abrupt motion, not sure what to do.

“. . .Thank you,” Cassandra said.

“That’s uh. . . That’s why I grabbed it.” John tried to gently untangle himself from the girl, more than a little uncomfortable.

After a moment Cassandra let go, wiping tears from her eyes.

“So. . . what now?”

John reached into his back pocket, taking out a roll of bills and offering it to the girl.

“You get yourself a place to stay. But make sure it’s run by people you trust.”

Cassandra glanced at the money, then John.

“We made a deal, I’m not leaving.”

“If you really want me to take care of those things, it’s better I do it alone. You’ll just slow me down.”

“And what if those things find me before you find them?” Cassandra pointed back towards the city. They could be inside anyone. If we’re together, we can watch each other’s back.”

“I’m not that easy to kill, and I don’t need you putting yourself in danger.”

“If that were true then I wouldn’t have needed to drag you back home,” Cassandra prodded.

“You’re a kid. . .”

“I don’t care! I already told you, if you won’t help, I’ll find them myself!” Cassandra leveled her eyes at him. “I don’t have any family left. I know I’m just some whore’s daughter, but she was my mom. I can’t just pretend it never happened.”

“That thing killed two cops.” John stressed. “I looked in its head, it won’t think twice about killing you if you get in its way.”

“And I’m pretty sure you’re the only one that would care if I died.” Cassanra shot back, tears were welling up in the corners of her eyes. “You can do what you want. But you don’t get to say what I do.”

John stared at her a long moment. He looked at the journal the girl was still holding in a vice-grip. What she’d said had stirred up a few errant thoughts in him. Would anyone care if he died?

Not that it mattered, that wasn’t the problem right now.

“. . .You’re really going to keep after this thing if I say no?”

Cassandra folded her arms, as if in defiance of any argument he’d make.

“Fine,” John said after a moment. “But if you want my help you gotta listen to me, everything I tell you. Even if it doesn’t make sense.”

Cassandra thought that over before nodding in agreement.

Nathaniel sat on the stoop, watching as coroners worked to load the corpses they’d found into a wagon.

An older man in his late forties walked up to him, hat in hand. O’Malley’s memories told him his name was Quinn, the department’s Chief.

“Chief. . .” Nathaniel cast his eyes down, not allowing the man to see O’Malley’s deteriorating face.

“Don’t worry O’Malley, we’ll catch this asshole,” the chief said. “I’m putting every resource we have on this. I promise you that.”

Nathaniel covered his eyes; he didn’t have to fake the grief in his voice.

“You’re goddamn right we will. . .” He took a breath. “I’ve already given my statement to homicide. Mind if I take a walk and get some air?”

The Chief nodded, moving off. O’Malley waited for him to get some distance before he stood, wandering deep into a dark alley. The sound of the chaos outside faded. Soon, he found an older, drunk man propped against the filthy brick of what used to be his home.

“Spare some change?” The drunk asked.

“It’s me, Pa.” Nathaniel knelt down to the drunk’s level.

The man took one look at O’Malley’s rotting hands, the flesh of his face that hung just a bit too loosely.

“Nathaniel?” The drunk, Nathaniel’s father, got to his feet. “What the hell happened back there? Where’s your mother?”

Nathaniel tensed, O’Malley was twice the size of the drunk, but somehow the man still managed to loom over him. His face cortorted, taking Nathaniel’s hesitation for what it was.

“I. . . She’s dead.” Nathaniel finally said.

The drunk’s fist slammed against the wall beside Nathaniel, shattering the hand. He stood there; silent as black blood dripped from his mangled hand onto the bare cement for nearly a minute.

“. . .How?”

Nathaniel stared at the bloody stump of a hand, carefully choosing his next words.

“A man came for us, Pa. He had one of the old woman’s gifts. He took Ma and. . .”

“Was he like us?”

“No, a. . . He was a black dog. But not like her last one. He takes souls, not bodies.” Nathaniel paused, watching his father’s expression.

“Then we find him.”

“Pa,” Nathaniel started, carefully, “-he’s one of hers, if we take his body then we’d never have to change again.”

“. . .He killed your mother, and you want to wear his face?”

“The old bitch knows we’re here, Pa. If she sent him, it’s only a matter of time before she shows up herself. We need to be ready. To be stronger.”

Nathaniel’s father thought about that a moment, then started for the mouth of the alley. He took in the crime scene and his own, now useless, hand.

“Who’s in charge?”

Nathaniel nodded to the Chief, still idling nearby. Pa considered him, then looked to Nathaniel.

“Hey! Chief, can I get a second?” Nathaniel gestured to his father. “This old man saw everything.”

The Chief turned, walking towards the two.

“This bum? You sure?”

“You’re going to want to hear what he has to say.” Nathaniel assured.

Nathaniel watched his father approach the Chief, his mangled stump of a hand reaching out towards the man. The Chief recoiled at the sight, grabbing his father’s forearm before he could make contact. But that was enough. Nathaniel smiled as black, inky tendrils snaked from the drunk’s body and into the Chief’s arm.

They were going to war, and soon, they’d have an entire city at their call.