Spin and spun, the hempen thread
stitched and stitched and tied at the end.
There were few streetlights to cast aside the dark of night on this side street not too far from downtown. On one corner, right next to one of the trees that lined the roadside, was a street vendor whose features were hidden beneath a hood. Set out in front of the proprietor was an assortment of masks, their designs all strikingly unique, unusual enough to get passersby to stop and stare, but none took it upon themselves to purchase one.
“Hey, that’s kinda neat,” said the latest customer, stopping to look at one such mask before just as quickly turning to move on. “It’s impressive, but who’d wear something like that?” As he went to leave, however, he was startled by the stallkeeper’s voice calling out through the darkness.
“Hey! What did you say just now?”
The passerby let out a short, startled gasp and went wide-eyed as the stallkeeper stood up, eliciting a louder cry of shock as the hood drew back to reveal garish blond hair and flashy piercings. The threatening and ill-bred demeanor marked the stallkeeper as a young thug, and the customer bolted off in a panic at the very sight.
“Bah. What a wuss,” muttered the stallkeeper, pulling the hood up and sitting back down in irritation. “Dammit. If he’d just take me on as his apprentice, then—”
A new arrival broke that train of thought.
“Could I have a moment, miss?”
She was somewhat surprised to be called “miss,” given her mannish facial features and body devoid of any real feminine curves. That, along with her height of over 170 centimeters and her rough disposition, led to her frequently be mistaken for a man.
She looked up to see a man in an unkempt suit, probably in his mid-30s, hunkered down and regarding her face keenly.
“Actually, let me be up-front with you,” he said, taking out a police notebook.
As soon as she saw it, the stallkeeper braced herself to dart off, just like the customer had earlier. The detective must have seen him run off screaming as he had, or maybe he’d noticed that she was operating a stall without a permit.
“No, no, it’s not like that,” the detective said. “I’d like to ask you about masks. Could I, ah, have your name, miss?”
“You’re really not gonna try and arrest me?”
“Nah. This isn’t my jurisdiction. The name’s Morimine. I’m a detective from the 8th Ward. The 23rd Ward’s outside my beat.”
Bordered on one side by the river and on another by the sea, the 23rd Ward was adjacent to the 8th Ward. The detective who’d introduced himself as Morimine was waiting intently for a response. Still holding on to her suspicions, the stallkeeper answered hesitantly.
“I’m Asa,” she offered, giving at least her name. “So, what did you wanna ask about?”
Morimine produced a photograph in turn. The picture showed a leather mask adorned with fine embroidery. It was simple, but a single look was enough to make the sheer degree of craftsmanship possessed by its creator obvious. Asa was unexpectedly impressed, her gaze fiercely drawn to it.
“I’m looking for the person who made this mask. Do you have any thoughts as to who it might be?”
“This? I mean I can tell it’s not one of mine. Beyond that …” It didn’t appear to be the work of the mask maker Asa so revered, either. That being the case, she didn’t have the information Morimine was after, but she did now have an interest in this mask.
“Hey, mind if I borrow this picture?” she asked.
“Borrow it? Why?”
“Because if I check with some other mask maskers, maybe they’ll know something! I mean, right?”
Morimine mulled it over for a bit. “All right,” he said, handing the photograph over.
“Okay then. If I find anything out, I’ll give the police a call.”
“Much obliged,” Morimine said, bowing his head. “Any information you can find, no matter how trivial, would be greatly appreciated.”
Morimine’s face was all business, but Asa merely gave him a quick, “All right,” before turning away.
Behind her, she heard the detective mutter to himself, presumably thinking he wouldn’t be overheard. “Guess this case still isn’t over …”
“As if I’d ever get in touch with the cops! Your little photograph’s all mine, now, dumbass!” Asa laughed as soon as Morimine and any other bystanders were out of sight, her attention fixed on the picture, a complacent smile on her face. “Still, he oughta be grateful.”
Asa ground her molars tightly together. Several seconds later, power coursed through her body, her eyes turning red as she stared at the photograph. She licked her lips, pushed off the ground with a kick, and a moment later was atop the nearby roof. “After all, I did let him leave without eating him!”
Standing at the top of the food chain, feared by humanity for their special abilities, were Ghouls—and Asa was one among their number.