Susan gave a side glance to the large water-streaked window and the dark, glistening street and buildings outside. Distant thunder rumbled through the leaden sky and the rain quickly re-doubled. She cradled her small bowl of soup and quivered.

The warm China was a welcome comfort to her still chilled hands after the endless walk out of the office building, through the blind six-o'clock crowd rushing like harried cattle under the downpour, along the slippery sidewalks bathed by the spray of passing cars and trucks. Yet another day spent collecting ear-splitting phone calls and vainly trying to soothe disgruntled customers. Her list of personal verbal attacks had reached the magic 100 level and kept soaring, culminating in a last-ditch assault that had left her reeling with confusion and weariness while her mind struggled to come to terms with her brand new status of 'good-for-nothing-lazy-dumb-cock-sucking-slut'.

And, of course, she had forgotten her umbrella.

She took a tentative sip of the hot, slightly bitter beverage. The rising vapour tickled the tip of her cold nose and she sneezed. Just one of these days, she thought resignedly, stroking one humid, stocking-clad foot against the other in the vain hope of helping them dry up. Her soiled, soaking-wet pumps lay scattered under the small square table where she had discarded them some twenty-minutes ago. The side of her leg and straight black skirt were still splattered with a mixture of rain, dirt and coalesced exhaust fumes, to say nothing of her jacket. So much for super-powers. If they could not even protect her from speeding trucks aiming for the largest side puddle as she walked by…

Gosh, how she hated it! Wallowing in self-pity when she was not falling prey to bouts of panic or tingling all over under her skin until she thought she was going to end raving mad. And the dreams…there had been more of them lately, intense and confused, that left her gasping for breath and covered in feverish sweat. Pictures of a dark place, an elderly man of regal bearing and a stunning woman, legions of dead-faced female soldiers engulfing her, soul-tearing sensations of loss and anger mingled with the crudest erotic lust. How many times these past weeks had she woken up with moist inner-thighs? Her lower belly alive with a ravenous fire that drove her clammy hands deep into her crotch, until she was curling up and moaning into her pillow, iron-hard nipples rubbing against her gathered arms while she rocked back and forth to the quickening pace of her relentless fingers.

And her whole body, burning and throbbing with the same live essence.

The thought brought blush to her cheeks and she sent a small prayer of thanks for being alone tonight. Not that it was in any way exceptional, mind… Damn! She thought, from lust to wonderment and back to self-pity again. She could have spanked… Damn again! ... slapped herself for it…!

"You should buy an umbrella, darling", the sweet familiar voice chided its unmistakable fond tone and singing accent.

"I'll think of it, Mamma Chan", Susan smiled apologetically. The old woman considered her from behind her cheap round plastic glasses, gave her usual tiny, young-western-girls-really shrug and sighed resignedly.

Mamma Chan was long used to Susan's lonely, forgetting ways but she made a point of regularly confronting her on this and other defining issues such as dating, marriage and child-rearing. No doubt if she had had an unmarried son left and living in Liverpool, the young girl would never have walked bare-headed, let alone walked back home on her own ever again.

"You finish your soup, girl, then you'll have pork and vegetable…" her hostess pronounced, crossing her solid arms over her embroiled black silk shirt. Mamma Chan had offered one last year for her 'birthday'. Red and blue, as it were, with a square collar of fine white silk.

"Yes, Mamma", Susan replied dutifully. For her part, she had long given up arguing with the squat Chinese lady. There was simply no arguing with her, she always got her way. Talk about a super-power…

"To begin with - ", she added with an emphatic, no-nonsense nod of the head that made her tight little bun quiver. Susan nearly strangled herself over her draught.

"Cough! Y… Yes mamma…", she stuttered, giving the lady a bemused look.

"Good! A young woman like you. You need proper food to grow strong. Yes. And - "

"And someone to take care of me", Susan finished with a crooked smile. "I know, Mamma", she said fondly but her eyes gave her words the lie. Mamma Chan reached out to her and stroke her cheek gently.

"It will all come in time, darling. That's Karma, you know." She held a shining promise in her eyes.

"Yes, Mamma", Susan breathed, overcome once more by the woman's unreserved love. She hid her face in her bowl and gave a tiny sigh as the savoury soup soothed her swollen throat. Mamma Chan nodded approvingly and walked back to her kitchen with the empty bowl. Five minutes' respite before the beginning of the culinary onslaught, she thought with marvelling dread.

She had chanced upon the small restaurant on her first year out of the orphanage and had quickly surrendered to her nascent passion for Chinese food at the hand of the matronly lady. Her overt enthusiasm and still girlish ingenuity had no doubt appealed to the old woman, who boasted five strong married sons now dispatched all over the country on a conquering mission. A prospect she was more than ready to subscribe and submit to, for she could not imagine Britain without Mamma Chan's very own cuisine. But girl or boy, Mamma had a heart big enough to warm up all of the world's lost children, and Susan had soon learnt to indulge in the God-given bounty unashamedly. She had spent quite a few weekends and evenings waiting on customers or helping in the kitchen, something the mistress of the premises had first frowned upon, as this was not fit for a young, single and promising career girl! Eventually relenting when it became clear that it would give her an unparalleled opportunity to see to her protégé's dietary as well as matrimonial welfare.

She was till musing over her forlorn dating prospects and bracing herself for the coming succession of dishes when the door opened and a gust of rainy wind sent the nearby paper tablecloths fluttering frantically.

"End-of-the-world weather," the newcomer grunted and pushed the unwilling door shut behind her. "Can't even use a bloody umbrella!" She heaved a relieved sigh and combed some wetness off her long ebony hair with a gloved hand. Raindrops were dripping steadily off her face, trench-coated silhouette and smart trousers, leaving a small puddle at her feet.

Susan watched her unbutton her coat, take it off gingerly and hang it to the hat stand by the entrance. She wore smart black trousers and a white blouse with a grey pinstriped vest and easy, flat black shoes. The rain had seeped through the coat and she brushed a humid sleeve with a wry face before striding to the nearest table and sit there in silence, browsing the plastic-covered menu absent-mindedly.

Mamma Chan re-appeared then and headed towards the fresh customer, whom she treated to a straightforward, critical look-over. The woman raised cat-like, emerald-green eyes, suddenly aware of the matronly hostess's piercing gaze. She met her levelly and they locked stares for a few, pregnant seconds. Mamma Chan then gave one of her abstruse nods and the shadow of a satisfied smile hovered over her tight lips.

"Will the lady have something to drink first?" She inquired politely.

The woman looked back uncertainly before deciding this must have been some crazy daydreaming and considered the question.

"Cold beer, any kind. Thanks," she smiled non-committally.

Mamma Chan disappeared into the rear-kitchen without a word, leaving her customer with an undecided menu and a raised eyebrow. Susan was still gawking at the scene when the newcomer turned and gave her a half-intrigued, half-amused smile. Susan quickly dipped her eyes and started fidgeting with her napkin, feeling suddenly, blushingly impolite. She had almost completely destroyed the whole paper square when Mamma Chan came back with a long frosty can and a tall glass which she set before her customer before disappearing again without a word. The woman took the can silently, broke it open and poured the content in a swift, assured gesture. She gulped the cold beverage with determination, eyes closed and frowning slightly. Susan barely had time to re-focus on her ruined napkin when her fellow-customer eyes half-opened and seemed to dart an inquisitive glance in her direction.

It was still pissing down outside and the sky had grown so dark it felt like early night. Susan gave the tattered piece of red paper a sorry look and sighed. So much for improving my social skills, she thought.

"Awful weather for such pretty feet, don't you think?" A slightly hoarse voice said.

Susan looked up in alarm, crushed the napkin dead, gawked and sent a barrage of smiles, blushes and widening eyes at the interloper.

"Mind if I join you?" The feet of the chair opposite her scraped the floor as the woman sat down.

Susan's feet cringed under her own chair as she mouthed an unintelligible answer of sorts.

"Thanks," her self-appointed guest smiled humorously. She set her half-empty glass on the table and started re-filling it.

"Got soaked too?" She drawled.

"Er... Yes... I mean, no! Well, it's raining, yes," Susan floundered. "A lot." She looked straight at the woman and hoped to die. Or disappear. Or become invisible. Whatever would be most convenient to remove her cursed awkward self from the surface of the earth.

"Cassandra Vangelis", she said, proffering a straight hand. "Call me Cassie."

"Er... Yes... Pleased to meet you," Susan gasped, building on a model beginning. The woman smiled, raising an inquisitive eyebrow.

"Oh!" Susan suddenly realised. "The name's Carter. Pleased to meet you Cassie, I mean Susan. That's my first name. Susan."

"Pleased to meet you, Susan Carter," Cassandra smiled widely, shaking her hand with a strong yet careful hand.

It took a few minutes for Susan to relax and a few more before she settled in the small talk Cassandra initiated. They were chatting amiably by the time Mamma Chan came back with a large tray full of several dishes, plates and chopsticks for two. She lay the lot between them, gave each a silent look, treated Cassandra to another critical look-over, then nodded approvingly.

"Eat now," she said, and walked back to the kitchen.

*

Half an hour and several generous dishes later, the girls were definitely on first-name terms with Cassie quizzing Susan over her work, hobbies, fads, dates and miscellanies. Susan proved a willing witness to her own private life, occasionally marvelling at Cassie's uncanny ability to elicit the most intimate information from her though she stopped short of telling her about the recent 'developments' in her until then morose existence. For her part, Cassandra responded merrily to Susan's forthrightness with more personal questions, smiling fondly at the young woman's preternatural appetite.

As the conversation finally came to a short lull, Susan pushed her empty plate away and looked distantly at the jumble of scraped dishes and wiped off bowls cluttering most of their small table. She closed her mouth on a small contented burp and felt her bulging tummy with the palm of her hand, wishing she could unbutton her dress. She suddenly became aware of Cassie's intent smile and felt her cheeks grow hot.

"Well," Cassie sang admiringly, "that's a healthy appetite if I ever saw one...!"

Susan felt her cheek burn crimson when her eyes settled on Cassie's plate and she realised her friend had barely eaten out of the various dishes they had been offered. What was more, she did not remember having enjoyed her meals so much in the past. At least not since...
The arrival of Mamma Chan provided her with a welcome pretext for burying the thought deep into her mind. The old woman gave the empty plates and the two girls another, most satisfied nod and presented each of them with tiny cups of sake. She cleared the table and repaired to the kitchen without a word, leaving Susan slightly puzzled as to their hostess's unusually silent mood.

She reported her attention onto Cassie, who was now playing with her cup, stirring the clear liquid this way and that with a funny look in her eyes.

"Still a lucky day," she muttered and gulped the spirit. She sighed happily and gave Susan a warm, slightly hungry smile. Somehow she had expected to find the telltale tiny naked woman at the bottom of her cup. Well... to hell with omens, she decided. Susan had just laid back in her chair and it felt like one of her pretty stockinged-feet had slipped against her shoe.

The window burst apart.

A multitude of cutting-edged fragments clattered to the floor, adding to the din and confusion created by the in-rushing wind and rain.

Cassie mouthed something at Susan, who already felt changes burning through her skin.

A mishappened package landed on the floor, sprouting fumes.

The tables were flung aside as Cassie rushed for Susan and brought her down and behind the upset piece of furniture.

The room exploded. The blast blew away the table which brushed past Cassandra's head, missing her by a mere inch and pushing her hard against Susan's body. She yelped in alarm and pain as a diamond-hard breast sank into her ribs and her cheekbone crashed into an iron jaw.

The chaos subsided as quickly as it had stormed the room and the two girls were left panting dizzily against each other. Susan opened blurry eyes and gasped in shocked realisation.

"Mamma Chan!" She cried and sat up brutally, taking a still stunned Cassie with her. She lay her friend blindly on the floor and scrambled to her feet, rushing for the kitchen. Her stockings were torn up in several places, as were the edge and right side of her skirt. Tiny pieces of glass and wood were scattered all over the floor amidst burnt fragments of tablecloths and decorations. She raced behind the counter and bumped into Mamma Chan as she was exiting the kitchen, her face white as snow.

"Mamma!" Susan cried out with a strangled sob, and buried herself into her stout shoulder while the old lady clung at her with desperate relief.

"I'm here, darling. It's all right... Ssshhhh!" She cooed with a dead voice.

A clattering sound broke their embrace and Susan turned her head just in time to see a demented-looking Cassandra rushing for her coat still hanging from the hat stand that now leant against the wall, partially upset. Her hands fumbled inside the garment, brought out a dull-black object that took a second or two to register in her mind as a gun, and then she was dashing from the room like a bat out of hell.

"Cassandra!" She cried out, but the girl was already scanning the area from the middle of the street, legs outstretched, gun at the ready, burning eyes searching the darkness for incoming threats.

Susan gently pushed Mamma aside and hurried to the door, stepping casually on the broken glass and shards. Cassandra was still standing in the middle of the street, peering round, the rain lashing at her taut face and limbs.

"Cassandra..." Susan called softly.

The girl ignored her for a time then suddenly her arms came to her sides and her whole body slackened, finally acknowledging both shock and disappointment. She walked back to the entrance of the restaurant as the first onlookers started to gather around and distant sirens made themselves heard.

"Come back in," Cassandra said, taking Susan by the shoulder and leading her back into the main room. "They'll be here in a matter of minutes."

"Firefighters?" Susan asked with a shaken voice.

"Yeah. And the cops." Cassandra replied. Suddenly all traces of mirth had left her face, leaving her with a complete stranger.

*

"Hey, Jinx! Really can't keep trouble away for long, can ya?" A voice guffawed from outside the door. A burly man entered, shaking his wet coat on the debris-strewn floor, his thinning brown hair glistening with raindrops. He paused and looked around at the devastated room, whistling silently to himself.

"Golly! You really oughta stay away from public places, babe, I tell ya!"

"Fuck off Mosley!" Cassandra grunted, steely eyes fixed on Susan. She had grabbed a chair as soon as they had come back in and almost sat her down by force. Susan had seen the worry, but also the pain, in her eyes as she scrutinised her ruined clothes and scanned her skin for cuts and bruises. The young woman had run a puzzled hand on her thigh, feeling the torn-out nylon fabric and filling Susan with blushing embarrassment, as much for the unexpected intimate touch as the vexed questions it conveyed.

"You're all right - !" Cassandra said, and she felt the troubled question mark at the end of the matter-of-fact statement.

"I've got a tough skin," Susan replied with as much lightness as she could muster, but it all sounded so desperately lame. "And I had you to protect me," she added without thinking.

Cassie stared at her silently, and still there was the pain in her eyes, which had nothing to do with her bruised rib cage and jaw.

"So," the burly man insisted, loosening his sodden tie, "what is it, this time, Vangelis? CIA blunder or just Al-Qaida? Bad luck in any case, eh?" He guffawed again, hooking his thumbs into his belt and treating Susan to an enigmatic, conniving wink.

Cassandra stood up with a wince from where she was squatting and turned to Mosley. His smile withstood her humourless stare for a few seconds then cracked and faded away.

"Always the fun guy, aren't you, Mosley?" She said, and each word dripped with liquid nitrogen.

Mosley's nostrils flared in confusion and anger, and he gave Susan another, sharper look.

"She a witness, Detective?" He stressed the last word carefully, loading it with as much disdain as it could hold in his mouth.

"Just another unlucky customer, to use your words, Detective." Cassandra replied levelly, holding him a basilisk's stare. Mosley blanched, not just from anger.

"Jesus, Vangelis," he hissed. "You're a fuckin' freak, you know that?"

"I'll take that as a compliment," she sneered. "Now why don't you go and play with your friends? I'm sure they've all got equally interesting theories to share with you."

Mosley's face puckered up like a kid's. "Yeah, I'll do that. Charmed as always, Detective." He turned round, chuckling at his bon mot. Cassandra's eyes narrowed but she did not reply.

"Better not hang around here, Miss," he called casually at Susan as he walked away. "Some things tend to rub off on to you..."

Susan felt herself cringing slightly in Cassandra's shadow. Her feet were cold and the shock was definitely getting at her now. She rubbed her toes against each other, feeling suddenly tired and anxious.

"Not a very nice person, is he?" She asked tentatively, wishing the cold would also leave Cassandra.

The young policewoman turned and looked down at her. The shock was getting at her too.

"You'd better go and join Mrs Chan," she said with a hoarser, distant voice. "I think they'll be finished with her now." She looked towards the entrance. The damp street was alive with red and blue flashlights. Firemen were busy sweeping off the broken glass inside the cordoned-off perimeter.

"You all right?" Susan asked, squeezing her hands in her laps.

"Yeah," Cassandra answered. "Part of the job, really..." She paused then turned abruptly. "I'll ask for a car. They'll drive you home."
"I can't leave Mamma Chan!" Susan protested, rising from her chair.

"There's nothing you can do here," Cassandra said flatly. "They'll take care of her. You just go home and sleep it off."

Susan eyed her mutely, swaying between puzzlement and hurt. A kid sent to bed so grown-ups can talk.

"Mosley was right on one count, anyway," Cassandra said levelly. "You don't want to hang around here."

*

Next day was as dull and grey as the day before, if not darker and wetter. Susan woke up from a short, troubled sleep feeling drained and sore. Still her body was unblemished when she checked herself over in the bathroom mirror, amidst the discarded and frayed clothes she had slipped out of groggily the night before. She ran an oblivious hand along her cleavage and over her belly, looking blindly at her reflection in the slightly misty mirror. The now familiar tingling sensation followed the trace of her fingertips and radiated around her belly button, sending soft coloured ripples to wash across her skin. She half-closed her eyes and inhaled with a quiver. Warmth spread into and over her, banishing the soreness away. She felt herself lifted onto the point of her feet, her body suddenly and so incredibly light that she thought for an instant that she was floating.

Cassandra's eyes stared into her mind, threatening to consume her with green intensity.

They had not exchanged a single word as the young officer walked her to a waiting taxi just outside the police cordon. The fare had already been paid and Susan found herself looking out of the glistening window at the vanishing figure before she ever thought to react. There had been no goodbye, no phone number or address exchanged, no suggestion they would meet again. Just a passing glance as she sat into the cab, and then she was gone.

Susan opened her eyes. The tiled floor was cold under her naked feet. She did look tired. Or sad.

Whatever...

The day passed in its dreary sort of way, holding no promise but that of another year answering angry phone calls, feeling small and belittled. Forever cursing herself for forgetting her umbrella, as if the rain would never stop, and she would forever be rubbing cold, wet feet against each other.
She left the office with a mix of relief and unease, feeling bad for not giving poor Mamma Chan a single thought since last evening. The fact was she still found it difficult to realise such blind violence could rock such a peaceful, unobtrusive world. But had the violence been that blind? She clenched a fist and walked faster as budding anger and determination set her alight with a thousand prickles. The rain poured on but she no longer felt it, nor did she notice a thing when she brushed hard against a loitering passer-by and sent him jolting a yard away, looking shocked and bewildered as if he had just got hit by a thousand-volt discharge.

The small restaurant was still cordoned off when she arrived and its shattered front window had been inefficiently blocked with a large tarpaulin that flapped in the wind and let the rain in at the sides. Susan walked round the corner to the back door. Mamma Chan would certainly welcome a hand with the clearing-up, though she would never admit to it and had probably swept the whole place back to its usual well-ordered cleanliness by now. Still, a cosy chat and a shared hot meal could only cheer them up and God knew they both needed it badly today.

The door opened silently and Susan stepped in. The small storeroom was dark and the usual dank smell lingered around the metal shelves and large chest freezers. She hung her wet overcoat by the door then crossed to the entrance to the kitchen. She was about to draw the gaudy beaded curtain aside when the first sounds of a low conversation in Chinese reached her. Her hand froze for a second then she realised that the conversation had stopped, most probably interrupted by her impromptu arrival. As she now had no chance to leave unnoticed, she took a quick breath and moved on, her mind already buzzing with a dozen awkward apologies for her intrusion.

Her embarrassment ended the moment she set her eyes on Mamma Chan, only to be replaced by a different, far more unsettling feeling that set her tingling all over like mad. The old woman greeted her with a panic-stricken look as she entered and the three grey business-suited henchmen, two men and a woman, Chinese all, turned to her in alarm. Susan gulped, taken aback as much by the strangeness of the scene as by the strength of her reaction and the mix of panic and dread she could read in her friend's eyes.

The leader, or so she surmised, gave a quick look back at Mamma Chan and barked a short, peremptory question in Cantonese dialect. She gave an equally short, yet quivering answer that brought a sneer to the man's thinly moustachioed mouth.

"Sooo..." He drawled, "nobody important, really...?"

Mamma Chan paled as he drew towards Susan. The young woman felt a chill run down her spine. Fear. Not for herself, but of herself. The memory of that night in the huge storeroom and the havoc she had unwittingly wrought there crept back into her mind as her skin went ablaze under her clothes and she felt sweat evaporate from her skin as soon as it broke out. Her nostrils quivered anxiously and she clenched her fists, but she dared not move or speak. The man stood a few inches of her, flint-hard eyes boring into hers, enjoying the effect he was producing. He raised his hand towards her face, index pointing at her chin.

"NO!" Susan cried and started backward, pressing herself against the wall close to the entrance. She gave Mamma Chan a panicky look that made the old woman blanch further.

"Jumpy little thing, she is, yes," he laughed. Susan breathed hard now, trying to set her throbbing heart to rest. The whole scene was getting fuzzy. She darted looks from Mamma Chan to the man, hands plastered against the cold painted wall, pumping steadiness unconsciously from the coarse hard material beneath the palm of her skin. Mamma Chan spoke imploringly to the man in dialect, but he cut her entreaty short. The other two thugs watched with smug scowls on their faces.

"You'll be a nice girl, won't you?" The leader cooed mockingly, as if speaking to a particularly slow-witted child. Susan was too worked up to notice, let alone take umbrage. She nodded jerkily, pressing her hands further against the wall. For some reason, her moment of dread was receding and the man's voice sounded clear in her ears and mind. She drew another deep, quietening breath that came out in a shuddering sigh.

"Good." He smiled. There was a lull, as if he weighed his options or simply felt it best to prevent any outburst by giving her time to overcome the shock of what was happening to her. Then he gave a satisfied nod and issued a short order to his acolytes in an even voice. Mamma Chan was urged forward and he stepped aside to let her join Susan whom she held in her arms with fierce tenderness. Shame and frustration battled inside her as she looked over the old woman's shoulder to the leader's haughty face. She closed her eyes and buried the rising emotions deep inside her.

The trio led them quietly outside to a large car parked a few yards away. They were made to sit at the back and Susan was pushed against the inside of the door as the other man seated himself comfortably beside them. The leader drove the car away and they spent the short fare in uneasy silence under the scrutiny of the henchwoman's regular checking glances into the rear-view mirror.

The squat building they arrived at looked more like a part of an architectural mishap than a construction of its own. It was squeezed between two taller, elongated, dirty redbrick blocks of flats, which overlooked the street on one side and a jumble of old houses, shops and storage places on the other. The lot formed a small, compact urban entity that the other constructions across the street seemed only to eager to shun. The car slowed down and turned into a side lane. Its driver parked casually in front of a seamy-looking door. Susan and Mamma Chan were elbowed out summarily and led by their keepers through the entrance into a dark, musty-smelling corridor. They walked in a single file, the two men leading the way while the henchwoman brought up the rear. As they walked into a small hole, the woman gripped Susan's elbow firmly and jerked her aside towards a side door opening on downward stairs. Susan flinched but did not cry out, but Mamma Chan turned round instantly and stopped in her tracks. She addressed the leader in a tone that was a mixture of anxiety and contained anger but only got another short reply and an irritated nod ahead. Susan gave her a brave smile and urged her on silently, fearing an outbreak that might put the situation out of control.

Mamma Chan clearly still hesitated but the henchwoman was already pushing an unprotesting Susan down the stairs. The old lady was finally nudged forward through another door and silence settled into the small dusty hall again.

"Stand here and stay quiet!" The henchwoman ordered dryly. Susan huffed as she was pushed brutally against the uneven grey wall of the cellar, the crumbling cement dusting her white blouse and prickling the palm of her hands. The glimpse she had managed to get of her surroundings had revealed a small and dark room, cluttered with battered-looking crates, half-empty shelves and a derelict metal bed with a stained mattress that seemed never to have known better days. There was a small lull during which she heard the door scrape shut and her keeper rummage somewhere behind her. She was about to turn round when a hand gripped the back of her head and flattened the side of her face against the wall.

"Ouch!" She protested, more in surprise than in pain, as her skin had already adjusted and protected her efficiently against the woman's rough handling.

"I said quiet," her captor growled and pressed her cheek further against the gritty surface, making Susan's lips purse crookedly. "Now give me your hands."

Still holding her head, she gripped the collar of her jacket and forced Susan to shrug it off. Then she seized her right hand and jerked it behind her back where she held it tight. She let go of Susan's head with a short push, took her other hand and brought it backwards the same, then pressed her again against the wall as she quickly crossed and tied her wrists together. The young woman winced as a sharp tug signalled the end of the rough treatment.

"Right! Get over here!" The henchwoman ordered and pulled her back sharply. Susan struggled to keep her balance but failed miserably as she was yanked round and propelled towards the bed. She cried out and sprawled onto the dirty mattress amidst a thin cloud of ancient dust.

"Now let's get this straight", her captor said warningly. Susan turned on her side and managed to prop herself up awkwardly on one elbow. The woman was towering above her, dusting off her hands as she spoke, as if she had just touched filth. Susan withheld her gaze but met with nothing but open contempt.

"There's business going on to which you were not invited. So count yourself lucky with your present situation." She paused to let this information sink in. There was no mistaking the innuendo in her words and Susan thought it better not to react.

"You so much as say a word without permission and you get gagged. You give me a hard time, you'll wish you had never met me. Understood?"

The young woman cringed instinctively before the woman's icy tone and gave a shy nod. Gosh, but when would she ever learn to stand up to that kind of people, she rued. There was a slight pause. The henchwoman treated her to a long, withering look then turned round and walked out without another word.

Susan waited for the sound of her steps to fade away completely before pushing on her hands and sitting up on the edge of the bed. The rusted springs grated in sorry protest at the unusual treatment. She took a deep breath, gave a long, controlled sigh and closed her eyes. Time to turn the tables, she thought as her calmed thoughts focused on the ropes binding her wrists. She visualised the channels of energy as she had got used to see them of late, willing them to flow together in the direction of her desire. She drew a mental picture of her bonds, fluctuating as if through a summer haze, then slowly fraying and dissipating until her hands were free.

They were not.
She twisted her wrists in confusion, trying to feel the weak points in the ropes, willing them to give. Frustration rose and she tugged fitfully, drawing more creaky protests from the battered bed-frame.

She tried again. Harder.

It was another hour of vain concentration and wasted struggle before Susan collapsed on the bed, shaking with sobs. The skin around her wrists was truly burning now, where the rope had bit nastily.

*

Cassandra pulled up her collar and walked resolutely down the steps of the police station. Damn weather, she thought. Damn day.

Damn me.

What had long been a silly -though not always very kind- joke to her was now starting to get at her. Not starting, in fact. To be perfectly honest, the constant smirks, knowing looks and innuendoes that seemed to follow her wherever she went had long been performing their sapping work, but she was only just starting to acknowledge the damage it had wrought on her over the years.

Years of funny incidents as a child, growing into accidents as a teenager. Now turning into tragedies that threatened to plague her adult life, both professional and personal. Not that she ever had had some personal life, let alone allowed herself to have one. Today, though, the emptiness in her rankled harder than usual, making the attacks more pointed. More painful too.

She plunged into the wet crowd, sailing through passers-by with a vengeance. Saunders had been right, still. She might enjoy more than the benefit of doubt (in his eyes, at least) but she ought to be more careful. Though the detective superintendent had little, if any, luck with evil-eye stuff and other urban legends, he still believed in shit happening on a regular basis and at a convenient distance from the occasional fan. According to this time-proven principle, Cassandra might be the unluckiest person on earth all right, but she might also be an outstanding officer with a list of enemies as long and impressive as her record of professional achievements. In coarser words, shit was more than partial to people like her, and she ought to act accordingly.

As the recent months had shown a supposedly simple drug-trafficking case ending up as botched US -Brit covert op in the middle of Liverpool, and yours truly left to count the dead and pick up the tab. And now this. Only this time, civilians had been involved, and nearly hurt. One, in particular, whose cute silhouette and girlish face had imprinted themselves into her consciousness, and now threatened to lay her bare. One whom, despite her best efforts and against her better judgement, she would still not drive away from her mind. One who, as a result of her carelessness, might get hurt.

Badly.

Cassandra shivered. She had never thought a mere nickname might prove so hard to live with.
She reached for the keys to her car, opened the door and sat herself in blindly. The pelting sound of the rain on her windscreen had a hypnotic quality. One might have easily let itself sink into a trance for it. She shook herself. Hell, girl, she scolded herself, you're turning softie. Now get a grip on yourself and move that cunning ass of yours. The incongruous thought lay a wry smile on her lips. She started the car and checked her rear-view mirror. The usual end-of-the-day traffic. Reassuring in its own way. The daily mill of commuting life. She pulled the car out of its tiny parking place.

Her dark humour might have been reined in, still the memories of the previous evening would not leave her alone. Despite, or, perhaps more to the point, because of the evidence of her own eyes, she couldn't picture herself as the target of the attempt. Not that she could not conceive the prospect, quite the contrary in fact. But this looked far more like a warning, and a clumsy one to boot. Somebody in the neighbourhood was in a visible hurry to get their message through. And that somebody had little regard for the usual channels and forms to be used in such circumstances in that particular neighbourhood. A point that brain-dead ass Mosley would most likely miss... She chided herself for her impatience. Mosley might be a genuine, first-generation prick but he was a good cop, and she had learnt one or two useful tricks from him. Only he lacked the sort of first-hand experience she had acquired early in her career as fate apparently insisted on placing her in unlikely, hazardous situations. She could not decently fault him for that. Still he was a prick.

In any case, she was honest enough not to feel surprised when she found herself driving through the huge portal marking the entrance to the Chinese quarter, or when she parked one street away from the shattered front of Mamma Chan's restaurant.

The dislocated entrance had been boarded and the tarpaulin covering looked like it was going to break off any minute. Strange the job had been so poorly done. She had expected to see the owner overseeing the repairs now the police had done its investigating job and collected what little evidence there was. Mamma Chan did not exactly appear as a person that would let things go to waste... She looked around and spotted the backdoor. The door opened easily when she tried it, not even bothering to knock. No need to... that feeling again. Dammit! She knew when things were about to take a very wrong turn. Which implied last night's events had not been that bad after all. Oh my...

Her sinking feeling got worse as she caught sight of the wet overcoat still hanging beside the door. She searched the garment and found a game of keys, a portfolio, strawberry-cream candies... A flashing invitation for pickpockets, just like Susan, she mused fondly. And shivered anxiously as the treacherous thought caught her off-guard.

The kitchen was empty and she wasted no time around. Fate...Irony-tinged fatalism brought a smirk to her lips. Yeah, right... Well, at least she knew where she stood... one more time.

*
"Is it truly over, now?" The blond woman asked, kneeling by the prone body, sweat-plastered hair hanging limply on her armour-plated shoulders.

"No, child," the old warrior replied, his ancient eyes crying sorrow as he struggled to recover. "Even I cannot undo what has been done. But we can mend. With time. And hope for balance to prevail."

She raised exhausted eyes at him, a slender bird lost in a stormy sky.

"Do gods pray, father?"

The king lifted the small body in powerful arms and cradled it gingerly. The short black mane tickled his bare arms and scarred hands.

His answer was lost in a gust of wind.

Susan watched the ghosts fade away in a subdued confusion of lights and sounds. She tried to follow but lost track in the harmonic flow. There she floated, detached and empty, all emotions drained, all feelings gone. The singing colours ebbed and rose all around, through and within her. Her body felt light as a sigh, inconsistent as a dream. Still her sense of identity endured, but on a different, fuller level. She bathed in the ethereal dawn, drinking in the music of spheres, replenishing her most inner self. There she felt one. And oneness was freedom to her restless soul.

She felt a soft moan escape from her parted lips, no more than a breath against the worn cloth of the mattress. Her arms felt heavy and limp, her hands dull and warm against the small of her back. She tossed slightly and let them fall by her sides. Her cheek felt sticky with dried tears and she brushed the moistness away with the tips of her fingers. The harmonies died away. She opened her eyes.

The cellar was plunged in darkness and she shivered with cold. Her feet felt swollen in her stockings and high-heels, her skin damp against her crumpled clothes. She raised herself on weary arms and sat on the edge of the bed, bemused, wondering how long she had been out. The whole house was eerily silent.

She stared blindly ahead, facing the darkness. Nothing but her remained, and the remote echoes of a dream. She raised a hand to her cleavage and, with unblinking calm, undid the first button of her blouse.

Her shoe came off with a soft thud.

*

Cassandra waited in front of the stain door as the lock clicked and the door half-opened in response to her knock. A woman in a grey business suit, approximately her age, stood in the doorway and gave her a hostile look-over.
"What do you want?" She shot impatiently, already threatening to slam the door on the interloper.

"Mr Zhang is expecting me." Cassandra replied affably.

The woman paused ever so briefly, taken aback by the visitor's smiling nerve.

"I don't think he is. I've not been informed," she replied. 'Who the hell are you?'

"Now, what a terrible language," Cassandra smiled again. "Ms - ?"

The girl gave her a searing glance, gauging her character. She looked around swiftly, discomfort growing.

"Stay here!" She ordered and pushed the door. Cassandra slipped her feet just in time to block it.

"Hey! What the hell...?"

"Bad language," Cassandra said and pushed her hand forward, palm raised. The girl's chin snapped up under the uppercut and she staggered backwards, stunned but already recovering. Cassandra was already inside and she followed with a sharp kick in the stomach that sent the snarling doorkeeper sprawling onto the floor. The henchwoman raised a dizzy head but her attacker was already on her, one knee firmly planted in her stomach, iron hand gripping her collar tight.

"Where are they?" The young officer growled.

"Fuck off!" The other muttered, straining feebly.

"Wrong answer," Cassandra replied and finished her with a left-handed punch. "And really bad manners," she added to herself.

The hall so far remained empty. Either nobody had heard the commotion or they were waiting for her. She drew her gun and held it to the ready close to her chest. Her open overcoat flapped loosely against her black trousers as she sneaked up the stairs. The rain outside patted steadily against the windowpanes, and the light was dim. She reached the first floor and Zhang's office, which she found as empty as the other rooms. A quick scan over scattered papers revealed nothing she did not already know, the expected run-of-the-mill paperwork offering an easy cover for shadow operations. The gang had only recently settled in the neighbourhood with the Guangzhou triad's blessing. Their arrival had gone scarcely unnoticed in the community and her informants had felt no qualms about spilling the beans on the competition. Many resented the triad's attempted take-over of the local 'economy', and none more so than the Hong Kong triad, which had long established itself as the traditional authority over the area, and unobtrusive, expanding family businesses like Mamma Chan's. Cassandra had thus received a warmer-then-usual welcome when she had come to collect some 'dues'.

She retraced her steps to the stairs and looked out of the window at the confusion of roofs surrounded by the higher buildings. Part of many smaller gangs' pattern: always locate your HQ close to a convenient storage place. Something they would keenly avoid as they grew up and started to spawn subsidiaries. In the meantime, such places would serve many purposes, among them that of an informal meeting place for business transactions. It was always convenient to have the goods ready at hand for display to potential purchasers. Cassandra went back down to the hall. The henchwoman still lay where she had left her. She sneaked past her sprawled body and into the room adjacent to the hall just beneath the stairs. The kitchen was cluttered with the smelly remnants of an early tea. She counted five bowls, three on the table, half-empty, two in the sink. Bottles of beers, a few ready-made dishes in various states of consumption. She edged by the rectangular table and to the door at the other end of the room. The doorframe was new and stained with patches of white, dried plaster. She put her ear against the wood and closed her eyes. Only creaks in the ancient walls, the clicking sound of working pipes... She turned the handle gingerly and half-opened the door. The storeroom was brightly lit, long neon lights on the ceiling bathing the crate-cluttered area in a harsh white glare. A small group of people was gathered by the far side of the room around a small metal table, wrapped in intent discussion. One man was shouting in brief, angry outbursts, proffering an out-fashioned black receiver at the stout woman opposite him.

Cassandra sneaked in and went to crouch behind a first heap of wooden crates, gun at the ready. She took a deep breath and counted her options, not that many, not any in fact. The place was exposed and she was outnumbered. There was little way of knowing how these goons would react if a police officer showed up in the middle of a 'business meeting', though she had a fairly accurate idea about it. She felt for her inner side-pocket and fished out her cell-phone. Saunders' number flashed alive. She punched a call and waited as it went through.

The walls vibrated dully at the echoes of a distant rumble. She looked up, suddenly oblivious of the tiny song of the dialling tone. The group froze on the spot. More vibrations as the rumble drew closer. She gripped her gun firmly, her head suddenly swarming with electric needles. Not her usual feeling though, not really. Something different. Deeper. Disturbing.

The ceiling exploded in a shower of brick and plaster debris.

A red, white and blue blur flashed to the ground.

Cassandra watched in mute fascination as the diminutive, tri-coloured silhouette stood slowly up and gave a level gaze at the small assembly. The woman was clad from head to toe in some kind of tight-fitting outfit bearing the proud pattern of the Union Jack. The upper part of her face was masked, so only her youthful lips and tousled black hair were visible. She felt her heart had stopped beating.

"What the h...??!" She thought, mouth gaping bemusedly.

Another flash and two goons went flying across the room. The table went down as one of the men still standing tipped it over and threw himself to the ground. Two others drew out their guns in stunned knee-jerk reaction and started firing. Mamma Chan smothered a panicked cry in her joined hands.

Cassandra leaped in the open and made a beeline for one of the two firing henchmen. One was already collapsing under the multicoloured assault, gun firing randomly at the ceiling. She focused on her target. The last one had disappeared.

"Mrs Chan! Get out of here!" She shouted at the transfixed lady as she jumped at the triad man. They rolled down to the ground, kicking and swearing. Cassandra got on top and crashed the butt of her gun into the man's chin. His head jerked back with a cracking sound. Another flashing blur and Mamma Chan found herself spirited away (she couldn't think of another word) to the far end of the room and behind the protective shelter of another heap of crates.

Something lobbed above her head, twirling slowly in the air. It clattered to the ground just a few yards from the costumed girl.

Cassandra's eyes went wide with horror.

She saw herself run towards her, the world suddenly spinning a slow motion as the sound of her voice reverberated across the place.

Grenade!

She leaped for the deathly device.

Another multicoloured flash.

Something hit her hard in the chest and she went flying sideways, her arms pinned against her waist in a fierce embrace. Her ears exploded and she went cartwheeling.

She hit the ground hard.

Time froze into a forever buzzing chaos. Acrid smell filled her nostrils. She could barely breathe for the iron weight pressing against her chest and legs. Her head was held in a solid clamp against the cement floor.

"You got a death-wish or what?!" She heard a low voice growl.

Cassandra opened unfocused eyes. The face in front of her eyes slowly took shape as the girl released her grip on her head and raised herself on her outstretched arms above her. The young policewoman felt herself blush as the stranger's lower belly pressed against her and fiery eyes stared at her from above shapely, colour-wrapped breasts.

"Holy Gosh." she thought. "She's all but naked under this...?"

"What's wrong with you?!" The girl persisted, scolding her in a surprisingly deep voice.

Cassandra raised herself painfully on her elbows. The girl's body felt both soft and solid against her.

"Who are you...?" She asked, almost cringing before the intent stare.

"You would have got yourself killed, you idiot!" She said and stood up with a bound.

Cassie looked at the proud silhouette towering above her, confusion suddenly tinged with anger.
"What business is it of yours?" She shot back. "You're the one who could have got killed, you idiot!"

The girl did not answer, busy as she was looking round the room, checking for enemies.

"He's gone!" She mused.

Cassandra felt silent, joining her in an instinctive sounding of the place.

"Yeah..."

She got up with a pronounced wince, her ribs throbbing like hell where she had already taken a hit the night before at the restaurant.

"Now," Cassandra said, holding her side gingerly, "will you tell me who you are and what the hell you were doing in a place like this and in such an - outfit!" She gave a longer gaze at the slender, muscle-toned body and felt somehow she hadn't got the right word.

The girl held her gaze for some time. Cassandra thought she saw the flicker of a smile play on her lips.

"I'm Britannica!" She answered simply.

A muffled sobbed interrupted their exchange. The girl dashed off towards the crates before Cassandra could even react. Holy hell... What kind of... what...?

Holy hell!

Mamma Chan reappeared in her saviour's arms, shocked but unharmed. Cassandra hurried towards the old lady and helped to support her.

"It's alright, Mrs Chan, it's over now," she offered reassuringly. "I'm Detective Vangelis. The police will be here soon."

Mamma Chan nodded silently and even managed to give the young officer a meek smile. Damn tough nut to crack, Cassandra smiled back proudly.

"Take care of her!" She heard the soft voice say. She looked at the girl, urgency suddenly filling her.

"Wait!" She cried.

The young heroine was already yards away. She gave a longing look at the detective.

"And take care of yourself, Miss Vangelis," she shot back. "You're worth far more than you know."

She looked up at the broken ceiling. Flexed her legs. Jumped.

Cassandra watched in awe as Britannica reached for the gaping hole above her head and scrambled in. She paused for a moment and looked back at her. Grinning, this time.
"You'll never walk alone, Miss Vangelis!" She shouted.

Then she was gone.

*

"Jesus, Vangelis," Mosley hissed. "You're a fuckin',"

"Yeah, I know, Moz. Thanks." Cassandra cut him short. Impatience and worry were gnawing at her. She had not dared leave Mamma Chan alone until her colleagues arrived (mercifully quickly) and started securing the area and taking down the gang. Now she had even less time for Mosley's gawking eyes and fazed comments.

"We'll be back soon, Mrs Chan," she said to the old lady. Mrs Chan gave her a worried but hopeful look. She had beseeched her to go and search for Susan after Britannica's departure but Cassandra would have none of it, heart-wrenching as it might be. Besides, she felt the young woman was safe, although she dared not take that kind of intuition for granted. How could she ever? Still it helped dampen the anxiety and made the wait slightly more bearable.

"Hey! Where are you going?" Mosley shot. "We got a report to..."

Cassandra was already through the door and back to the hall. The henchwoman was no longer there to be seen, either arrested or gone. She didn't care. She paused briefly, closing her eyes, listening to her feeling. Susan was not far, she knew. Unharmed. But she needed her. She blinked twice and walked blindly through the small corridor running along the kitchen and to another, freshly built exit. The triad had appropriated the whole block and was in the process of transforming it into a HQ with as many forms of communication as possible. She walked into another small hall and headed straight for the basement. The door to the cellar was locked shut. Cassandra just drew out her gun and shot it to pieces. She felt nervously for the light switch and turned it on.

Smothered a sob.

Susan was lying on top a small heap of rubble. Her clothes were covered in white dust, her white blouse half unbuttoned and hanging loosely over her unzipped black skirt, her feet naked in laddered stockings. Cassandra rushed and knelt by her side. She lifted the inert body with tender care and cradled her in her lap, brushing black strands off her warm brow.

"Susan?" She whispered softly, confused thoughts and feelings drowning her mind and brimming over her eyelids.

Susan sighed and moved softly. Cassandra hiccuped in relief when the young woman opened her eyes and gave her an inquiring look.

"Hey", she cooed. "What's wrong?"

"What's wrong??" Cassie half-laughed, half-sobbed. "You all right, baby?" She asked anxiously.

Susan gave her a tired smile and touched her hand softly. "Washed out," she murmured, and closed her eyes again.

Cassie lifted the small body and held it close to her. She gave a brief look around and up. The ceiling had caved in on several storeys. Old constructs... That girl must have rocked the whole block when she burst in. She shook herself. That could be sorted out later, discretely.

*

And still it kept raining.

Susan gave the large office window a forlorn look, put down the bleeping receiver and sighed deeply. One day back into the job and it felt as if nothing had happened but the depressing weather and long dull working hours. She had spent a day in hospital after her rescue from the hands of Mamma Chan's kidnappers, despite her insistent protests (and undeniable evidence) that she was not harmed. The physician in charge had however managed to diagnose extreme fatigue and anaemia, and subjected her to several hours' perfusion before releasing her with three days' sick leave. She had only taken one and gone straight back to work, too happy for the diversion from restless thoughts. She had expected news from Cassie, if not a formal visit, but the young woman had remained invisible since her entry in hospital.
Now disappointment vied inside her with anxiety as she kept rehearsing the last events. Never had she felt so confident as when she burst through the ceiling of her cell and headed straight for the place she knew Mamma Chan was being held. She had assaulted the gang as if in a dream, amazed at the slowness of their reactions and the vulnerability of their bodies. Only Cassie appeared to glow in the grey haze of action, and she had been drawn to her like a butterfly by candle fire.

Embracing her had felt like a firestorm.

She still did not know how she had managed to overcome the bone-deep exhaustion that had settled upon her in the immediate aftermath of the fight. Somehow she had found the strength to crawl back to her cell, shed her colours and slip awkwardly back into her clothes before passing out on the debris-strewn floor of the dark cellar. Somehow she had felt Cassie's presence as she came near and found her. Her touch had claimed her back to the living world before the sheer weight of all that had happened finally overcame her.

It had all been so swift. So strange. So out of control. She feared she might have let too much slip out and in the process driven the young officer away from her.

Surely she might have sent a note...?

She sighed again and sat up. Better calling it all a day, anyway. She stood up and grabbed her overcoat from the hat stand. Another walk under the pouring rain, she thought wryly. Perhaps she should try and use those marvellous superpowers of hers to turn into a walking umbrella...?

The lift was of course packed so she took the stairs, soggy stockings once again rubbing against her cold toes. She stopped by the large glass sliding door, contemplating the long walk home with diminishing fortitude.

"Oh, what the hell," she thought after a moment, and bravely stepped out.

And stopped.

The water drenching the shelter of the umbrella cascaded all around Cassandra, encircling her in a magic circle made of rain and city lights. She was standing but a few paces before her, her flat black shoes and lower trousers getting steadily soaked, one hand holding the collar of her overcoat shut against the cold evening air. She gave a shy, tentative smile. Susan felt herself melt away. Cassandra's eyes danced with amusement.

"Thought you might use an umbrella," she offered simply.

Susan stood. Marvelling. Drinking the sight of her.

"End-of-the-world weather," she finally managed to say.

"Sure is," Cassie grinned and gave her a nod. "Shall we?"

Susan took a trembling breath.

Karma...

She stepped forward and hooked her arm around Cassie's. They exchanged a brief smile and started the long walk home.

Around and above them, the rain poured on.

****

 

© Nathan Dayspring/ Tish Summers, 2004/05
© Tish Summers, 2004/05