Firecrackers on 28 Mott Street
by Angela Liu
The children wield firecrackers as they enter the old shop on Mott Street. Copper wind bells chime as the door closes behind them.
Inside, velvet curtains block all natural light. Here the glow of porcelain lamps and red paper lanterns light the space. Glass display cases line the walls like a dusty museum: enchanted ivory boxes carved with intricate beasts, voice-altering fox masks, curse paper, flutes for conjuring love songs. Behind the unmanned register, a grinning cat amulet dangles on the wall alongside framed photos of the neighborhood’s most decorated magicians and standing next to each of them, in her signature tiger-print vest, is Miss Lin, the proud owner of 28 Mott Street, the last General Alchemy Shop in Chinatown.
Dino’s the first one to walk up to the display cases.
“Is that it?” he says, pressing a finger to the glass.
Sally swats his hand away. “You know Miss Lin likes to keep everything spotless.”
“Auntie says you can’t get most of this stuff anymore since they closed the Gate,” Morris says, peeking behind the bead curtain next to the register. “Something about not paying enough magic taxes. Hey, check it out, I think there’s a picture of young Miss Lin from before the Age of Dinosaurs…”
Sally clicks her tongue. “What the hell’re you—“
Morris stumbles back, nearly dropping his firecracker. A towering old woman ducks in through the bead curtain.
“Hi Miss Lin,” Sally squeaks, eyeing the old woman’s tiger-print vest and then the photos on the wall. “Um, we’d like to buy a Summoning Amulet.”
“I could turn you kids into rice porridge,” the old woman says.
Sally winces.
“What the hell do you runts need a Summoning Amulet for anyway?” Miss Lin says, eyeing Dino’s fingerprints on the glass. “I’ve got less than ten in the back and the Chinatown Council’s demanding at least one for the New Year’s parade. They want a real dragon this year to bring the crowds back. ‘More classical theatrics’ to combat the bad press from last year’s…overly interactive magic show,” she sighs, remembering how the magicians spent half a day searching for a stray cat in a city councilman’s suit.
“Her brother’s pet rabbit died last night,” Morris explains, pointing at Sally. “He’s been crying like it’s the end of the world. She wants to bring it back for him, a real Lunar New Year miracle, ma’am.”
“My Summoning Amulets can call upon Demon Kings, and you want to bring back a dead pet rabbit?” the old woman asks.
“We’ve brought payment,” Sally bites her lip, fighting her pride. “Auntie said you’ve got a ghost in your shop.”
“Ghosts,” the old woman corrects. The velvet curtains flutter wildly as if in response. “And your Auntie is correct. What of it?”
“We’ll get rid of them for you.”
“Hoho, and what makes you think I want to get rid of them?”
“Because Auntie said she saw you having a fight with them in the doorway. Something about counterfeit immortality amulets and money-back guarantees.”
“You’ve got a nosy Auntie,” the old woman snorts, fixing a tree of good luck coins near the window. “And did your nosy Auntie tell you how to oust a team of contract-bound disgruntled spirits?”
The three hold up their firecrackers like fists.
The old woman smiles. “Get out of my shop, please.”
“These aren’t just ordinary firecrackers. They’re the ghost-scaring kind,” Dino explains, looking to Morris for back-up, but the older boy is eyeing a tray of white rabbit candies.
The old woman nods with understanding. “So you plan to blow out our ears and make a mess of my shop, just to prove you’re all idiots?”
Sally sucks in a deep breath. “I made these at the Hex Workshop. We’ve imbued them with six different kinds of bad luck energy… Broken shards from Morris’ mom’s favorite plates, losing lottery tickets from Dino’s uncle, sand from the baseball field where the Feral Squirrels lost 0-12 during their last home game …” she continues, pleased when the old woman’s expression changes. “Mama always told me about paying back your debts twofold. And when you can’t, you smoke ‘em out with everything you’ve got.”
The old woman unwraps a half-melted mint from her pocket. She’s impressed, even if she won’t admit that to a trio of runts. “You must like your little weasel brother, but unfortunately, you’re one bad luck band short,” she says, pointing at the black stripes on their firecrackers.
“Maybe I can get my dad’s old company manual that always gives him these killer paper cuts—” Dino says, but the old woman holds up a hand.
“It’s too late. The item needed to be mixed in when you made the firecracker. Last-minute add-ons need immense magical power, on the level of a generational Curse, and even still they don’t usually work. Too bad.”
The curtains wave gleefully.
“Generational curse?” Sally smirks. “Then I think my little ‘weasel brother’ may already have us covered.”
The adults gossip in the living room like frenzying chickens, pecking at each other with their latest stories.
Sally’s brother lies on his bed, pondering his mistakes for the two-hundredth time.
“I should have brought him into my room. It was too cold. He must’ve been so scared…” the boy buries his face into his pillow. Crying on New Year’s is bad luck, his mother had told him, the worst kind, but he can’t help it. His chest heaves, the tears staining his sleeves as he wipes and wipes. He’d even gotten his tears on his sister’s fancy firecrackers from the Hex Workshop.
There’s a loud pop down the street, followed by another and another. The crowds have started setting off their fireworks before the big parade, a swell of sound.
The boy goes over to the window and pushes it open. Confetti and glitter soar up, catching sunlight, a shimmering wave of color. He sticks his head out; the cold February air feels good against his wet face.
Then a voice comes like a firecracker going off.
He sees his sister dart out of Miss Lin’s Alchemy Shop, the wind bells swinging wildly against the door.
She’s waving at him with both arms, weaving around the crowd. Confetti swirls up and around her. She mouths something he can’t quite make out, a huge grin on her face. Dino waves two empty firecracker tubes. Morris is holding a cardboard box, just large enough for a small dog. Or a miracle rabbit.
