Tuesday. Brooklyn. Mr Shan’s.

Connie was crying into the soup when she fell, hiccup, thud. Her sneakers popped off. Scales ripped through her skin. Her nylons shredded.
“Mr Shan! We got another one!” Kate yelled, grabbing Connie’s hand. Webbing sprouted between her fingers. She hiccuped again.
Kate dragged her across the restaurant. Mr Shan danced in irritation. Patrons gawked. Connie’s hiccups turned to gasps. Kate heaved her into the saltwater tank as Connie’s legs fused and her feet flattened into an opalescent tail.
Kate touched the glass. Connie pulled off the rest of her uniform, tossed it away, and smiled.