Wicked Fox (Gumiho #1)(10)

She’d heard tales of gumiho who could walk the dreams of their victims. Driving them slowly mad before ripping out their livers. But she’d never done it herself, never thought it was a skill gumiho still possessed. Perhaps they didn’t. After all, she hadn’t meant to share a dream with that boy. Maybe she was just thinking about that boy and her subconscious had gotten out of hand. It made sense that she’d be stuck on thoughts of him; after all, he’d been there when she’d lost her bead . . .

Miyoung turned onto her side and pulled open her nightstand drawer until the bead rolled gently into view. It shone so bright, she wondered if it emitted its own light or merely reflected the moon’s.

She stared at the stone—a yeowu guseul—a fox bead. Myth said every gumiho had one, but she’d never given them much thought. Nara sometimes went on about them, comparing them to the human soul.

Maybe Miyoung should have listened more to the shaman’s harebrained theories. They were varied and long-winded, so Miyoung had ignored most of them. She remembered the shaman warning that if a human ever gained control of the yeowu guseul of a gumiho, he could command her to do his every bidding. And there was the story of a gumiho who lost her bead but still fed, slowly becoming more and more of a demon.

Closing her eyes, Miyoung rolled the stone across her palm. It sparked along her skin like static electricity. Or residual energy. It didn’t feel like the gi she’d absorbed from that ajeossi. That had been bitter and stale. This tasted fresh and bright. The boy? But she hadn’t fed from him. Why would his energy be in the bead?

But she could guess the answer. He’d touched it, held it directly. And it had absorbed his energy. She’d felt a boost of energy that had woken her, disoriented on the forest floor. Had the bead transferred a bit of his gi to her even when it wasn’t inside of her?

If he had known what power he held . . . but he obviously hadn’t. And she had it now; it was safe. Or as safe as it could be like this.

She didn’t know why she’d been driven to save that boy. But his actions afterward confused her more. How he’d stayed. How he’d charged the dokkaebi after knowing full well the danger.

Miyoung squeezed the bead in her hand. The boy was not what she should worry about right now.

She needed to figure out a way to reabsorb the stone. She might not know much about the myths that surrounded a yeowu guseul, but she knew its proper place was in a gumiho. Already she felt an emptiness in her, like a puzzle piece ripped from her middle, leaving a gaping hole.

Climbing out of bed, Miyoung padded her way down the hall toward her mother’s room.

The shower ran in the master bathroom. Steam sat heavy in the air, so thick it almost choked her. It lit a panic that she calmed with deep breaths. Ever since Miyoung could remember, she’d been afraid of water. A phobia so deep she refused to even take a bath. Her mother despised any sign of weakness in her daughter, so Miyoung did her best to keep it buried.

The water was turned off and Yena stepped out of the shower. Through the curtain of steam Miyoung saw the crisscross of white scars on her mother’s bare back.

Miyoung once asked about them, and Yena said it had been humans. Done when she was too young and too weak to heal fully. Miyoung sometimes wondered if they’d scarred more than her skin.

As the mist dissipated, Yena wrapped herself in a robe. And she was back to being perfectly stunning. She was tall and willowy, with jet-black hair and dark eyes to match.

Everyone who met them said Miyoung looked exactly like her mother.

Miyoung always said thank you with a ninety-degree bow. After all, Yena was the epitome of beauty. Her perfection made men regret the time they spent on blinking.

“Miyoung-ah, what are you doing?”

“I needed to talk to you.” Miyoung tried to think of how to explain her unsettling dream in a way that wouldn’t reveal her mistake.

“Is it about Monday?”

Miyoung blinked. “Monday?”

Then she remembered. Her new school.

“I’m okay. It’ll be like every other school. I’m used to it.” It was true. Miyoung was the perpetual transfer student. Never somewhere long enough to lose the label.

“It’s a good school, though this neighborhood is not as nice as our old one. But of course we couldn’t stay there after your . . . indiscretion.” The way her mother said it, with a tinge of blame, made Miyoung purse her lips. As much as she hated to move, they were often forced to relocate because of one of Miyoung’s mistakes. And Yena’s irate mood each time reminded Miyoung that her problems were a burden on her mother. Perhaps it was not smart to reveal her latest mistake so soon after her last.

“I’m sorry, Mother. I didn’t mean to do it and the girl survived.” Excuses, excuses, just useless excuses.

“But you still almost exposed us by losing control with a human. And in broad daylight.”



“I was just trying to get her away from me! She wouldn’t stop pushing me, so I pushed back—” Miyoung cut off with the sinking realization that her words echoed the ajeossi in the forest. It was her fault . . . She should have kept quiet. I only tried to make her stop screaming.

Miyoung hated how much she had in common with the evil she hunted.

“I don’t need your excuses,” Yena said, breaking into Miyoung’s thoughts. “Just do what I say and everything will be fine.”