Wicked Fox (Gumiho #1)(105)

As Detective Hae set the white paper he held ablaze, Shaman Kim laid out a white handkerchief and placed the stones atop it. Then she lit incense sticks and stuck them in the ground in a circle around the beads.

Shaman Kim began to chant. And with her words she began to sway, her movements becoming long and rhythmic, joining her song.

It reminded Miyoung of that night three months ago, when the shaman had pulled at Miyoung’s soul until she thought it would be sucked out of her body.

And as the shaman danced, the moon’s light burst through the clearing, a thousand times more powerful than the glare of the sun.

It blinded them all. Turned night to day and cold to fire.

Miyoung screamed, holding Yena’s hand tightly. Her wails mixed with her mother’s.

“I’m sorry.” Yena’s agony was painted on her face. Her pale skin reddened, as if she were held over a flame.

“You can’t give up,” Miyoung said through gritted teeth.

Yena grinned, a feral smile that gave Miyoung hope. “Never.” Then her body shuddered and her hand tightened. Blood seeped from Yena’s eyes, her nose, her lips. And she fell to the ground.

Miyoung tried to move, but her muscles seized, and she fell beside Yena’s prone form.

Flames rose up inside her. Giant licks of agony that scorched her until she was sure she would burn to nothing.





76





MIYOUNG WANTED TO let the pain take her into the dark. At least then her torment would end.

“If you die, you’ll be going against my wishes.” The words were an angry rasp from Yena, her eyes closed against the pain. Miyoung almost laughed. Leave it to her mother to command her to live.

“As you wish, Mother.”

Miyoung pulled herself up and lurched to her feet, swaying at first. The air sizzled and sparked, an electric energy created through magic and might to hold down a gumiho.

She gathered the last of her strength and charged. With each step, pain engulfed her. It coursed through her like a thousand volts.

Detective Hae’s eyes widened at the sight of her, blood and spit foaming at her snarling lips. Each step pulling a scream of agony from her. “You said they wouldn’t feel pain.”

Miyoung almost laughed at her father’s belated concern. But instead another groan of pain escaped.

Fire swept around her, through her, into her.

Pain became her world.

Then a voice called to her. “Miyoung! Fight it!”

Jihoon? Was he alive? Or was he calling her to join him in the world of the dead? Her eyes flew open and found Jihoon’s. He lay across the ground. The bujeok pasted to his chest burned as bright as the flames around her, but he watched her calmly.

“Fight it,” he said again.

“Seonbae!” Like an avenging spirit appearing from the shadows, Nara leapt into view. She grabbed Miyoung’s bead from the makeshift altar on the ground. As Nara cradled the bujeok-wrapped stone, she began to scream.

“No!” Shaman Kim shouted, falling out of her dance.

And for a blissful moment, Miyoung’s pain subsided.

Nara lay on the ground, her arms covered in mottled blisters. She cradled them against her chest, tears tracking down her cheeks to pool in the dirt.

Shaman Kim took up the dance again, even as her granddaughter lay burnt and battered at her feet. As her song reached a crescendo, she lifted her hands to the sky. Yena’s bead caught ablaze. The bujeok burned away with a flame that arced into the air. And when the fire died, it revealed ash instead of stone.

“No!” It was meant as a shout, but it came out as a whisper from Miyoung’s dry throat.

She spun toward Yena and almost fell in shock. Where her mother had lain before, there was now a beautiful fox. Long and lean, with lithe muscles and lush fur. Her nine tails splayed behind her. Like she was reverting to her basic form on her way to death.

Shaman Kim bent to pry open Nara’s fingers. The younger shaman moaned in pain.

“Foolish girl,” Shaman Kim said with a snarl. She pulled Miyoung’s bead from Nara’s hands.

“This is wrong,” Nara moaned. “We’re not murderers.”

“You can’t murder a demon,” the shaman muttered, placing Miyoung’s bead back into the center of the circle of incense. It now sat on the ruins of her mother’s bead.

“You said it would be quick.” Detective Hae stared at the bead, dumbfounded, as if he wondered how he’d gotten there.

“Again!” Shaman Kim said before she took up the chant.

Miyoung stood on trembling feet.

Her forward motion was so haltingly slow that she knew she couldn’t make it to the shaman before the kut was finished.

“You said you cared about me.” Miyoung aimed the accusation at her father, who still stared at the ash-covered altar.

His eyes lifted to hers, and he winced at the sight of her. “I’m doing this because I care,” Detective Hae said. “You are evil things. It is better you are gone from this world, where you can no longer hurt anyone.”

“If you’re sending me to the afterlife”—Miyoung lurched forward, her voice gurgling on her own blood—“then let me take you with me.”

With all of her might she dove, slamming herself into her father’s body. He gave a cry of distress as they went sprawling into the altar. She felt the burn of the incense as it dug into her skin. Stars exploded behind her eyes as she slid across the hard-packed dirt.