Wicked Fox (Gumiho #1)(17)

“Well, I wouldn’t blame you if you put my precious daughter on probation for committing school violence. I trust in your good judgment. After all, only an honest and fair man could reach such a venerated position.” Yena gripped the vice principal’s hand.

A flush spread up the man’s neck. “Well, it’s only one small mistake, and I hear the kids were playing dodgeball, a very violent game by its nature. Our Miyoung seems like a good girl; I’ll let her go with a warning to be more careful. Okay, Miyoung-ah?”

Miyoung blinked, realizing she was being addressed directly. “Of course, Vice Principal,” she said, working hard to make her voice sound as sweet as Yena’s. Instead it sounded too breathy.

“My dear Vice Principal. You’re too kind,” Yena said, squeezing his hand. And Miyoung thought he’d faint on the spot.

They walked out of the office together, silence hanging around them so thick, Miyoung thought she’d choke.

Once outside, Yena didn’t even glance at Miyoung as she spoke. “You disappoint me.”

“I’m sorry, Mother—” Miyoung began, but Yena’s hand came up, silencing her. She knew her mother would never hit her, but still she flinched back. But Yena just waved her hand to hail a cab.

“I’ll see you back home,” Yena said. And Miyoung didn’t even think to ask for a ride and risk angering her mother further. She watched as Yena climbed into the car and it sped away.

It was better this way. Miyoung had an errand to run.



* * *



? ? ?

Miyoung stared out the bus window. The air felt close with a coming storm.

Her stomach churned as the bus bumped over a pothole. Ever since the fight with that dokkaebi, she’d felt unsettled. She didn’t even know why she’d stuck her nose into it. Maybe because she was so horrified to see the goblin attacking a human boy. Even after she’d taken lives herself, she didn’t like the sight of something from the supernatural world taking the life of an innocent. Though Jihoon did his best to make Miyoung feel like he wasn’t quite so innocent by annoying her all day. But she knew it wasn’t just the fight with the dokkaebi that caused her to feel unsettled. She shoved her hand into her pocket. At her touch, the bead warmed against her skin, adjusting perfectly to her body temperature.

She needed to put it back where it belonged. And for that she needed help.

An hour later, she exited the bus. The streets were crowded and a salaryman bumped her shoulder as he hurried past. Usually Miyoung would ignore it, but at his touch nausea rose up in her. She could sense his energy as if she had the power of the full moon guiding her instead of the sun blazing overhead. She frowned as her mouth watered. What was this? She shouldn’t be hungry so soon. She’d just fed.

Shoving her hand into her pocket, she rubbed her bead and knew it must all be connected. Quickly, she turned onto a street that was more alley than road, taking her away from the crowded street. Sandwich-board signs directed patrons to the second and third floors, offering anything from cell phone covers to makgeolli to massages. Miyoung ignored the racks of clothes set far into the road to entice customers to enter shops no bigger than an alcove.



Instead, she entered a small store. Above it, the sign read SHAMAN, 占.

A cloud of incense hit her, heavy and cloying.

The wares leaned in towering piles. Woven baskets created pillars in front of the windows, blocking the sunlight. Tables were laden with incense, fans, and paintings. Copper dishes in their protective plastic were stacked high. Along the wall hung paintings on thick beige paper, creating a tapestry of hand-drawn portraits. Bold reds, dark blacks, bright whites, and deep blues depicted the stern expressions of a dozen noblemen and -women. Miyoung avoided their dark eyes.

“Eo-seo-o-se-yo!” sang out a voice from the back.

A girl emerged. She was short and cute, her hair pulled from her face in a messy bun. Her linen hanbok was wrinkled from work, but it hung prettily on her slight frame. She stopped short at the sight of Miyoung. “Seonbae.”

“Nara-ssi,” Miyoung replied. “I see you’re doing brisk business.” She gestured around the empty shop.

Nara pursed her lips but didn’t disagree.

“I guess now that you’re back in Seoul, you can stop by more often,” Nara said. “Reminds me of the old days.”

“Yes, well, my mother and I wore out our welcome down south. It was time for a change.”

“After you left Seoul the last time, I wasn’t sure if you’d ever move back.”

“It was bound to happen eventually. Seoul’s enormous, the best place to get lost among millions.”

An awkwardness hung between the girls because, even after five years, Nara couldn’t help but try to reach across the divide that Miyoung continually insisted on creating.

“Is your halmeoni out?” Miyoung asked.

Nara’s nervous eyes moved toward the ceiling, and Miyoung figured the old woman must be upstairs in the apartment over the shop. She knew Nara kept their relationship a secret from her halmeoni.

There were stories of the old shaman that had reached even Miyoung’s ears. Nara’s halmeoni was originally from Jeju, where the practice of shamanism was more common. There were rumors that she’d done away with more dark spirits and creatures than any other shaman in the city. She was definitely no fan of Miyoung’s kind. Beings that preyed on humans. Evil things.