Wicked Fox (Gumiho #1)(18)

“I shouldn’t stay long,” Miyoung said. “So I’ll make it quick. I have a problem I need help with. Shaman help.”

“Come with me.” Nara led the way into a back room, which was even more cluttered than the front. Books were stacked high, and thick oak tables held the tools of a shaman: scrolls of paper, bronze bowls, and incense.

Nara moved easily through the crowded space. She helped run her halmeoni’s shaman shop and knew where everything was located in the nonsensical clutter. She was a shaman who’d received the calling through blood instead of spiritual possession. Shamanism was business and tradition in her family.

As they walked past a large bookcase, Nara let her fingers trail over a framed photo, the only thing clean of dust on the crowded shelf. A man and woman smiled at the camera, a small infant cradled between them: Nara’s parents.

They’d died when Nara was a baby. Now shamanism and her halmeoni were all she had.

“What can I do for you, Seonbae?” Nara spoke with a slight stutter. Her eyes shifted as if watching for spirits hiding in the shadows.

Miyoung wondered how so much power could be in such a timid girl.

In fact, the bravest thing Nara had ever done was approach Miyoung. Twelve-year-old Nara had been a small girl with big eyes and fidgeting fingers. She’d almost failed to get Miyoung’s attention, but as soon as she whispered the word gumiho, she didn’t need to do much else.

Now Nara gave Miyoung evil men to hunt each month, and Nara could give peace to some of the spirits that plagued her.

Miyoung sometimes thought they were a strange pair, two misfits who’d never fit in the worlds they were born into.

Nara watched Miyoung with expectant eyes, waiting for her to speak.

“Something happened after the last full moon.” Miyoung hesitated, so used to keeping her secrets close. She picked up a bamboo fan. The mulberry paper was hand-painted with a delicate scene of mountains and forests—a tiger grinned at her as a magpie called to it.

“What happened?” Nara prompted, her eyes wide.

“I ran into a dokkaebi in the forest. He attacked me.” She didn’t know why she didn’t mention Jihoon again. The second time she’d felt the need to keep him a secret.

“Are you all right?” Nara gripped Miyoung’s hands.

She pulled free, but not before Nara’s eyes blurred. It was the same look she got when she sensed spirits. No amount of poking and prodding would bring her back before she was ready.

Nara swayed, almost knocking into a towering bookcase filled with leather-bound tomes and sand-filled bowls that held the stubs of burnt incense. Then her eyes cleared.

“What did you see?” Miyoung asked.

“I felt something move through me.” Nara hummed out the words like a low chant.

“I thought you didn’t become possessed by ghosts or gods.”

“Not usually. My halmeoni says . . .” Nara trailed off, her eyes lowering to the ground.

Miyoung knew Nara’s skills weren’t normal, even for a shaman. Her fear of the ghosts that plagued her made it hard for her to control her abilities. Not the granddaughter one would expect of a powerful shaman who’d exorcised evil spirits.

Nara lived with high filial expectations and low familial affection. Something Miyoung knew well herself.

“It wasn’t a spirit or a god. It was a feeling. An imbalance. A flash of the sun, then complete darkness.” Nara spoke in circles as she worked through the puzzle aloud. “Something gone. Something missing.”

Miyoung sucked in a sharp breath.

“What did you lose?” Nara asked, staring intently at Miyoung’s face. Then her eyes narrowed, like she was clicking the last mental puzzle piece in place. “Your yeowu guseul.”

“Yes,” Miyoung said. There was no use in denying it. This was why she’d come here in the first place.

Nara’s eyes became wide as two full moons. “Where is it now?”

“Safe.”

“If the wrong person gets ahold of it, they could use it to control you.” With each word Nara’s voice rose with agitation.

“It’s safe,” Miyoung insisted, and fought the urge to check her pocket.

“Does your mother know?” Nara whispered. She always lowered her voice when the topic of Miyoung’s mother came up, a quiet reverence mixed with a healthy dose of dread. As if speaking of her aloud would call Yena forth.

“She doesn’t know and she doesn’t have to if you can help me put it back where it belongs.” The fox bead felt heavier in Miyoung’s pocket, like it knew they were discussing it.

“So you believe me now? That a yeowu guseul is a gumiho’s soul. It controls your life and holds your gi.”

“I never doubted that,” Miyoung said, then added, “in theory. But I’ve never heard of a person’s soul falling out.”

“People used to believe a gumiho’s bead carried all the knowledge of heaven and earth,” Nara said quietly. “But not many know that its true purpose is balance. Without it you run the risk of losing your grip on your humanity.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Miyoung’s fists clenched, as if preparing for a fight against an invisible enemy.

“It means that your control over your yokwe side, your . . . monstrous side, might slip.”