Wicked Fox (Gumiho #1)(57)

“A bujeok for protection?” Detective Hae asked.

“You know what it is?” Jihoon lifted his brows in surprise.

“My wife used to be obsessed with this stuff.”

“You should take it. Seems like you have a dangerous job.”

The detective chuckled and patted Jihoon’s shoulder. It felt strangely paternal and Jihoon stepped back in sudden discomfort.

The detective gave a final nod. Jihoon folded into a bow.

He leaned heavily on the door after he closed it. He tried calling Miyoung. She’d made him promise to use her number for emergencies only. Jihoon figured this classified as one.

She didn’t answer, and he cursed as he pulled open the door again and hurried out.



* * *



? ? ?

Jihoon ran up the hill toward Miyoung’s house. He hesitated at the end of the long drive and glanced at the sky, darkening with dusk. But he steeled himself before starting down the path.

A movement in the trees halted his steps and he froze until he recognized the uniform blazer of his school. Miyoung.

He doubted she had decided it was a good time for a casual hike. She was preparing for a hunt, and if that detective was out patrolling, Jihoon didn’t want to think of what could happen.

“Miyoung!” he called, but she was either too far away or ignoring him.

He hurried after her, wondering how she could move so fast without making a sound.

The path was narrow, filled with large roots and craggy rocks. The steep slope tired Jihoon quickly. He wondered if it was physically possible for a person to cough up their lungs, but truly didn’t want to find out. So he took a short break, leaning against a tree. Up here, the height was dizzying. And the city lay so far below it looked like a toy replica. His break lost him precious time, and when he turned back toward the path, Miyoung was nowhere to be seen.

“Gu Miyoung,” Jihoon shouted. No answer. Not that he’d really expected one.

“Miyoung-ah, if you can hear me, answer,” Jihoon called. His shouting startled something that rustled the underbrush and he skittered back, stepping over the ledge.

He was pulled back onto the path to fall in a heap. Miyoung stood over him, her arms crossed. From the look on her face she wasn’t just displeased, she was pissed.

“What do you want?” she asked.

“They—” He broke off when his voice wavered. He stood, brushing away the dirt that clung to his pants while he tried to gather himself. “They found a body in the woods,” he said finally.

Her expression was unreadable.

“A man who disappeared,” Jihoon continued. “They suspect something, they’re looking for the culprit, they think they’ll attack again.”

Miyoung nodded, the only sign she heard him.

“There’s a cop asking questions.”

“Just because he’s poking around doesn’t mean he knows anything.” Miyoung frowned.

“Maybe you shouldn’t be out tonight.”

“You need to leave this alone. It’s not safe out here for you.” Her hand went to her belly; her eyes darted back and forth as if they saw something he couldn’t. And her skin had taken on a strangely green pallor.

“Are you okay?”

“Go home.” Miyoung didn’t wait for his reply. She retreated back into the woods.

She’d seemed distracted. If she was distracted, that meant she might make a mistake. Jihoon didn’t give himself time to think; he pushed through the branches, following Miyoung deeper into the forest as the sun waned.





29





AS SHE MADE her way through the forest, the first flake fell onto her cheek, melting against her skin.

Big things always happen at the first snow. Halmeoni’s words rang in her head. But they sounded like a warning to Miyoung now.

She ran her hands over the rough bark of trees as she walked. It wasn’t to help with balance. She was light on her feet on the craggy terrain. But she liked the physical connection with the flora around her. It gave her comfort, anchored her, when she felt like she was wavering. And she needed all the support she could get tonight.

Her phantoms swung through the trees, dancing from branch to branch, trying to break her resolve.

She ran her fingers through her tangled hair. It stuck to her temple with dried sweat despite the cool winter air.

Nara stepped into Miyoung’s path, stopping her short. The young shaman wore a colorful hanbok, the bright colors a sharp contrast to the grays and browns of the bare trees around them.

“Oh, Seonbae,” Nara murmured, pity saturating her eyes as they shifted around Miyoung, taking in the spirits. “Come, the moon is rising.” She grabbed Miyoung’s arm, her fingers digging into skin.



“Your instructions weren’t very clear.”

“We needed a place with the right energy.” Nara pulled hard on Miyoung’s arm, so she had to stumble after the shorter girl.

There was a space of earth cleared out below a great oak tree that still held on to a smattering of leaves.

A long altar sat beside the thick trunk, littered with trays of fruit, chestnuts, and rice. Copper bowls held sand and incense. Candles flickered, lighting the faces of a dozen paintings, each staring at Miyoung with dark eyes.