Wicked Fox (Gumiho #1)(85)

“What do you plan to do with that?”

“It’s not for her, it’s for me,” Miyoung said. The talisman made her skin itch, but it was meant to lower her shields, make her weak. She hoped it would allow her to sift the loose gi she’d felt all over the hospital into Halmeoni.

“To be honest, I’ve never done something like this before.” Miyoung lit the incense.

Jihoon watched her carefully over the flame of the lighter. “I’m trusting you here. Against my better judgment.”

“I know.” She lowered her eyes, unable to meet his anymore.

Then she took Halmeoni’s hand and held the bujeok in the other. She opened herself to Halmeoni, searching for her gi. It was even weaker than the last time. A low-burning ember.

She was afraid to touch it. Afraid the taste of it would make the raging beast of her hunger rise up. So instead she tried to find a way to connect that wasn’t through Halmeoni’s energy.

Poor child. The voice was a whisper; there, then gone like a call on the wind.

She strained herself toward it. The sound of it had felt so warm, so familiar.

Forgive yourself.



She frowned at that.

Miyoung didn’t have time to wonder if her mind was playing tricks on her; she could already feel her tenuous hold on Halmeoni’s gi wavering. She tried to sift the gi from the sick and the dying into her. It resisted her hold, like a dozen slippery snakes slithering through her hands.

She drove her own energy out, trying to seek the evasive gi sliding through the hospital.

No, not this way, the voice in her head said. I don’t want to live at the expense of others.

The voice was distant but she could place it now.

Halmeoni? Miyoung gasped in her mind. And her voice echoed as if she were in a dream.

Let go, child. And then she felt like she was tumbling down, down, down. A drop that felt never-ending. Until she could see without opening her eyes. A light so blinding it filled her mind.

Please, let me help you. I need to do this, for Jihoon! Miyoung pleaded.

You don’t need to do this to earn his forgiveness. Halmeoni’s voice sounded kind, understanding, and it broke Miyoung’s heart.

When he finds out what I did . . . Miyoung couldn’t finish the thought.

You don’t need to tell him. You only need to love him.

I can’t, Miyoung replied. I don’t deserve that.

Child, that’s not for you to decide.

And Miyoung felt like she was yanked back. She tried to reach out again, scrambled to find the connection. But it broke with a snap and a flash. And she felt the sting of the severed bond as she opened her eyes to see Jihoon kneeling over her.

“Oh, thank God, I thought you were going to hurt yourself.” Worry was etched over his features. Worry for her. It caused a warm glow to settle in her.

“Hurt myself?” Miyoung asked, realizing she was sprawled on the ground. She sat up and rubbed the back of her head. She must have hit it when she fell.

“Yeah, you were jerking around and I couldn’t stop you.” His hand rubbed at his cheek and she saw the beginnings of a bruise.

“Are you okay?” She touched the purpling skin, and he pulled back, the worry gone and replaced with a stony mask.

“So? Did it work?” His eyes went to his halmeoni’s still form, but she thought she felt his disappointment.

She heard Halmeoni’s voice in her head still and wondered if that had been real or if she’d just imagined it all.

“No, I don’t think it worked.” Miyoung decided it best not to tell him what she’d heard in case it had all been her imagination.

“So you can’t do it.”

“I’ll keep trying.” She gathered her things.

Jihoon didn’t reply; he only sat in the chair she’d vacated and took his halmeoni’s hand in his.

You only need to love him, halmeoni had said.

But how could she when she only brought him pain?



* * *



? ? ?

Two weeks passed with no progress. Halmeoni had been right. If Miyoung took the gi of the sick and the dying in the hospital, then she might accidentally drain them, killing them in the process. Then she’d be the monster she claimed she didn’t want to be anymore.

So Miyoung scoured the city, finding relics and objects rumored to hold some spark of energy. At one point she spent a whole afternoon trying to see if she could pull energy from an old Joseon vase rumored to have once been a dokkaebi. She’d achieved nothing other than shattering the vase.

And with her energy waning, she couldn’t handle the physical demands of searching the whole city for an answer.

Miyoung leaned over the bathroom sink and let the water flow into her cupped hands. She was grateful there weren’t many visitors in this wing of the hospital so she could be sick in private. Her mouth still tasted like bile, and her stomach still rocked like she was standing on a boat in the middle of the sea.

Leaning against the counter, she studied her sallow face in the mirror. It was getting worse.

The closer she got to the hundred-day mark, the worse she felt. Sometimes she was so hazy, she felt like she was walking through a dream, one she couldn’t wake from. But during moments when the pain was at its peak, she yearned for the fugue-like state.

“Keep it together, Gu Miyoung,” she said to her reflection. “You don’t need to last much longer.” The pep talk didn’t really work, but a part of her figured if she was talking, at least she wasn’t throwing up.