Wicked Fox (Gumiho #1)(9)

After she’d lived for a thousand years, the fox had gathered an exceptional amount of gi.

Through this energy she transformed herself into a human. A beautiful woman loved by any man she met, but never for long.

So she walked the earth alone, not quite human, but not quite beast.

A fox who loved the mortals she mimicked.

Until she could not love them anymore.





3





JIHOON WAS DREAMING. He knew this even though there was nothing to particularly signal this. It was just an overwhelming sense of knowing.

The forest was silent as he wove through trees made silver by the moonlight. Fog obscured the forest floor, so he couldn’t make out his own feet. For all he knew, he floated above the ground, as his steps made no sound. In fact, nothing did. No rustling of leaves from wind or birds. No snapping of twigs from scurrying creatures. No noise of any kind broke the complete stillness of the woods.

He’d never been aware while dreaming before, but it had been a strange night all around, so what was one more weird thing to add to the pile? He remembered hearing someone say that if you could lucid dream, you could make yourself do things, like breathe underwater, or fly. He mused over it a moment, then took two running steps before leaping into the air . . . and falling to the ground with a thump. Twigs and leaves dug into his cheek as he fell on his face.

“What are you doing?”

He jerked up to stare into the empty forest. Then he stood and looked down the path. Nothing. When he turned back, she stood there. Her eyes hooded by shadow. Her arms folded. Her tails fanned behind her.

At the sight of her, the woods came alive again. The whistling of wind blew at her long hair. Leaves crunched as he took a step back. And the call of a far-off bird echoed dimly as he stared at her.

“What’s happening? Why are you here?” Jihoon tried not to stutter.

“This is a dream, but how you got here I’m not sure. It’s worrisome.”



“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked, but she didn’t answer.

Her head cocked to the side, her eyes lifting to the moon as if listening to a faraway call.

Then, without warning, she yanked him behind a clump of thick bushes.

His yelp of surprise was muffled by her hand.

“She’ll hear,” the girl whispered. There was steel in her voice.

Her words were enough to keep him silent. Hadn’t he just learned to believe in monsters?

Every movement of the woods became a threat. The howl of wind through branches. The snap of twigs as creatures skittered. A rustle to his right. A flash of pale movement.

“Was that—?”

The girl shushed him and held up a thin arm, pointing to their left.

A lithe shape lurked among the trees, almost invisible. Its graceful movements made no sound, like the mist of fog sifting through the forest. It had a sharp snout and pointed ears, thick red fur, and bright eyes. And behind the fox wove nine tails.

The gumiho paused, her head perked up, eyes tracking toward their hiding place. Jihoon held his breath. The fox stepped forward when a crack echoed from farther in the woods. She took off toward the sound in a flash.

Jihoon finally exhaled and glanced at the girl. She let a handful of stones drop in a rain of thuds.

“Who was that?” Jihoon asked.

“My mother. She doesn’t like humans.”

“And you do?” Jihoon rose, and the movement made his head spin.

“I don’t hate them,” she conceded. “Though it’s worrisome that you’re here.”

“You said that before. What does it mean?” The forest tilted to the left, then to the right, like the sway of a ship on the sea. He felt like he was being pulled somewhere he didn’t want to go and tried his best to hold on to this place, this dream.

“Why did you pick up my bead?” she asked.

“Your bead? You mean that pearl?”

“Why were you in the forest tonight?”

My dog, he tried to say, but bile rose in his throat instead of words.

“Did you know I’d be in the forest? What did you want with my bead?” The girl’s voice sounded garbled, like it was processed through a synthesizer before reaching his ears.

“What’s happening to me?” Nausea rolled through him, thick and sticky, as the surrounding trees did tight pirouettes.

She watched him curiously. “When the body wants to wake, it doesn’t matter what the mind desires.”

“I’m waking up?” Jihoon asked. “Then why do I feel so funny . . .”

Before she could reply, the forest floor fell from under Jihoon’s feet.

He dropped into darkness, his screams absorbed by the earth as it swallowed him.





4





MIYOUNG WOKE SLOWLY from the dream. It took her a moment to realize she wasn’t in the forest but in her new bedroom. In a wrought-iron bed piled high with pillows. Large windows beside her bed let in the moonlight. She glanced at the clock and the bright numbers glared back at her: 3:33 A.M.

The memory of the dream clung to her like a film of grease covering her skin. Forest and mist and that boy. She rarely dreamed, and when she did it was never quite so vivid. It felt as if he’d walked into her mind. It’s worrisome. She’d said it in the dream and she thought it now.