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“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.

“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 approachMiyoung. 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 wordgumiho, 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.”