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“Of course.” Miyoung bowed low, staying that way until she heard the door shut behind her mother.

After she watched her mother’s cab pull away, Miyoung made her way into the forest. The path to her meeting place with Nara was narrow, the stairs made of worn stone that gave way to dirt and rock.

The moon felt fuller than full tonight, like an overfilled balloon ready to burst. Only, Miyoung was the one that might explode. Her skin itched like a thousand bugs crawled over her body. Her stomach turned somersaults, as if warning her that she was running perilously low on gi. She needed to finish the ceremony and feed. Once she fed she’d feel better.

She found Nara at the base of a gnarled tree that had lost all of its leaves to late fall. The moon peeked through the naked branches to cast twisted shadows on the shaman as she set up an altar. On a small wooden table sat a copper bowl filled with water and a bowl of sand holding lit incense.

“I’m almost ready,” Nara said, without looking up.

“Will it be quick?”

“The ceremony will.” Nara bit her lip, checking a list of hastily written notes.

Miyoung accepted the half answer. She understood they were both in uncharted territory.

“Sit.”

“How did you learn about this ceremony?” Miyoung asked as she sat across from Nara. The question was innocent enough, but it brought sadness to Nara’s eyes.

“My mother wrote about it in one of her journals. She loved to study other faiths and beliefs from our history. My halmeoni said it made her a better shaman.”

Miyoung noted Nara’s grief. The yearning of a girl who’d never known the people who bore her.

“I’m sure she’d be proud of you. Both of your parents would.” It was a generic platitude, but the best Miyoung could come up with.

“All I can do is try my hardest to live up to their memory.” Determination brightened Nara’s face. And Miyoung thought that this Nara with her strong eyes and set mouth was beautiful.

“Let’s begin.” The shaman took deep breaths, her eyes still glued to the paper in her hand. “Do you have the talisman?”

Miyoung pulled it out, handing the envelope to Nara. The talisman looked no different from the yellow bujeoks Nara made in her own shop.

The young shaman started to chant. Words that called forth the energy of yin and yang. She spoke of clean water and pure form. She chanted about fire as she lit the talisman, letting the ash fall into the water-filled bowl.

When the talisman had burned away, Nara swirled the bowl of water slowly. The ash had mixed with it, turning the water opaque gray.

Nara dipped her fingers in and reached forward. Miyoung jerked back.

“Stay still,” Nara commanded, so stern that it surprisedMiyoung. The shaman rubbed her ash-covered fingers on Miyoung’s eyelids and forehead.

A dozen questions perched on Miyoung’s tongue, but she swallowed them as Nara held out the bowl. “Drink.”

The water still smelled of fire and smoke.

“Drink,” Nara repeated.

The liquid was warmer than Miyoung expected, as if the flame still lived within the ashes of the talisman. As she sipped, she fought the urge to gag. She couldn’t swallow the next gulp, and she coughed so hard she worried she’d vomit.

“You must drink it all.” There was urgency in Nara’s voice.

The next sip tore at her as she swallowed. Bits of talisman stuck to her innards, scraping against her. She doubled over with the pain. The bowl fell from her shaking hands, spilling in the dirt.

“No!” Nara shouted, scrambling forward. But there was nothing for her to salvage.

Miyoung could barely breathe past the agony. Her insides were alight with bright embers that spread through her organs. “What did you do?” Even her voice scraped her throat, like she breathed fire instead of words.

“You should have swallowed it all,” Nara said. Panic laced her voice. “I don’t know what will happen now.”

Shadows wavered and danced. Miyoung wasn’t sure if it was the sway of the trees or her own dimming vision. She stumbled to her feet and almost fell when her legs started to buckle.