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Release the unclean spirits.The voice wasn’t her own, but that of the shaman, whose eyes never left Miyoung.

I can’t breathe,Miyoung thought. It felt like the hands of the dead were clamped against her skin, their cold fingers holding her throat closed.

Death holds you. It covers you.

She clawed at her own neck. Trying to tear a path for oxygen to enter her body again.

The gold-wrapped bead in the shaman’s hands seemed to glow, bright as fire. A twin of the flames that shot through Miyoung’s veins. She tried to crawl, thinking to snatch the bead back, but she could barely sit up.

She tensed against the pain until her back arched in reply. Heat enveloped her, fireworks trailing through her bloodstream.

I’m sorry. I’m sorry,she tried to say, but couldn’t get the words out.

She twisted in torment, her body moving along with the jerky dance of the shaman.

And in her wavering vision a darkness seemed to spread, like a black hole opening in the forest. It pulled at the ghosts that surrounded her, devouring them. Their protests became a piercing wail.

Then the darkness pulled at her, like it sucked at her very soul. Like it sought to pull that piece of her free from her body. When she opened her mouth to scream, no sound would come.

Something burst through the trees, a large shape that looked clumsy and shambling next to the graceful dancing shaman: Jihoon. He raced forward, pulled Shaman Kim around, and yanked the bujeok-covered stone from her hands. He dropped it with a yelp, blisters decorating his palm with angry red welts.

Though the dance had stopped, the lightning shootingthrough Miyoung didn’t cease. She lurched up. Her legs threatened to buckle. Her heart ached.

She craned her neck, gasping for air, and saw the full moon bright in the sky.

Using the last of her strength, she ran.

30

JIHOON DROPPED THEfox bead and stared at the burns on his palm, like he’d pulled a lit ember from the shaman instead of a stone.

The stunned face of the old woman almost had him bowing instinctively in apology. Then Miyoung raced into the trees.

Jihoon took off after her, calling for her to wait. She didn’t listen, and by the time he’d left the light of the clearing behind, he’d lost her.

Away from the candles in the clearing, Jihoon realized the moon wasn’t breaking through the thick canopy of the forest. Everything looked the same to him. And he was beginning to realize he was alone in the woods on the full moon.

A cry pierced the quiet rustle of the trees, and Jihoon’s heart jumped to lodge itself firmly in his throat.

He recognized the cadence. It was too jerky to be the howl of the wind and too tormented to come from an animal. A person crying.

Jihoon found her below a tree that grew in gnarls and twists. Bending in on itself before turning back to reach toward the sky.

Miyoung curled into herself, her limbs folded tight to her body in a strange mirror of the warped tree. She buried her face in her knees.

And waving around her in the dappled light of the moon were nine ghostly tails.

“Miyoung-ah.” Jihoon approached slowly, stumbling over roots and rocks.

He inched forward, the way someone would approach an injured animal.

Miyoung’s hands fisted in her hair, pulling at the ebony strands so hard, Jihoon worried she would tear them from her scalp.

Jihoon closed the rest of the distance between them. He tried not to stare at the swaying tails. One skimmed against his arm. Jihoon didn’t know what he’d expected, but the soft brush of fur made goose bumps rise along his skin.

“I’m so tired,” Miyoung mumbled. “I’m so hungry.”

“Miyoung-ah?” Jihoon said again.