Page 12

Chapter Twelve

K i s a

N am Somi looks bored as she glances between Kisa, Seokga, and the babbling Hwanin. “Well,” she says, “I see that you two got really busy, really quickly.” She takes a step closer to Kisa, staring at the baby. “Aw, cute. He has your nose,” she says to Seokga, “and her smile.”

Kisa swallows hard. Despite her adamance the fox lacks a motive, she has to admit that there is a chance that Somi killed Hwanin. She steps back, hugging the child protectively as Seokga joins her side.

“I didn’t kill him,” Somi says a moment later underneath the trickster’s death glare. The intensity of it frightens Kisa—she’s not seen him look at her that way before, and never wants to. “But okay, I’ve been following you two since you came up on Deck 10, where I was…” Somi winces. “Where I was, um…Where I was.”

“And we’re just supposed to take your word for it?” hisses Seokga, and with a snap, his cane transforms into a sword. “I think not.”

“Seokga, no. I think I saw her,” Kisa quickly cuts in, remembering what had caught her gaze over Seokga’s shoulder. A huddled woman on a sun lounger, crying. “Where exactly on the deck were you?” she asks the other woman.

“On a pool chair,” Somi mutters. “One in the corner of the deck.”

“And what were you doing?” she tests.

“Sitting.”

Kisa waits.

Somi sighs. “I was crying,” she admits. “Like this.” Glaring at Seokga, she sits on the ground, draws her knees up to her chin, lowers her head, and starts to sniffle. Everything, down to the shaking shoulders, is accurate.

Kisa turns to Seokga, who looks distinctly unamused. “She’s telling the truth,” she informs him as Hwanin sleepily claws at her shirt. “I saw a woman behind you, covered in shadow. She matches the figure. But why follow us?” She turns to Somi suspiciously.

The gumiho rises to her feet with as much dignity as one can after pretending to cry on the floor to avoid being a murder suspect. Kisa carefully watches her face for flaring nostrils, lip biting, blinking, or nervous perspiration. It’s well-documented, after all, that even the best liars have tells—as subtle as they may be. She watches as Somi looks at her and notes how her face crumples for a moment. (Grief? Guilt? A combination of the two, mixed with something else, like love gone sour?)

“I went up to Deck 10 after the greenhouse to be alone,” she explains. Kisa mentally catalogues her voice—steady but with a wavering edge that seems more due to emotion than anything else. “I don’t like it when people see me cry. When you came up, I followed because I wanted a chance to talk to you—alone,” Somi adds, glaring at Seokga. “I knew you in your past life, which I’m sure you’ve figured out by now. We were…We worked in…You were my…That’s not the point. I’m not sure how much you remember, but there are some things that I wanted to say, um, sorry for.” Her eyes grow glassy. “Obviously, I didn’t get a chance because of the dead body that I did not murder. Also…” Somi crosses her arms. “I don’t recommend that you dive into this murder investigation with Seokga. For one, he’s a shitty detective. Last time, he never even suspected me—or Hyun-tae—before the Dark Days began.”

“Who?” asks Kisa, frowning—was Hyun-tae the name of the eoduksini’s host body? Its anonymity has been preserved for years. How was Nam Somi involved in the Dark Days?—but Somi plows on.

“For another, the last time you got involved with him on a case, you got yourself killed.”

“I’m…already dead.”

“And, by the way…” Somi clears her throat, ignoring Kisa’s matter-of-fact statement. Perhaps if she says it enough, it won’t bother her anymore. “It couldn’t have been me anyway. I don’t have claws,” she says very quietly. “Not long enough to murder anyone.” Eyes averted, she holds up her hands. Snikt. Kisa’s heart falls as the dark stubs, the ragged edges, protrude from between the gumiho’s knuckles as if somebody had taken a blade and…

A long silence follows.

Seokga slowly sets down his sword and reverts it into a cane. When Kisa looks at him, his face is emotionless, but his thoughts are almost resignedly pitying.

—looks—painful—not—to dig out—heart—can’t—be—suspect—how did she—die—shouldn’t have said—in greenhouse—still—hate her—

Kisa takes a careful step toward the gumiho, after gently depositing Hwanin into a reluctant Seokga’s arms. To her exasperation, he does not look thrilled, and holds Hwanin at an arm’s length. “Can I see?” she asks softly. “I’m a doctor,” she reminds Somi as she hesitates. After another long moment, Somi gives Kisa her hands. The gumiho’s face is full of shame. “How did this happen?”

Somi shakes her head. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

Kisa can respect that. “Okay,” she murmurs and bends closer to the ruined claws. Gumiho anatomy. She rummages around in the shelves of her mind before finding the information she needs, tucked away under her first semester at NSUMD.

Gumiho claws differ slightly from the claws of a regular fox in length and sharpness. However, like the typical Vulpes vulpes, gumiho claws are keratinized modifications of the epidermis and will take, in the case of traumatic breakage or removal, an extended amount of time to grow back. For gumiho with broken claws, a practicing physician may administer a smoothing salve that will round jagged edges and decrease the chances of accidental harm befalling the gumiho from their own appendages. There is not much else to be done but wait for the claws to heal themselves…

Somi’s hands tremble as Kisa looks up at her. “There’s a salve I can make,” she offers, releasing her hands. “It’ll round out the edges so you don’t hurt yourself.”

“What’s the point? We’re all dead here.” The claws disappear, and Somi shakes her head as Kisa attempts to explain that yes, they’re dead, but she’s carried wounds into the afterlife and it really is imperative to treat them for the benefit of the soul’s health. “I’m going to help you find whoever killed Hwanin,” Somi interrupts. “Like I said, Seokga is a really bad detective. And—” She glances up at Kisa’s eyes, glances away. “It’s the least I can do.”

“Absolutely not,” sneers Seokga, but Kisa turns to him with a sharp frown, wishing the trickster god could see—as she does—how extraordinarily beneficial this could be. Somi is, after all, a former serial killer. What better consult to have on the case? She watches in satisfaction as the god pauses, takes a good look at her pointed expression, and sighs. “Fine,” he grinds out, nostrils flaring. “But one wrong move, Somi, and I’ll—” He cuts himself off as Kisa’s eyes narrow even further in warning.

Satisfied with his silence, she turns back to Somi. Kisa isn’t entirely sure what Somi did to her in her past life, but from what she’s been able to decipher, there was friendship—and then a betrayal that somehow played into the Dark Days.

When she’d been a child at the academy, Kisa had harbored a morbid fascination with the Dark Days of 1992, spending hours in the haunted library poring over articles and the heavy novels that had been written since while the resident gwisin read over her shoulder.

Gods, what Kisa would give to be a library ghost.

Not much was known by the general public about what, exactly, had happened. Seokga was notorious for refusing interviews left and right. All that’s known is Seokga and his gumiho companion defeated an eoduksini. Nam Somi isn’t mentioned anywhere. Perhaps Somi expects Kisa to despise her. Seokga certainly does. Yet the emotion of betrayal is so very intricately tied to memory…And when Kisa reaches for Somi in the neatly organized filing cabinets of her mind, there is nothing. A notable absence of anything and everything. Trying to hate her feels like trying to hold the wind—a faint, cool flickering of nothing at all.

Kisa doesn’t know Somi save for what she’s seen today, aboard the SRC Flatliner. She’s not at all sure what Hani would say, but Kisa isn’t Hani—a fact that she suspects Seokga is becoming increasingly disappointed in.

A funny feeling sinks her stomach, but she ignores it as she smiles at the gumiho.

“Thank you,” she says, and Somi swallows hard before nodding back.

One diaper change later (the now-empty med bay luckily has a supply), Kisa is more than ready to follow Seokga’s rather sneaky plan of slipping into the security den on Deck 2 and going through the tapes (murder mysteries have the potential to be rather fun when you’re already dead and can’t be murdered again). “Shall we go?” she begins to ask, but in a burst of sound, the clinic doors slam open and the CEO of Jeoseung strides in. His coal-black eyes burn with fury as he looks from Seokga to Hwanin to Kisa.

The CEO is ruthless. Notorious. Kisa has never met him before, but she’s heard horror stories from other employees. He’s a business titan in Jeoseung, an accomplishment that only comes second to the fact he’s the god of death itself.

She stumbles backward in terror, clutching Hwanin close to her chest as Seokga steps protectively in front of her and Somi…looks utterly unimpressed. Sweat trickles down Kisa’s neck as Yeomra hurls something at Seokga.

A light blue gift bag. Kisa peeks around nervously as Seokga pulls out a set of baby clothes in disdain as Yeomra folds his arms. Kisa forces herself to calm down, to neatly pack away her panic and shove the box into a dark corner. He’s not here to toss her into the seven hells. Kisa is a rule-abiding citizen, no matter how much money she stole from ATMs in her past life.

“What the fuck, Seokga?” the CEO finally snaps. “I literally can’t believe this. First you text me about whatever you did in the greenhouse, and now”—he points one pale finger to Hwanin, who squirms happily in Kisa’s arms—“you’ve managed to get our holy, heavenly emperor turned back into a baby on my ten-deck, state-of-the-art ship.” He pulls out a sleek black Samsung. “Yeah, I’m sure the pantheon will love to hear about your colossal fuckup. How long do you think it will take your nephew to hurl you back down to Iseung? My bet’s on five minutes—”

Somi is picking up the baby clothes, tilting the tiny garments left and right. “These are cute,” she tells Kisa, ignoring the quarreling gods. But Kisa cannot tear her attention away.

In a flash, Seokga has tossed aside the baby clothes, launched forward, and wrestled the phone out of Yeomra’s hand. He slams it to the ground, crushes it under his foot. In a voice that reminds Kisa of a wolf’s snarl, he says, “If you were going to call them, you would have already. Why are you here, cadaver ? Let me guess. Word gets out about this, and it’s bad for business. Your investors, the rest of the pantheon, will pull out. Nobody wants to associate with the realm that the emperor was killed in.”

Somi is trying to fit a tiny gray hat with cat ears onto Hwanin’s head. Kisa suppresses a shudder—cats have always made her sneeze uncontrollably. “Aww, look at his ickle wickle smile,” she croons as Kisa turns back to continue watching the two gods with growing wariness. The trickster god versus the death god. It’s riveting, but she doesn’t like how Yeomra’s eyes are glowing like coals.

“Who killed him?” Seokga demands in a low voice. “You know it wasn’t me. If you’ve seen that Hwanin is now”—Kisa meets his eyes as he looks over his shoulder, nodding toward the giggling baby—“very small, surely you saw who killed him. Hmm?” Shivers roll down Kisa’s spine. The trickster, she’s noticed, speaks to everyone but her in a tone cold enough to grow icicles. “Or is it another case of, ‘I don’t know’? Like how you somehow completely fucking missed an eoduksini slipping into a jeoseung saja skin thirty-three years ago?”

Yeomra grimaces, shoving Seokga off him. Kisa has an inkling that Seokga has let himself be shoved. He’s much taller than the death god. Despite his slender build, Seokga has broader shoulders, muscled arms, legs she suspects are just as toned under his pants, and a palpable aura of violence. Not that she endorses violence, but…Kisa’s mouth dries out and she immediately flushes in embarrassment as she realizes her gaze has drifted down to Seokga’s bum. She’s studied anatomy for years, and she has to admit that the god’s posterior really is spectacularly formed.

Stop staring at his bum, she tells herself. Stop it. There are important things going on and besides, you’ve only just met him.

“Heh,” Yeomra is saying. “Heh. Well. Funny you should bring that up.”

“Hwanin’s tits, Yeomra,” Seokga snaps, and then grimaces. “I mean—”

“Can’t use that one anymore,” Somi snickers, tickling Hwanin’s tummy. He squeals and kicks his feet.

Yeomra sighs, glancing at Hwanin. Kisa takes a step back protectively, and the CEO rolls his eyes. “Okay, fine. Yes. I was distracted. Usually, I can see every concerning event that happens in my realm—the eoduksini thing was a fluke, Seokga—but I was distracted. With a very beautiful demon, I might add.”

“Funny,” sneers Seokga, and it’s truly jarring how he’s been so very kind to Kisa tonight and so incredibly rude to everyone else. “That was your excuse last time.”

—fucking—inept—can’t do—one job—want—slap him—

Kisa winces at Seokga’s barrage of heated thoughts, like furiously snapping vipers.

“She’s very demanding.” He rubs the back of his neck. “This looks bad. For me, specifically. Twice now, something like this has happened under my eye. So, uh, here’s the deal.”

“Oh, goody,” the trickster god drawls. “Another fucking bargain. That’s how it always starts, doesn’t it?”

The other deity ignores him. “Cover this up. I mean—” Yeomra shrivels underneath Seokga’s gaze. Kisa feels a thrum of awe at the sheer power Seokga holds in one withering glare. Do all the gods fear him? “Find the murderer. Quickly, before the cruise ends. Don’t let any staff know.”

Surely she’s misheard him. “Why?” demands Kisa, somehow finding her voice for the sheer foolishness of it all. “Aren’t they—we—to report to you?”

Yeomra’s eyes don’t even dart her way, but she still shivers, suddenly regretting her outburst as he scowls. “Because,” he says, like she’s a very unintelligent child (and it rankles—Kisa can take many insults, but insults against her intellect cut deep), “usual protocol doesn’t apply to this. The emperor was murdered. Do you think they’ll call me when there’s an emergency button to contact Okhwang directly? Fucking stipulations,” he adds. “I didn’t want that button. But Hwanin insisted.

“Once you’ve got the murderer, let me know and I’ll descend very dramatically, like this was the plan all along, and deliver divine justice. In the meantime, I’ll keep quiet.” It’s only then that Yeomra actually seems to look at Kisa for the first time since storming into her sick bay. He does a double take, something strange flashing over his face. He seems to be staring in growing confusion at her eyes. “You work here?”

Kisa grits her teeth. “I have for the past seven years,” she informs her employer, resisting the urge to stalk over and stomp on his foot like an immature child.

The death god tilts his head, considering her. He looks at Seokga, and then back at her.

“Is this—” He gestures to her eyes.

“Yes,” Seokga grits out.

“Shit.” Yeomra falters. “I didn’t know. I would have called you.”

The trickster god makes a noise halfway between a scoff and a snarl.

“Look, Seokga.” Yeomra is rubbing the back of his head a little ruefully. “I’ll, ah, toss in something nice for her. A show of good faith.” Kisa watches intently as he turns back to the scowling god. “Solve this and she’ll be released from her duty on this ship. I’ll write her name down on the reincarnation queue.”

Kisa gasps softly as her heart begins to pound. Reincarnation queue. She’s waited nearly a decade for those two words and hearing them has sent her into a state of jubilant shock. Lost in a daze of excitement and hope, she doesn’t see how Seokga stiffens, knuckles suddenly shining around the hilt of his cane.

“And Hajun’s name?” Kisa blurts before she can stop herself.

The look that Yeomra gives her is ripe with disbelief. “What?”

She forces herself to look him in the eye and refuses to retreat. “My friend,” she says quietly. “If we solve this mystery, I’d like for his name to be written down, as well.”

Yeomra’s upper lip curls into a sneer. “Are you seriously trying to negotiate ?”

“I, erm—yes,” she manages to push out with absolute finality. “Yes, I am.”

For a long moment, the CEO stares at her. Stubbornly, Kisa stares back. She can go long bouts without blinking, and refuses to yield until Yeomra’s eyes twitch.

Finally, the death god scowls. “Fine,” he relents. His gaze shifts back to Seokga. “But if you fail, I will absolutely be speed-dialing Hwanung and trying to place all the blame on you. Capisce? Great.” Yeomra backs toward the door, smiling nervously. “Use your mind-reading powers. I’m sure the mystery will be solved in no time.”

Kisa exhales in relief. Of course. Seokga, being the trickster deity, has an array of sneaky powers including teleportation, illusion-crafting, shape-shifting, and reading the minds of creatures. She’s always wondered what it would be like to have a patron other than Samsin Halmoni—not that, of course, she didn’t love her goddess and the healing powers that had come with her patronage when she was alive. But watching the Seokga shamans had always been so very fun. They seemed to have an affinity for shifting into birds and, well, shitting on the Hwanin shamans’ heads.

But as her eyes slide to Seokga’s wincing expression, her relief turns to anxiety. “Seokga?” she urges quietly. “You can read minds, can’t you?”

“I’ve been having some trouble with that,” he mutters.

Yeomra freezes near the doors. “I’m sorry. What?”

Seokga sneers, but not at Kisa. “I have been—according to the wise Dr. Jang—extremely stressed.” His mouth twists. “It’s affected that power. I can’t reach it. Stop gaping, Yeomra. You look like a dying fish.”

Kisa watches as the death deity’s mouth drops open before he abruptly shuts it. “I am going to leave before I have a mental breakdown,” he says slowly. “When I come back, at the end of the cruise, you’d better have found the murderer. Mind-reading powers or no. And keep our esteemed heavenly emperor safe, please. I would, but I’m probably even worse with infants than you are. A demon might eat him.” In a burst of black smoke, Yeomra is gone.

The doors suddenly swing open, and Hajun stands in his place, waving the smoke away from his face. Kisa winces as her friend’s eyes shoot straight to the baby before his head whips to Seokga.

“I—who—how—when?” Hajun gasps. “Kisa? The baby? Did you—”

“Congratulations,” Seokga snarks in a biting tone. “You’re a godfather.”

For the love of the gods…Hajun looks as if he might faint.

“No, I did not birth him in the time since you last saw me,” Kisa replies firmly, setting Hwanin down on a nearby cot and wrangling the squirming baby into the tiny shirt and pants. Hwanin, it seems, does not want to wear any clothing besides his cat hat and diaper. Finally successful, she turns to a bewildered Hajun, excited to tell him the news. They might be free of the Flatliner sooner than either of them ever thought possible. “How do you feel about helping us catch a killer?”