Page 19

Chapter Nineteen

K i s a

G uilt thrums through Kisa’s blood as she enters the sick bay to see little Kun-woo waiting expectantly by the reception desk. The ten-year-old’s head barely reaches its top. He’s holding a teddy bear, and hugs it tight as Kisa approaches.

“Dr. Yoo,” Kun-woo sniffles, and she sees that there’s a trickle of blue blood spilling from somewhere underneath his messy mop of hair. “I’m bleeding again. Can you help me, please?”

That’s the problem with Restorations, Kisa thinks grimly as she ushers Kun-woo to a patient room and seats him on the cot before hurriedly pulling on her latex gloves and gently beginning her work. Depending on the level of emotional trauma that patient experiences, the healing Restorations might come undone if the gwisin is distressed enough. And Kun-woo, who died in a horrific seven-car pileup, is often distressed. For the eight weeks—and eight cruises—he’s stayed on the SRC Flatliner, Kisa has had to Restore him six times.

A familiar sadness tightens her throat. Although Kun-woo is well past the age of being one of her small, newborn patients in the Magical Maternity Unit, an old guilt churns in Kisa’s stomach. If only the powers that Samsin Halmoni granted her had extended to human mothers, human babies. If only she had been able to save more, help more…

Like her own mother. But even the interventions of Samsin Halmoni’s shamans on her father’s side hadn’t been enough to save her.

Kisa’s hands tremble, and with a pinch of her lips, she forces her mind to go blank, fixating intently on the minute work of weaving flesh back together. Repairing the stitches takes almost an hour, and when she finally sends a groggy Kun-woo off to buy a bowl of miyeok-guk from one of the ship’s restaurants (doctor’s orders), she’s exhausted and angry at herself. Kun-woo hadn’t been waiting long, he’d said, but if Soo-min hadn’t gotten to her, who knows how the little boy would have fared. All of his stitches might have unraveled, leaving him a bloody mess, and dragging him back down into despair. She curses herself for having gotten too distracted with Seokga.

She’s never had to balance friendship and work before—she never had anybody more than an acquaintance to juggle with her hospital responsibilities. Kisa vows to become better at it. As she exits the bathroom, hands scrubbed and smelling of lemon soap, the sight of Hajun and Somi greets her. They’re leaning against the counter, waiting for her.

“Hey.” Hajun’s eyes flick to her furrowed brow. He’s still drinking his boba. “Is everything okay?”

“Kun-woo,” she explains, in a tired way of explanation.

Pity crosses the idol’s face. “The last Restoration came undone again?”

“It had just started to.” Kisa rubs her face wearily. “He’s doing well, though. A bit woozy from the sedative, but he’ll bounce back within the hour. I sent him to get some soup. Did you find where Chaeyeon and Korain were around the time of the murder?”

“About that,” says Somi, and then pauses. “Where’s the baby?” she asks, frowning.

“Right here.” The red thread gives a little tug around her finger, and Kisa looks up to see Seokga stalking through the doorway, Hwanin on his hip. To her surprise, the child is wearing the bonnet that she loved and Seokga so vehemently hated—along with a tiny pair of sunglasses. Seokga looks frazzled, and Hwanin looks suspiciously smug. Seokga’s verdant gaze snaps to hers and softens. “Kisa,” the trickster says, “is it normal for babies to float ten feet up into the air?”

As if to demonstrate, Hwanin grins and begins to rise out of his brother’s arm. Seokga snatches him back down by his chubby foot, looking extremely panicked.

“He’s flying already?” she asks, eyes widening. “Oh, that’s—that’s incredible !”

The trickster looks extraordinarily unhappy.

“Books on infant gods are so scarce, with such limited information, even for Samsin Halmoni’s shamans,” she explains, attempting not to gush, but failing spectacularly. She’s practically quivering with excitement. “It’s possible that Okhwang’s Heavenly Library has numerous volumes, but, well, nobody but the pantheon is permitted clearance. So it’s been widely assumed that powers don’t emerge until early childhood, perhaps three or four, but Hwanin doesn’t seem—by my estimations, of course—more than a year old at the very most. With demigods, powers don’t appear until six or seven, and I’ve never seen a child this young flying …I wonder if it’s altered his density, at all, or his gravitational center—” She cuts off abruptly as a flash of intense violet, much more vibrant than the deep, royal shade of embarrassment from earlier, shoots down the thread. It’s hot and sharp, as if hundreds of little needles are prickling at her skin. Panic—Seokga’s panic and worry. His face is so…pale.

“Kisa,” he says in a voice that she suspects is barely controlled, “that’s all very fascinating. But is it normal ? Or is there something wrong with him?” Again, that panic.

Right. Kisa presses her lips together. She’s gotten carried away again. “Infant gods do have their powers, just not the same control over them as their adult selves. He’ll be all right, Seokga.” She wonders why the god seems to know less about infant deities than she does, but it’s apparent that Seokga doesn’t like children very much. She wouldn’t be surprised if he actively avoids them at all costs.

Relief smooths out his face, followed by an expression of supreme annoyance as Hwanin’s tiny hand smacks his mouth. Kisa watches in amusement as Seokga’s eyes meet hers, silently begging for help.

You’re on your own, she thinks, hoping the thread carries her thoughts to him.

By the way his green eyes narrow to slits, she knows it has.

—Kisa—please—he is—insufferable—

She ignores it. Brotherly bonding is important, after all. Hwanin needs to have a secure attachment to somebody, and since she’ll be reincarnated soon (if this all goes well, mystery and squashing both), it’s best to leave Hwanin where he is in Seokga’s arm. Something in Kisa’s chest twists, and she winces as light blue streaks from her side of the thread to Seokga’s. The god falters, staring back at her. His thoughts are a jumbled mess.

—why—sad—Kisa—Hani—want—wish—hope—

Clearing her throat, Kisa turns back to Hajun, who’s watching her in worry—close enough to understand her tells. “So?” she asks before her friend can say anything. “Where were they around eight-thirty last night?”

Hajun hesitates, setting down his boba and glancing at Somi.

“Chaeyeon left the greenhouse at the same time as Hwanin,” the gumiho says, lacing her hands together and meeting Kisa’s eye, as if delivering a formal report. “Hwanin made his way to the I-95, and for a short while, Chaeyeon wasn’t too far behind him.”

Kisa holds her breath. “She was following him?”

Hajun shakes his head ever so slightly and gestures for Kisa to keep listening.

“But while Hwanin continued on to Deck 0, Chaeyeon stopped on Deck 2, where she disposed of the broken glass in the garbage compactor. Afterward, she continued on to Deck 1, where she entered a cabin and stayed for the duration of the night. Meanwhile, Korain left the greenhouse around eight-fifteen p.m ….”

“With Lee Soo-min,” adds Hajun, and Kisa chews on her bottom lip.

“And where did he go?”

“The cameras track Korain heading up to Deck 8, to the bridge for the night watch.”

Her heart is sinking in her chest. “And he stays there?”

“Until midnight, when he swaps out with another man,” Somi confirms.

“But that’s well past the time of the murder…” Exhaling in disappointment and growing confusion, Kisa draws out her notebook and flips through the pages. “Are we sure—are we certain that’s the correct footage? Why was Chaeyeon going through Hwanin’s room? Who’s their ‘Boss’ if not Hwanung?” She hands the transcript from Seokga’s phone call to Hajun and watches anxiously as he reads, Somi looking over his shoulder.

The gumiho’s brows rise. “I would say that’s some solid evidence,” she says. “But as to your question about why the two were rummaging around in Hwanin’s room…” Kisa watches as Somi glances to Seokga warily. “He’s not going to like this. At all.”

“Try me,” the trickster grits out, snatching Hwanin back down from the air like the child is an errant balloon.

Somi hesitates, looking surprisingly nervous, before she licks her lips and smooths down her expensive-looking silk blouse. She’s carrying her usual black purse, and with hesitant fingers, reaches into it and delicately retrieves a glossy, light pink Samsung. After pulling up a screen, she hands it to Kisa, whose mouth drops as she stares down at the blog post.

The Intimate Scoop on Hottie Hwanin’s Intimates ! the text reads in swirly pink letters, followed by:

We at Godly Gossip have received intimate info on the gorgeous HOTTIE HWANIN! Readers beware: Some steamy scoops lie ahead!

One question that has plagued pantheon fans for centuries is if the gorgeous emperor prefers boxers or briefs…And thanks to an anonymous source, we now have our answer! Underneath those majestic hanboks, the divine royal loins are most often clothed in (drumroll, please) briefs !

(Specifically, Calvin Klein 1996 Micro Hip Briefs in white, size M. “They’re the only underwear he has,” our source tells us, although they’re quick to add that he has one pair of pajama pants of the silken variety.)

An ages-old mystery is now solved! Now, the only thing left to wonder is: What does SEXY SEOKGA prefer? Something tells us here at Godly Gossip that he leans toward boxer briefs (specifically of the Lacoste variety, size M, colors black or dark green)…but the tantalizing trickster always has a surprise or two up his sleeve! Place your bets now, because we are confident this is another question we’ll receive an answer to soon!

“It will be in the physical issue tomorrow,” Somi says, backing away from Seokga as he snatches the phone from Kisa and stares aghast at the text. She’s certain that her own expression is just as horrified. “Their ‘Boss’ must be someone at Godly Gossip. Perhaps the editor in chief offered to put in a good word with Yeomra if they got them this information.”

“If I ever find out who their editor is,” snarls Seokga, “I will wreak havoc on their lives. I will set fire to their home and office. I will slowly and painfully rip them into tiny little pieces and—”

Somi smirks. “Wait. You don’t know who runs Godly Gossip ?”

Seokga looks as if he’s just bit into a sour lemon. “ Obviously. ”

The gumiho’s shoulders are shaking with silent laughter. Seokga is glaring at her suspiciously. “Who—”

“This explains the underwear,” Kisa mutters in growing defeat, reaching back for her notebook and slowly crossing Chaeyeon and Korain off the list. Her chest aches with disappointment. For a moment, she’d felt so close to victory, to reincarnation.

“Hey, Kisa?” Hajun whispers. “Are you okay?”

She feels the weight of his worried stare and attempts to collect herself. A mystery like this one does not take only a day and a half to solve, she reminds herself. And just because Chaeyeon and Korain weren’t involved in the murder doesn’t mean that Hwanung hasn’t sent a different assassin. The only question is who ?

The god’s thoughts are irate.

—meddling— Godly Gossip —fucking—underwear—my—boxers—next—fucking—hells—

“Hold the baby,” Seokga tells Kisa, practically thrusting Hwanin upon her, before turning on his heel and storming out of the sick bay. The doors anxiously swing back and forth for a good few moments after his violent departure.

Kisa nervously glances down at Hwanin’s head. If Godly Gossip has informants here, the risks of Hwanin’s murder being outed have soared astronomically. “Well…At least we now know that we’ll need to keep well away from Korain and Chaeyeon.”

Somi grimaces. “It’s a little too late for that,” she says, a bit wryly. “Where do you think Seokga has gone? He’s on the hunt for a certain haetae and inmyunjo. I almost feel bad for them.”

A very uncharacteristic curse word slips from Kisa’s mouth and she shoves Hwanin into Hajun’s arms as if they’re playing a game of hot potato. “Hold him!” she cries before racing after Seokga, following the red thread with a pounding heart.

“ Seokga! ” Kisa half-shouts, finally on Seokga’s fast-moving heels. Her chase has brought her to Deck 4, a bustling level brimming with restaurants and shops. It’s the deck that most resembles a shopping mall, down to the throngs of people. She accidentally steps on dozens of toes as she fights to reach the god, and when she does—desperate not to lose sight of him again—grabs his free hand in hers. Her heart stumbles (in surprise, she tells herself, pure surprise) as he whirls on her. The red thread swirls through the air at the motion, and so focused is Kisa on the way Seokga’s thumb brushes over her skin that she forgets, completely and absolutely, to squash.

Or perhaps she decides not to.

As his flashing eyes scan her face, Seokga seems to relax…and he doesn’t let go of her hand. His fingers, despite their delicate appearance, have calluses. Years spent hunting down Unrulies, Kisa supposes, will do that.

“Kisa,” he says, and his voice is hoarser than usual. “Don’t try to stop me.”

“What are you even planning on doing ?” she retorts, suddenly annoyed as she props her free hand on her hip. “We really do have bigger problems than the world knowing about your brother’s underwear preferences…And it’s because we now know they work for Godly Gossip that we need to keep away from those two! If they find out…” Nervously, Kisa glances around the bustling deck before lowering her voice. “If they find out about the you-know-what, there could be serious consequences. Imagine if it was broadcast all over the tabloids! The CEO would be furious.”

Seokga eloquently suggests, in detail, what the CEO can do to himself instead.

“I can tell you right now that’s not anatomically possible,” Kisa replies primly. Taking advantage of the fact that his hand is still secure in hers, she gives him a good yank. “Come on. We’re leaving before you find Korain or Chaeyeon and cause trouble.”

Reluctantly, the god allows Kisa to drag him up to the eighth deck. When he looks in interest toward the corridor leading to the bridge, where Korain might be, Kisa grips his hand tighter in warning.

“Don’t you dare,” she warns as she hears his thoughts, which detail how very much he wants to tackle the haetae to the floor.

Seokga scowls.

Besides, the bridge isn’t their destination— this is. Kisa pushes gently on the spa’s glass doors to enter, stepping into the elegant, aromatic waiting room. Seokga’s cane clicks against the cool marble floor as they walk underneath a miniature version of the fifth deck’s gigantic chandelier and breathe in some blend of essential oils with hints of coconut and vanilla.

The woman behind the desk looks up as Kisa and Seokga venture forward. “How can I help you? Two for the wet spas?” She reaches underneath the desk and retrieves two small towels.

“Er—” With a start, Kisa realizes that she didn’t think this through much at all.

All she wanted was a place to calm Seokga’s ire, to talk some sense into him before he sabotaged their mission. She’d forgotten, momentarily, that Korean spas are significantly different than western spas. Whereas in a London spa, one might be given a fluffy robe, Korean spas tend to supply only a teeny tiny towel that eventually must come off in the wet spas.

Underneath Seokga’s curious stare, Kisa feels her cheeks burn. “Oh, erm, uh…Could we do the dry spa instead, please?” The dry spas are communal, coed, and, most important, clothed.

Clothing is rather important.

Especially on Seokga. For her own sake, he must keep his clothing well and fully on.

“Sure,” says the woman, and replaces the towels with two neat shirts and bottoms resembling soft gray pajamas, along with two small towels and keys. “Lockers are right around the corner,” she adds, before turning her gaze back to the computer. Kisa scoops up the clothing, while Seokga grabs the towels and keys. There’s a bemused sort of amusement radiating down the bond as they walk past the reception desk, down a small corridor leading to two changing rooms—one for women and one for men.

“Well,” says Seokga as he gives her a key and she hands him the clothing, “this is unexpected.”

“You need to calm down. I thought this might help, that’s all.” Her cheeks are burning again. “We’re just doing the dry spa. I’ll meet you out here in a moment.” Ducking quickly into the female changing room, Kisa shakes her head to clear it as she slips out of her shoes and replaces her scrubs with the spa-wear. She sets them neatly down in the wooden locker, uses the key, and takes a moment to breathe.

It is, she thinks, really not a good sign that the thought of seeing Seokga naked has gotten her so frazzled. With complete concentration, Kisa stops herself from thinking about his bum. Instead, she attempts to gather those thoughts and dump them unceremoniously into the very back of her filing-cabinet mind. Unfortunately, a few flutter out through the drawer’s crack.

Kisa closes her eyes and counts to ten. Then twenty. Then fifty-four. Then sixty-seven.

Sufficiently cooled down (and rather hoping the red thread kept those thoughts of hers private), Kisa meets Seokga back in the corridor, the stone floor cold on her feet. It’s odd, seeing him out of his dark, designer garments…Almost like seeing him naked. Her face feels like it’s on fire.

Stop that.

Kisa mentally recites boring textbook passages as she leads him farther into the spa. The marble floor gives way to warmer wood, and the ceiling expands, making room for the varying levels and the wooden staircases leading to them. In this first large communal area, small pools of water, decoratively lined with potted plants, burble softly. A white formation, rather like a very large onion made of white stone, sits near one of these small pools. Kisa makes a beeline to it, followed by Seokga. The wet areas will be deeper into the spa: This is just a simple sauna, and as Kisa steps into it, she’s happy to see that it’s empty, save for them.

Her feet sink into the salt piled on the floor as she makes her way to a wooden bench. Seokga takes the one opposite her, leaning his head against the slightly sweating wall. It’s certainly warm in here, Kisa thinks, focusing on not looking at the strong, exposed column of Seokga’s neck. She gathers her curls into a high bun, letting her own neck breathe.

For a while, both god and gwisin are silent. Seokga’s eyes have fluttered shut, and his previously tense shoulders have loosened.

When he does speak, Kisa nearly jumps out of her skin (for reasons thoroughly unknown to her, she was watching a small bead of sweat roll down his neck onto his collarbone). “This is…nice,” the god says, opening his eyes as Kisa averts her own. “Thank you.”

She smiles, fanning herself. It’s really so hot in here. “Are you perhaps feeling less murderous?”

A crooked, almost sleepy, smirk. “Maybe.”

“Then I’ve done well.” Kisa pulls her knees up to her chest and lifts her hand, examining the red thread tied around her left pinky. Her eyes narrow as it quivers—as if giggling—and curls itself into little hearts. “It’s doing it again!”

“Hmm?” The god’s gaze is heavy-lidded.

“The thread…” Kisa sighs in exasperation as it smooths itself back out and swirls innocently through the air. WHO, ME? it spells. She glares at it. That cannot be a hallucination. Can it? “Never mind.”

Seokga blinks a few times. “Why didn’t you want to do the wet spas?” he asks, and Kisa’s entire face flames.

“Erm…the wet spas…” She fumbles for words, but her embarrassment turns to frustration as she sees a tiny sliver of a smirk curling his lips. “Oh, really! You know, don’t you?”

“I do,” he snickers, and she glares at him. “I just wanted to see you squirm.”

“You’re honestly terrible,” she mutters, and unexpectedly, there’s a burst of yellow from his end of the thread to hers. His happiness is bright and pleased. Kisa arches her brows at him, and Seokga grimaces. He glares at the thread.

“I don’t know why that happened.”

—happy—teasing—me—like—friends—

Kisa quirks a brow, and it’s Seokga’s turn to blush. This immortal trickster— blushing. Kisa bites back a smile, watching Seokga swat at the insubstantial thread almost playfully. Unable to suppress her amusement, she snorts, before her hands fly to her nose in embarrassment.

Seokga gapes at her. “Was that you ?”

“No,” she insists, attempting to withhold another undignified sound. “There’s a pig somewhere in the spa…Lends to the experience, you know…” A surprising pleasure fills her as the trickster dissolves into laughter.

“Hwanung’s tits,” he wheezes, wiping at the corners of his eyes, where a silver lining has formed. “I thought you laughed like her, but that…That was wholly unique…”

She feels her smile waver. I thought you laughed like her. As she tries to shove aside some inexplicable feeling of inadequacy, Kisa is thoroughly betrayed by the Red Thread of Fate as it carries a glow of green from her side to Seokga’s. Her envy. She watches as it melts into Seokga’s finger, as his laughter dies, and she fights against a swell of embarrassment as he looks, in concern, to her.

—shouldn’t have—compared—Hani—Kisa—she—looks so—upset—fuck—Jang said—theory—

“It’s all right,” Kisa manages to say, staring down at the salt floor. “To be expected, really.” She hates this feeling of envy and wishes it could feel as ridiculous as it sounds—jealous of herself in a past life. But Kisa knows what conclusion she draws from the Ship of Theseus question. And despite this new feeling of friendly familiarity around Seokga, she’s not Hani, not a mass-murdering gumiho that steals from ATMs. If Seokga fell in love with someone like that, what must he think of her now? In nature versus nurture, nurture has won. She knows he must be disappointed.

It shouldn’t even matter. It doesn’t.

“Kisa,” Seokga says—awkwardly. The godly prince is awkward before her. It warms something in her to see him fumble for words that come so coldly and quickly when he speaks to others. “I am sorry. I didn’t mean…”

“It’s fine,” she replies quickly, too quickly. Seokga’s expression becomes almost wretched before it quickly smooths out. “Really. I understand. I’m not her. You looked for her for so long, and I’m not…her.” With slightly trembling fingers, she scrapes back a loose strand of hair. “I suppose I’m sorry for that, too.”

She hadn’t meant to say it, and she almost wishes she hadn’t.

His eyes flare in alarm. “ Don’t apologize—”

She hates this conversation. Despises it. Despises herself for her envy, for having been watching his neck, having been thinking about his bum earlier. Time to move on—and quickly. “We should strategize,” she cuts in. “Now that we know Korain and Chaeyeon are, well, not innocent exactly—but not guilty of the murder, either…There’s so much to do.”

Seokga’s jaw twitches in a way that tells her he’s not done with the previous conversation, but runs a hand down his face. “Fuck,” the god mutters.

“The cameras didn’t pick up any witnesses on the I-95, or near the stairwell, but perhaps someone heard something. If there’s a way that we can subtly poke around…Seokga?” The god is slumped against the wall, and for the first time, Kisa notices the dark circles under his eyes. “Are you…”

“I’m exhausted,” he rasps. “Hwanin kept me up all night with his crying. I had no idea how to make it stop. I kept thinking the murderer had snuck in. I’ve barely slept. I don’t know how I’ll survive tonight, much less five more days of this.” She watches in growing concern as he thumps his head softly against the wall. “I’m tired, Kisa,” he says. “I’m so tired.”

Dark gray crawls down the thread, and Kisa nearly bows over when she feels his exhaustion. So similar, in so many ways, to her own. Perhaps that’s what possesses her to make the offer, or perhaps it’s the way he looks so rumpled—and so young, not at all like a powerful god—in the spa pajamas…

It is a terrible idea, she tells herself. A really truly and terrible idea. Don’t you dare offer. It is not at all going to assist in the squashing. Why are you opening your mouth? Don’t say it—

“I could help,” she hesitantly murmurs. “With…Hwanin. At night.”

Seokga stares at her. Honestly. Where has her self-control gone? Down the gutter, that’s where.

Kisa clamps her mouth shut, yet feels no guilt—even as her logical self groans in frustration and buries her head in her hands.

The god is still gaping.

Perhaps it’s necessary to explain why she’s offering in a purely factual way (although she is quite certain now that her reasoning is not motivated by her beloved facts, nor logic). Quickly, she rushes out, “I was one of Samsin Halmoni’s shamans, remember? I was a doctor in the MMU—the Magical Maternity Unit. I can help you with Hwanin at nighttime…Show you what to do, how to tell what he needs…”

His face twists at the mention of her goddess, and once again she wonders what he could possibly have against her. But then his face clears, and his eyebrows shoot up. “You do realize,” he says slowly, “that would require you to stay…”

“Overnight. Yes.” Soo-min will have her head if she finds out, but Kisa—rule-abiding, authority-fearing Kisa—doesn’t care. It’s decidedly uncharacteristic, and she decides not to linger too long on why. Perhaps that’s what Hajun meant when he so valiantly attempted to explain “fun” to her. Perhaps fun is harmless. Fun is fine. As a temporary stop on the way to the DAR, of course. “If it helps you get some rest, especially in the middle of this investigation, I really don’t mind.”

Seokga’s throat bobs. “Yes,” he blurts, before a rush of purple embarrassment shoots down the bond. “I mean,” he says a moment later, more slowly (as if trying very hard to sound dignified), “that it would…help. Yes. It would help.”

Kisa flattens her lips to keep them from spreading into a thoroughly unnecessary smile. “Can I ask you something?”

“Anything,” says Seokga, who looks as if he’s fighting off a smile, too.

“I still haven’t figured out why you hate Samsin Halmoni,” she admits. “My goddess.” As she expected it would, his face darkens at the name. “Why, Seokga?”

“Why?” he half-snarls, taking her aback. “Because the entire pantheon knew I was looking for you, Kisa. Running myself ragged scouring the earth for a man or woman with your eyes. Angular and wine-brown, with those lashes…Hani’s eyes. And Samsin Halmoni clearly knew—and didn’t tell me. All this time, you were within my reach. But I didn’t get to you before you…”

“Died,” she offers helpfully.

Seokga flinches. “Yes.”

Kisa tries not to think about that night, but the hairs on the back of her neck still rise up, and she can’t stop herself from twisting around. But it’s only the wooden wall.

—Hajun—said—more in common—than—

“That night,” Seokga says carefully, “when you fell…”

“I don’t want to go into any more detail about it,” Kisa replies automatically, and when her mind threatens to go there, to the moment before she fell when it all suddenly seemed so terrifying and hopeless, she yanks it back. “Samsin Halmoni is a kind goddess,” she says. “Perhaps she didn’t know.”

“She knew,” the trickster spits, and Kisa can’t help but wonder if that’s the case. She’d only met Samsin Halmoni a few times, but each time, the goddess had commented on her eyes. Such a pretty color, she’d crooned—and now Kisa feels a sharp sting of betrayal at the memory, and a stab of pity for Seokga. All those years spent trying to find her, for nothing.

Why? Some petty grudge?

“Samsin Halmoni despises me,” Seokga continues. “She always has. She’s one of the deities who never forgave me for the coup, and who never want to see me happy. When I return to Okhwang…” He trails off. “I don’t know if she’ll even be punished. Without Hwanin, I’m…”

—alone—

Kisa’s throat tightens. Seokga shakes his head, averting his eyes. “Tell me something, Kisa,” he says suddenly, desperately. “What did you want?”

She blinks, taken aback. “What?”

“What did you want, in life?”

Oh. Kisa nibbles on her bottom lip. It’s a private question, but she feels strangely comfortable answering. “I wanted a lot,” she replies honestly. “And I got most of it.” Acclaim, accolades, a world of knowledge stored safely in her mind…

“Was there anything you didn’t? Get, I mean?” Seokga’s face is strangely vulnerable as he returns his gaze to hers. It makes him look young, Kisa thinks. Much younger than his immortal years.

“There was…there was one thing, actually.” She kicks a bare foot over the salt floor, suddenly self-conscious. “A dream of mine, I suppose, although an impossible one.” Kisa hesitates, a part of her rather frightened that Seokga will find her dream lacking, somehow.

“Tell me,” he murmurs.

Kisa swallows hard, nervous. She’s never shared this with anyone before. Her secret dream, what she would fantasize about as she lay in bed, staring up at her ceiling. “Okhwang’s library,” she whispers, and she knows that it means something now that she’s told him this secret. That something might…change. She supposes she should be terrified, but strangely, she’s not.

Seokga’s brows raise, but there’s no amusement on his fine features as she’d so feared. Bolstered by his lack of disdain, Kisa pushes forward. “The Heavenly Library is—to shamans—something like the Library of Alexandria. Its halls are filled with hidden knowledge, the secrets to… everything. I know that nobody but the gods are ever allowed inside its halls, but that’s never stopped me from wanting it…” Kisa trails off, worrying she’s lost him. But Seokga is studying her with an intent expression, truly listening to her in a way her family, or her acquaintances at NSUMD, never did. She could talk about the Heavenly Library for hours, and if Seokga doesn’t stop her soon, she just might. “I used to dream about it. The books it must have. How beautiful it must be in there…”

“I’ve been in the Heavenly Library,” Seokga says, and Kisa leans forward, itching to know more. “It’s dusty and cold.” The words are spoken with such nonchalance that Kisa nearly falls off her bench. “Quite eerie, actually. The librarians quit some centuries ago, and finding a book in that mess is impossible. ”

“Say you’re lying, please,” Kisa manages to choke out.

“Sadly, I’m not.” He smirks.

How can the great library of Okhwang possibly be dusty, cold, and messy ? How can the pantheon possibly take such a wonderful thing for granted? “No,” she says. “Absolutely not. I simply won’t believe it.”

“There are bats in the Heavenly Library,” Seokga continues, and she knows he’s goading her, but she falls for it anyway. “Bats and moths…”

“That is sacrilege. ” Even worse than the tattered condition of the romance book Somi gave her, which is currently in her spa locker and begging to be read. Kisa balls up her fists. “It should be polished and grand and—and use the Dewey decimal system! Those books are treasures, they’re priceless, they hold the secrets to the universe and everything in between—”

“You’re lovely when you’re angry,” Seokga interrupts, and his surprise shoots down the red thread, as if he hadn’t meant to say that at all. Kisa’s cheeks flush and her heart gives a peculiar little flutter.

If he had found her sooner…Before the red thread, before she died…What could they have been?

“Thank you,” she mumbles, blushing.

Seokga smiles, looking rather pleased with himself. He’s very sweaty by now, Kisa notes, his golden-beige skin shining with perspiration. The heat of the sauna is the only reason her mouth dries out as Seokga tugs at the thin fabric of his shirt, which is now damp. “I’m beginning to think that you actually brought me in here to punish me,” he half-pants, half-accuses.

“Oh, yes,” Kisa says, staring fixedly at his collarbone. “I thought you might sweat out the anger. Is it working?”

“A little too well.” He stands, tugging off his shirt. Kisa’s eyes nearly bulge out of their sockets as she stares at his chest, the firm pecs and deeply cut muscles of his torso, the sharp V just below his hips. Little beads of sweat glimmer on his skin, and she suddenly feels the thoroughly insane desire to lick them off. Where—where on Iseung did that come from?

She’s still staring at his chest. What is wrong with her?

Get yourself together. Kisa bites down hard on her bottom lip, fumbling for some way to squash these absurd desires. Desperately, she shuffles through the filing cabinet of her mind for the fourteenth chapter of Complete Anatomies of Iseung’s Species, remembering the old tome being as painfully boring as watching paint dry—

His Scottish brogue trailed heat, like whips of fire, over Elsie’s bare skin. “God,” Finlay was rasping as she arched toward him, aching desperately to completely and utterly succumb to him. “Ye canna know how long I’ve been wanting this, lass. Waiting for this.”

She bit back a moan as his calloused hands curved around her arse and as his rough stubble grazed the inside of her thigh. “Please,” Elsie whimpered, hardly caring how brazenly wanton she sounded. “I need you.”

Finlay’s dark green eyes raised to meet hers. A devil-may-care smile curved that sinful mouth. “Aye?” the captain of the Jolly Scotsman asked huskily. “How badly? Will ye show me, love?”

A sharp gasp flew from Elsie’s lips as Finlay’s own finally met her where she ached. The sensational glide of his tongue, the carnal noises—

Kisa jerks backward as if she can escape her own thoughts, and chokes hard enough that tears rise to her eyes. That—that was certainly not chapter fourteen of Complete Anatomies of Iseung’s Species. No, that was chapter fourteen of a different book, yes, a very different book—the excerpt of Kidnapped by the Time-Traveling Highland Pirate-King that Kisa had peeked at just this morning.

She is vaguely aware of Seokga’s alarm as she gasps, finally drawing in a huge breath of air. Certain that her face is an obscene shade of blue, Kisa buries it in her hands, staring at the darkness provided by her trembling fingers.

Her first coherent thought: Well. That was rather embarrassing.

The second: Captain Finlay has the same color eyes as Seokga.

The third: I wonder what it would be like to—

No. Squash. Squash.

Now Kisa is certain her face is midnight blue. Wonderful.

—what—the—fuck—

“Kisa,” Seokga is saying, “are you…”

“Yes,” she croaks. “I’m quite well, thank you.”

“Right,” she hears the god say slowly, as if savoring this bewildering—yet apparently amusing—moment. Horrible. He is simply horrible. “Only that…I heard some very interesting things down the bond.”

It’s not enough to be dead. Kisa wishes to be entirely obliterated into nothingness. Hands falling to her lap, she stares at Seokga in complete and utter horror. The god looks extremely baffled, adequately concerned, and yet also incredibly entertained—all at once.

She can’t blame him.

Oh, yes, Kisa has entirely lost it.

“I,” she attempts to say with a haughty dignity she does not at the moment possess, “have absolutely no idea what you mean.”

He’s smiling now, just a bit. Perhaps he’s even trying not to, in order to spare her feelings, but he’s really failing quite spectacularly. “What’s this about ‘the sensational glide of his tongue’?”

Bollocks. “Er.” Kisa cannot think of anything else to say. She fears she looks like a cow chewing its cud as her mouth works speechlessly.

Seokga tilts his head. “Right. Well. I’m going to the wet spas to…cool off. Maybe you should come with me.” A deliberate sideways smirk that somehow manages to both incense her and befuddle her senses.

“Um,” Kisa manages to blurt, face burning. “We have a mystery to solve, we should get back—”

Seokga grins over his shoulder as he leaves the sauna. “We won’t be long,” he tells her.

Kisa is frozen to her seat.

The trickster winks at her. Winks. Kisa unfortunately feels as if she might take a note from Elsie and swoon. “I’ll be in one of the private baths.”

As he disappears, she sits there, in the sauna, debating with herself for almost five minutes. She shouldn’t. She really shouldn’t. There’s no reason for her to. She should instead scurry back to her cabin and wallow in her humiliation.

Yet she told him—about her dream. Never before has she told anybody…And Seokga listened. He’d teased her, yes, but with…affection. And she’d enjoyed it.

Her hand absentmindedly comes to rest above her chest, where a deep ache, a longing, has lodged itself since Seokga left the sauna.

Perhaps this whole squashing experiment is a mistake.

Yes, a-a scientific misstep. Perhaps there’s something else to discover instead. She’s experiencing the Red Thread of Fate, after all. Squashing is not at all helpful to understanding such a rare phenomenon, the very act of squashing is not at all conducive to—to what she’d originally set out to do. Researching the red thread in all of its effects. No, the squashing is holding her back. Making her recite smut down their bond, smut —

Have some fun with him while you wait for reincarnation. You need it, and I think you’d like it—”

It’s for science, Kisa tells herself as she exits the sauna and follows the thread to Seokga. For science.

Every single part of her knows she’s lying to herself.