Page 23

Chapter Twenty-Three

Seokga

“K isa!” Seokga shouts as she tears out of the sick bay—and is only stopped from running after her by Hajun’s gentle, but firm, grip on his shoulder.

“She needs some time alone,” Hajun says, expression somehow remaining mild even after Seokga shakes him off. “And your brother is…uh”—he gestures helplessly above him—“up.”

Clenching his jaw, Seokga realizes that Hwanin has floated completely up to the ceiling, where he’s now gurgling happily down at the three wincing adults. Fuck. He is worse than a balloon, if such a thing is possible. Seokga hates those colorful things.

“You let go of him?” Somi accuses, and Seokga ignores her, staring up at his brother and wondering how in the hells he’s going to get him down. Hwanin grins toothlessly at him, looking extremely proud of himself.

Seokga does not smile back. “Hwanin,” he snaps, “get back down here. Now.”

His efforts are rewarded with a taunting raspberry as Hwanin does a slow somersault midair. Frustrated, Seokga grabs a nearby stool, shoving aside the box of medicine perched on it. He steps onto the seat and snatches Hwanin by the ankle—a half-second before the stool wobbles and tilts beneath him. Pure terror seizes him, and as Seokga falls, he cradles his brother to his chest and turns midair, so his back takes the brunt of the impact. His teeth jar from it and the breath is knocked out of him but he doesn’t care. Seokga sits up, heart pounding, frantically scouring Hwanin for any sign of injury, fingers quivering with fright as he combs through the soft, fine hairs atop his brother’s head—terrified he’ll find blood, or a bump…

“He’s okay.” Hajun is crouched over the two of them, but he’s not looking at Hwanin. He’s watching Seokga, eyes warm. “Seokga, he’s okay. He’s okay. ”

Relief has Seokga’s body sagging. He lifts Hwanin into the air, so he and the baby are eye level. “You are a terrible pest,” he tells the child, but his heart isn’t in it. “A true menace.”

Every time Hwanin comes close to being hurt, Seokga feels like he’s being flayed alive. Those dark blue, star-flecked eyes crinkle as Seokga—possessed by some inane impulse—kisses the top of his head. Ridiculous. Really, Seokga doesn’t know what’s come over him.

Somi makes an awww sound, and he cuts a murderous glance over to her until she stops.

She averts her eyes, and there’s the Somi he remembers. Her bravado is so easily disassembled. As Hajun grabs a box of medical supplies and says something about restocking the bathroom, Seokga climbs to his feet and looks at Somi.

“You’re trying to be like her,” he says once Hajun has disappeared, “aren’t you?”

There’s no question as to who “her” is. Somi’s eyes flash with a rapid blur of emotions: first surprise, then indignation and guilt, followed by other emotions he has no interest in trying to discern.

“The clothes,” Seokga sneers, “the personality. The books. I knew it from the moment I saw you. You’re trying so hard and failing so terrifically to be the woman you helped kill.”

Somi flinches. She’s a child playing dress-up, Seokga thinks in derision, and he can’t take it anymore. He’s tried, for Kisa’s sake, not to act like he did in the greenhouse. But he’s always only one step away from losing control, and his fear of Hwanin being hurt demolished whatever was left of his self-restraint. “Stop that,” she hisses, but her voice is ragged.

Seokga looks down his nose at her. “Stop what?” he drawls, voice freezing enough to encase a desert in ice.

The gumiho balls her hands into fists. “Stop acting like I didn’t lose her, too.” Somi uses the sleeve of her sweater—an oversized cream turtleneck just like the ones Hani wore in the nineties—to wipe away a stray tear. “I d-did something horrible. I’m not going to say that I didn’t know better, because I did. I just lost control. I hadn’t gotten my Jitters and Cravings under rein yet. You can h-hate me for it all you want, Seokga, but you’ll never hate me as much as I hate myself. As for this?” Somi tugs at the hem of her sweater, her face twisting into a self-loathing expression. “She wouldn’t have wanted her clothes to go to waste, or be tossed into the garbage—”

The world grinds to a halt. Seokga’s blood goes dangerously cold as he stares at Somi. “Are you…” he breathes, gripping his cane so tightly in his free hand that his knuckles pop. “Are you actually wearing Hani’s clothing?” He’s noted the resemblance before, but he never thought…

Somi slowly releases her fingers from the fabric, which Seokga is now staring at in a new light. The cream-colored wool might have once sat atop Hani’s skin. It would have smelled like her shampoo, the citrus and vanilla scent of her, mixed with that unique smell of smoke, like a crackling fire. Hani was always burning so brightly.

“Answer me,” Seokga hisses, barely able to breathe. He never knew what became of Hani’s tiny apartment after she died. He honestly had no idea how those affairs were handled on Iseung.

“Yes,” Somi finally whispers. “It’s hers. The bag, too. The books.”

“I,” snarls Seokga, “am going to kill you.” Never mind the fact that Nam Somi is already dead. He will find a way to destroy her very essence, shred her into nothingness—just as soon as he puts Hwanin down somewhere safe. “I am going to kill you —”

“She gave it to me !” Somi half-screams as Seokga transforms his cane into a sword. He freezes. Panting hard, Somi hugs her waist with her own arms. “All of it,” she whispers. “Hani gave me all of it. It was in her will. I snuck back into New Sinsi to tell her I was sorry…and got the will instead. The apartment, the clothes, the jewelry, the weapons, and the novels…Hani had left it all to me.”

“Bullshit,” Seokga snaps, but he’s faltered. Part of him isn’t too sure. “You were just her co-worker, a younger gumiho she took pity on—”

She bristles. “I was her best friend until you came along. We’d both fucked each other over by the end, but we were friends. And who else would she have left it to?” Somi fires back, squeezing her middle tight. “And…And she wrote that will before I went and r-ruined everything.”

He is frozen, a statue that cannot take his eyes off that sweater. Hani’s sweater.

“We all have different ways of grieving,” Somi mutters, staring at the ground. “I wear her clothes, I…act like her, sometimes…because I miss her. For a long time, it was the closest I could get to being with her again.” Defensive, Somi raises her head. “I don’t expect you to understand, but I don’t care. It’s none of your business.”

Seokga’s lips are pressed so tightly together that he’s certain they’re bloodless. His mouth is full of words that he could say— horrible, terrible words—but something in him won’t let them emerge. Perhaps it’s the memory of Hani, using her last words to beg him to spare Somi’s life.

Somi hesitates, too. “Does it even matter if I have the sweater or not?” she whispers. “You found her. Kisa.”

It matters, he wants to retort, but his lips don’t let him utter those words, either.

The gumiho watches him warily. “Don’t tell me that you don’t like her as much as you liked Hani,” she snaps, suddenly drawing herself up. “She’s incredible. She’s smart and kind and she deserves somebody who won’t constantly compare her to who she was in her past life!”

He bristles. Anytime he’s done that, he’s felt like a complete asshole afterward. What does it matter if Kisa prefers coffee to hot chocolate? It doesn’t. It doesn’t.

“She doesn’t owe you anything,” Somi adds ferociously. The protectiveness in her voice reminds Seokga briefly of the way Hani had constantly looked after the younger gumiho. “If she doesn’t like you, then you leave her alone and let her have the space she needs.”

Seokga’s amazed to find that his lips are twitching as Somi continues. “And the last thing you need to be doing is expecting her to stick around for you when the cruise is over. She deserves to make her own decisions about her life—”

“I agree,” cuts in Seokga, suddenly feeling lighter as the last of his rage begins to dissipate.

She falters. “What?”

“I agree,” Seokga repeats smoothly, snapping his sword back into a cane. “With everything you said.”

Somi blinks. “Oh.” She nods, once, then twice, twisting the hem of Hani’s sweater. “Okay. Well, good. Because Kisa is going to be my best friend again, even if she doesn’t know it yet.”

Seokga smirks. “No.”

Her mouth falls open. “Excuse me?”

Seokga smiles at Somi, but it’s not a nasty smile. It’s not exactly a kind one, either—it might never be. But it’s something almost like a sort of grudging solidarity.

She’s the only one who remembers Hani like he does.

And although they were on different sides, Seokga and Somi both made it through the Dark Days. Only they know what truly happened.

But the Dark Days are over. They’re on the same side now.

And they need to work together. For Kisa.

“She’s going to be mine.”

“No,” snaps Somi, suddenly looking very competitive. “No, no, she’s—”

“—already my best friend,” Hajun finishes, strolling back into the sick bay’s lobby, the box of medical supplies now empty in his hands. He grins sheepishly as he sets the cardboard back on the counter. “Sorry. You guys are pretty loud.”

Somi winces and looks completely mortified. “You heard all of that?” she whispers.

Hajun shrugs in a mild sort of way. The way that seems to say, I did, but it doesn’t make any difference to me. “Look, I think it’s wonderful that you both like Kisa so much,” he says, leaning against the counter. “But all of this is going to overwhelm her.”

“All of what?” Somi asks innocently.

The idol gives her an amused look. “If the two of you are going to fight over Kisa,” he says, “don’t do it in front of her. And definitely don’t tell her you’re wearing designer clothing from her past life when she’s not allowed to wear anything but these itchy scrubs.”

Seokga’s mouth tightens.

“I would never fight anybody,” Somi tells Hajun, who snorts in disbelief and then looks slightly terrified. “Are your scrubs really that itchy?” the gumiho asks. “Because I could help get them off your skin…”

“Enough,” Seokga cuts in before Hajun can turn an even more alarming shade of blue. “We have better things to focus on.”

“The offer’s always there,” Somi whispers, winking at Hajun.

The idol looks as if he might faint.

It almost makes Seokga miss the Somi who couldn’t look at a man without blushing, but a part of him is pleased to know that Hani made an impact on her. On Somi. That Hani is still continuing to shape the world and its inhabitants, in some way or another…Even if it’s through another dirty-talking gumiho wreaking chaos in the (under)world.

Hani, he thinks grudgingly, would be proud.

“Feel free to take me up on it,” Somi adds to Hajun.

Thoroughly exasperated and slightly nauseated, Seokga turns on his heel and makes for the security room. After a brief moment, the idol and the gumiho follow.

A few minutes later, Seokga is waiting with Hajun around the corner when Somi returns from scoping out the security room to determine whether it’s clear for them to enter. Her solemn face cuts through his worrying like a knife. He has the distinct impression that he does not want to know—for the sake of his sanity—but he asks anyway. “What happened?”

“The monitors,” Somi replies, voice quiet. “They’ve been destroyed. All of them.”

As they enter the destroyed security room, it’s fucking déjà vu.

Seokga can’t help but remember when Hani—in a desperate attempt to protect Somi—stole cameras, monitors, and entire bod ies from the gumiho’s crime scene. If he had access to the tools he’d had then, Seokga would order they scan for fingerprints or hairs, sending them for DNA testing. But he doesn’t have those luxuries—what he has instead is a crying infant in his arms, a declawed gumiho, and a former K-pop idol with ridiculously nice hair.

“They know we’re on to them,” Seokga seethes, glaring at Somi. “If you had been stealthier last night—”

“I was stealthy!” Under his glower, Somi shrinks back into Hani’s sweater, as if she’s seeking comfort from it.

“—perhaps she wouldn’t have noticed you hiding in the janitorial closet and wouldn’t have destroyed the monitors,” he finishes in a snarl.

Somi bares her teeth back but doesn’t seem to have any scathing retort. She knows that he’s right.

Broken screens and shattered glass litter the floor. File cabinets are completely upended, papers sprawling in a sea of crumpled white. It looks like a wild, rabid animal tore through. Seokga’s mood only worsens when he crouches next to a ruined chair. The faux-leather backing is spilling Styrofoam, leaking out from huge tears. He narrows his eyes at the rips, and—letting Somi’s bitter retort and his brother’s wailing fade into the background—uses two of his fingers to measure one’s width.

Interesting. The claw marks on Hwanin’s body had been too messy to thoroughly examine, obscured by the cavity in his brother’s chest. But here, on the chair, there’s an opportunity to get a closer look.

“What is it?” Hajun asks, peering over Seokga.

“These marks are too big to belong to a gumiho,” Seokga replies slowly. “They were made by claws, yes—four of them. But these aren’t the claws of foxes. They’re far larger.” Eyes narrowing, he passes Hwanin to Hajun. “The perpetrator isn’t a gumiho.” Standing abruptly, Seokga strides to one of the overturned file cabinets. “But the claws,” he says, bending down to rummage through the papers, “the number rules out a yong, who would have three. It also rules out an inmyunjo, who has three, and a haetae, who would have five. That leaves a samjokgu, a bulgae, or a jangsan beom.”

Somi sucks in a sharp breath. Seokga ignores her. Most gumiho have negative reactions to the mention of a samjokgu, whose powers exceed theirs by far and are known to goad the foxes into fights simply to torture and then kill them (despite such practices having been decreed Very Illegal some time ago). Perhaps it was an Unruly samjokgu that killed Somi.

“But bulgae…” Seokga pauses as he thinks of the cheerful, tail-wagging canines who work at the behest of Dalnim and Haemosu. “Those dogs aren’t shifters. Whoever we’re looking for has a human form, as well. And I haven’t seen a jangsan beom in centuries.”

The tiger-shifters are exceedingly rare, on the brink of extinction just like their mundane Panthera tigris counterparts. Their dwindling numbers are possibly due to their meager lifespans. Unlike creatures such as the immortal gumiho, jangsan beom live around one to two hundred years on average—rather short for such a powerful creature. The last one he saw was the one he rode during the Okhwang coup. It had been a supremely annoying monster, using its voice mimicry to imitate Seokga’s own voice and deliver faux orders such as Spin around and touch your nose! at the least opportune moments for its own amusement. Only the consequences of that coup had been as embarrassing as the sight of his army following some ridiculous choreography.

In hindsight, it’s really no surprise that his siege ended on such a pathetic note.

There had been other jangsan beom in that realm, Seokga remembers, but only a few.

“Statistically speaking, we’re probably looking for a samjokgu. On each of their three paws, they have four claws—and know how to use them.”

“It’s not impossible that it’s a jangsan beom,” Somi says quietly. Seokga doesn’t even spare her a glance as he continues to riffle through the papers. “I…think I saw one, once.”

“Unlikely,” Seokga dismisses. The gumiho is clearly frightened of Unruly samjokgu, but there’s no point in pretending that it’s more likely that a jangsan beom did this. Living in scared denial doesn’t solve cases.

Somi falls into seething silence.

“Based on what you heard, we’re looking for a female samjokgu shifter, likely no younger than thirty.” It’s the “snooty” tone that gives her away: In Seokga’s experience, it takes a while to perfect such an impressionable tenor. Twenty-somethings can try, of course, but hints of their not-so-recent teenage whines always slip out eventually. “But we can also check the passenger lists for a female jangsan beom, as well,” he adds grudgingly as Somi continues to glare at him. It’ll be easy enough to do. The papers crammed into this particular cabinet are physical lists of passengers, hundreds of pages full of names and other personal details printed onto the thin white paper. Now that their suspect list has been so narrowed down, they can easily use these sheets to find the perp…

“Wait.” Hajun’s voice is sharp enough that Seokga looks up, brows raised. “A female samjokgu over thirty…A snooty voice…”

“Are you going to add anything worthwhile or repeat what I just said?” he demands irritably, turning back to his hunt.

“But I know someone who fits the profile,” the idol replies, voice tight. “It’s—”

“What the fuck is going on in here?” a new voice roars, and Seokga could throttle Officer Shin Korain as the haetae rushes in, taking in his destroyed room with furious eyes. A tense moment of silence passes as Korain absorbs the destroyed monitors, the ripped chairs, and the waterfall of files flowing from the upturned cabinets.

“Officer,” Somi tries sweetly, batting her eyes in a way she must have learned from Hani, “I promise, this isn’t what it looks like—”

The attempt at charm fails miserably. Korain’s face contorts into a vicious sneer as he stares at Somi. “You. And you. ” He’s seen Seokga. “Everybody—” He glimpses Hwanin, and his face turns even more blue than before. “Come with me.”

It’s a broom closet.

A large one, yes, but they’re being held in a broom closet. Seokga does not know if his dignity will ever recover. Korain sits on an upside-down bucket in front of them, arms crossed. What makes matters worse is that this should be an easy escape for Seokga—create an illusion of himself sitting compliantly on the floor, shift into an ant, and scurry away—but he cannot leave Hwanin, and is wary of leaving Somi and Hajun alone in front of a Godly Gossip informant with direct access to the next morning’s headline.

“The baby’s mine,” Somi declares loudly and unnecessarily. Seokga has already seen Korain peer suspiciously at Hwanin’s remarkable eyes. The haetae is smart. And right now, that makes him dangerous. “I am…a mother.”

Seven fucking hells. Seokga refuses the urge to bury his head in his hands. “You’re not helping,” he grumbles.

“Be quiet,” snaps Korain. He’s waiting for somebody.

Seokga hopes it’s not another deity.

Hajun stiffens. “Don’t talk to her like that,” the idol retorts, and his usually soft voice is harder than Seokga has ever heard. Somi is sitting on the floor next to him, and he wraps an arm protectively around her shoulders. The gumiho looks amused. It is, agrees Seokga, rather funny. A serial killer being protected by a happy-go-lucky boy-band star.

“My knight in shining armor,” murmurs Somi, but her cheeks are blue.

“Where’s Kisa?” Korain glares at Hajun. “Aren’t the two of you usually attached at the hip?”

“She’s not involved in this,” Hajun replies quickly. Too quickly. Korain frowns.

Seokga watches in disgust as Hajun snaps his mouth shut. As the god of trickery, he is both horrified and embarrassed by Hajun’s lack of deceitful capabilities.

A moment later, the closet door opens, a sliver of light creeping in along with the black-haired serving girl Seokga knocked over. Chaeyeon.

For a moment, Seokga is so relieved that it’s not a member of the pantheon that he fails to realize how bad this might be.

He is trapped in a broom closet.

With Godly Gossip informants.

Chaeyeon gapes at Somi, then Hajun, then Hwanin—who’s sitting happily in Hajun’s lap—before her eyes narrow viciously at Seokga. Korain stands and whispers in her ear, undoubtedly recapping the events that led them into the broom closet.

Right. Seokga’s grown bored with this. For the sake of conserving his energy (he’s barely slept a wink since boarding this foul ship), he was humoring this insane procedure—but enough is enough. It’s time, he decides, for some magic.

Seokga stands, attempting to look dignified even as his head bumps the ceiling. “You’re going to let us go,” he says, “and you’re not going to tell anybody what you saw.” Green tendrils of mist swirl out from his hands, hooking around Korain’s and Chaeyeon’s limbs. You’re going to let us go. You’re going to forget what you saw. You’re going to let us go. You’re going to forget what you saw.

He’s only able to compel the sinful. Those who are truly good are unable to be swayed by his compulsions. Judging by their side gigs as Godly Gossip spies, Seokga figures that this will be easy enough. Most everyone has a little bit of wickedness inside of them…It’s so rare to meet anybody truly “innocent.”

But his magic doesn’t take hold.

Korain and Chaeyeon exchange unimpressed glances.

“Wait,” mutters Seokga. “This time it should work.” He grits his teeth together, concentrating all of his will on the duo, but…nothing. Panting, Seokga stares at them. “Do you mean to tell me you’re good people?” he demands. Unbelievable. First his mind-reading ability leaves him, and now this —

“I died saving orphans from a fire,” deadpans Korain.

Chaeyeon snorts. “Liar.” Turning her attention back to Seokga, she says, “You’re in Jeoseung. Powers like that are reserved for the realm of the living. Down here, the dead can do whatever they want—unrestricted by alive things like you.” She tilts her head. “But we might consider doing what you ask. For a price. Godly Gossip wants…”

“I wear boxer briefs,” he snaps. “Happy?”

“Not yet.” Chaeyeon holds out her hand, and Korain places his Samsung into it. The phone that Godly Gossip must have smuggled its informants. Holding Seokga’s stare, she opens up the recording app, and presses Record . “We want a tell-all, exclusive Godly Gossip interview in exchange for our silence regarding…whatever it is you’re up to. One full hour of your time, and mandatory, honest answers to every question we ask.”

Hwanung’s tits. “I’d rather pull out my own tongue.”

Korain smirks. “You don’t have much of a choice.”

The bastard’s right.

Seokga has no power in this situation, no bargaining leverage. This is the deal they’re offering, so it’s the deal he’s been forced to take. Seokga grinds his molars together.

A long, long moment passes with torturous slowness.

How he wishes he could smite them down.

“Fine,” he finally hisses. “But no questions regarding the baby, or the security room, or my brother…who, for the record, is perfectly fine. He’s watching television in his room and there is absolutely nothing wrong with him.” And, he adds silently, “honesty” means nothing to a trickster god. He’ll answer the questions in whatever way he damn pleases.

“That baby could be our biggest scoop,” Chaeyeon argues, pointing at Hwanin. “We’ll ask about it if we want to.”

Seokga sees red. “Ask about the baby and I’ll tear you limb from limb. You might not be able to die again, but you can feel pain—plenty of it.”

The girl pales.

“Whatever.” Korain shrugs, but there’s a malicious gleam in his eyes. “Let’s just start. There are plenty of other questions to ask.”

“Right.” Chayeon clears her throat. “We at Godly Gossip would like to thank you for sitting down with us today—”

“Fuck off,” Seokga snarls, glaring at the blinking red button of the recording app shoved in his face. “You and I both know why we’re here. Go on, ask. Before I lose my patience.”

“Fine. First question: Do you wear a toupee?”