Page 9

Chapter Nine

K i s a

I t was pure anxiety and desperation that brought Kisa to the greenhouse party. She had been pacing back and forth in the sick bay, much to the dismay of Hajun, who was attempting to nap on one of the cots before the next flood of seasick patients arrived. It always grew worse after dinner. But in the current lull, with nothing to distract her from what Seokga must think of her, Kisa was drowning in an itching embarrassment and a visceral need to redeem herself.

“Just go to him, ” Hajun moaned into his crinkly pillow. “The more you wallow, the more I worry about you, and the more I worry about you, the more my head hurts…”

She hesitated, chewing on her nail—a nervous habit that she couldn’t seem to break. “I don’t know what to say.”

He rolled onto his back, fixing his dark eyes on her. “Just say ‘sorry’…”

Kisa shook her head.

“…for speaking with your gigantic brain and not your heart…” Hajun sat up as Kisa threw a pen at him. He laughed, eyes crinkling at the corners. But he wasn’t laughing at her. No, Hajun was always laughing with her. It was one of the things she loved about him.

“You really think I should go?” Kisa twisted a curl nervously. “You’ll be okay here without me? You’ll remember to use the buckets and—”

Hajun wrinkled his nose. “It’s kind of common sense to use a bucket if somebody’s throwing up, Kisa,” he ribbed.

“Right…”

After a few moments more of hesitation, Kisa had nodded and hurried out of the med bay, following the thread up to Deck 6. She had barely managed to slip by Soo-min, who was staffing the greenhouse doors. The interior was at least, according to her guesstimations, the size of an indoor soccer field.

She had found Seokga with his sword pointed at a frightened Nam Somi’s throat. Not quite the scene she had been hoping to stumble into. In her mind, Kisa would have plucked a flute of champagne from one of the servants, winding through the sweet plants and milling guests with a soft, apologetic smile until she found him.

I’m so sorry for my callous insensitivity, she would have said, polite enough that she wouldn’t appear desperate, but empathetic enough that she wouldn’t appear too polite. He would have forgiven her, and they could start over. Instead, she’s watching him drop the sword, the sword that had been pointed at Somi’s throat, and she is hearing…

She is hearing his voice in her head.

She is—could it be that she is hearing his thoughts ?

—Kisa—Kisa—Kisa—

Kisa stares up at him, slowly beginning to register that they are experiencing a sort of…cerebration transference. At least, she reasons, that is the only way she is able to explain the thoughts that are most decidedly not hers echoing through her mind in short, clipped fragments:

—Kisa—here—thoughts—she—hear—too—

His thoughts are like serpents, she thinks, sleek and strong and fast. Kisa slowly moves her gaze down to the thread, the thread that must act as the wire carrying their messages from mind to mind. What possible material could it be composed of? She is completely fascinated, and it is only with extreme effort that she manages to refocus on the events around her.

During some point in time, a silver-haired man has restrained Seokga, while an older woman in an interesting rubber-duck dress fills the air with a lecture on anger management. Kisa stares at the man with silver hair and realizes—with a surge of excitement—that his description, down to his regal, traditional hanbok of dark blue—perfectly matches that of Okhwang’s emperor Hwanin.

“ What, ” the emperor is demanding, “did I tell you about murdering innocents ?”

—not innocent—killed—Scarlet—how could—forget—

Chaos erupts as Kisa watches, utterly unsure of what to do. Somi is shouting something, finger pointed at Seokga, and the other guests in the greenhouse are watching in shocked fascination. Kisa stumbles as Soo-min, having run over in a panic, shoves her aside.

“What is going on here!” the cruise director cries, Officer Shin Korain hot on her heels. The young haetae’s eyes are wide, but he hovers back, as if unsure whether inserting himself into a fight between two gods, a gumiho, and an elderly rubber-duck-loving woman is a good idea. “Stop it!” screams Soo-min. “All of you!”

“Hey, Kisa,” Korain pants, propping his hands on his hips. A lock of black hair falls into his golden eyes.

“Hello, Korain,” she greets distractedly. The two are familiar with each other as only long-suffering workers on the SRC Flatliner can be—there’s always a shared sense of pained solidarity as well as a bitter irony at their less-than-ideal situation. Although Hajun is really Kisa’s only friend, Korain has always been kind in passing, and she half-wishes he had also been assigned to the sick bay instead of the security staff. They rarely see each other except for the brief moments when they pass in the halls or when there’s a staff meeting. But he’s unfailingly nice, which is more than she can say for crew members like Soo-min, who watches her like a hawk twenty-four seven.

“Crazy turn-around day, huh?”

“Yes,” she says faintly, watching Seokga’s eyes bulge as Hwanin squeezes him into a headlock. “Yes, you could definitely say that.”

Seokga wrestles out of Hwanin’s grip, eyes flashing in victory, and as his brother attempts to again tackle him, the god—in a flash of emerald mist—shape-shifts into a small black raven and flaps upward toward the glass ceiling. Hwanin crashes to the ground, cursing, as the raven plummets in a nosedive toward Somi. The gumiho screams, frantically trying to swat the god-turned-bird away as it pulls her hair with its beak. She falls into a patch of flowers, and the raven makes a distinctly pleased noise that could very well be a chuckle.

“YOU’RE RUINING THE PARTY!” Soo-min wails, wringing her hands. Her already shrill, snooty voice amplified at such a volume hurts Kisa’s ears. “STOP IT! ALL OF YOU!”

Somi launches back to her feet and—getting in a lucky hit—sends Seokga-the-bird hurtling toward a server. He shifts into his usual form at the last second, and the server falls, flutes of champagne crashing with her.

Kisa winces as the glasses shatter and tries to rush toward the fallen girl, only to be yanked back by Korain. “You don’t want to get into that mess,” he warns. “That’s my job, and I’m at least paid to do it.” All crew members get a small monthly stipend of coins to spend in the ship’s cafés and other shops.

“I suppose you have a point there,” Kisa murmurs, but he doesn’t reply. Korain’s eyes are on the server, who’s shoved Seokga off. As the girl winces in clear pain, Korain seems to find the courage to wade into the chaos.

He’s stopped, abruptly, by the heavenly emperor.

“This is a family matter,” Hwanin snaps, and Kisa watches as Korain’s face darkens. “Do not involve yourself,” the emperor adds in warning, turning to his brother, who is untangling himself from the pale server who is currently glaring daggers at the gods.

“That gumiho has been banned from the greenhouse,” Korain snarls back. “She shouldn’t even be up here. I think I have jurisdiction over that —”

Hwanin gives him a look so withering that Kisa can finally see the family resemblance between him and his brother.

Seokga brushes crushed glass off his suit and fixes his hair moments before Somi—yelling something unintelligible—launches herself toward him. Thus ensues another fight, one in which the two circle each other, utter hatred on both their faces.

Kisa frowns, watching the pair. Clearly, they know and loathe each other. But how?

“I don’t care if it’s a family matter,” Korain snaps, attempting to shove past Hwanin. The emperor doesn’t budge. “You’re disrupting the party, you’re abusing the cutlery—” Indeed, Somi has swiped a fork from a nearby server and is trying to stab Seokga with it. Kisa can’t stop her mouth from dropping open in growing alarm. Really. Forks are not meant to be used as weapons. “—and if you don’t get control of them, our reincarnations will be set back by years! We’ll be held liable for this—”

The words send a flare of acute anger through Kisa as the haetae reminds her of what, exactly, is at stake. Korain is completely right. Yeomra will hold the crew responsible for this utter fiasco. Well, she thinks firmly, if Korain can’t get past the glaring emperor, she can. Korain is distracted and won’t pull her back this time.

Determinedly, Kisa marches toward Seokga, inserts herself between him and Somi (narrowly dodging the fork), and stretches her arms out between them. “Stop this!” she demands.

Somi pants, narrowing her eyes at Kisa, a ball of energy. “If you don’t move out of my way, I’ll—”

“You’ll what?” Seokga snarls. “Betray her again? Sell her out to an insane demon?”

Bewilderment replaces indignation. Kisa falters, glancing back at Seokga’s snarling face before returning to Somi, who blinks rapidly. Brain aching, she shakes her head.

“I only met her this morning,” Kisa says—rather stupidly, she thinks a moment later as she realizes what Seokga is implying. She stares at Somi, who’s still stricken. Did they know each other? In her past life, as an ATM-stealing woman? Is Seokga referencing Eodum, the demon who instigated the 1992 Dark Days? How very, extremely interesting…

“Look at her eyes,” Seokga spits to Somi, yanking Kisa out of her musings. A hush has fallen over the greenhouse. “They’re the same, aren’t they?”

To Kisa’s bewilderment, Somi is the one who is trembling as she meets Kisa’s curious, wine-brown stare. “Hwanin’s tits,” Somi whispers, and takes a step backward. The same expression from this morning in the sick bay—confusion and disbelieving recognition—flashes across her face again. She suddenly looks very young and very uncertain. “H-Hani?”

Kisa blinks. Hani. Yes— that was the name of the gumiho, the one that still makes headlines in Godly Gossip. The Lonely God Continues Search for Kim Hani! and Seokga Concusses Hani-Imposter: You Can’t Out-Trick the Trickster !

At the name, there’s a sudden influx of thought fragments from Seokga.

—Hani—miss her—gone—forever—different—Kisa—

Kisa swallows hard. Whoever Hani was, she knows she’s not…her. Not anymore. Kisa has her own answer to the Ship of Theseus problem, and it means that Seokga will forever be wishing that Kisa is somebody she’ll never be.

Before she can taste the bitterness of confused disappointment, Somi is clapping a hand to her mouth. “Oh my gods,” she whispers. “Hani, unnie? Is it really you?”

Feeling totally at a loss, Kisa shifts from foot to foot. “Er,” she says stiffly, “I was born in 1995. I think you’re older than me.” It’s the only thing she can think of to say, correcting Somi’s incorrect usage of unnie. The gumiho looks to be either in her late twenties or early thirties, but could very well be even older thanks to gumiho immortality.

“Right,” whispers Somi, still staring. “Right…”

“Seokga!” That’s the elderly woman in the rubber-duck dress. “What did I tell you! The next time you—”

“The next time I feel like attacking somebody, close my eyes and count to ten,” the god drawls, eyes never leaving Somi and Kisa. “It didn’t work, Dr. Jang.”

“You didn’t even try. ”

Emperor Hwanin’s voice joins in the bedlam, but Kisa doesn’t notice. She’s watching Somi as the gumiho slowly backs away, eyes shining with…tears?

“Wait,” Kisa whispers, dozens of questions brimming on her tongue. But the other woman doesn’t listen. A moment later, she’s slipping away, weaving through the aghast guests and disappearing.

“…embarrassment,” Hwanin is hissing, and Kisa blinks, turning around to focus on the new conversation. “I don’t even know how to handle you right now.” The emperor barely spares Kisa a glance, concentrating all of his fury onto Seokga, who looks relatively unbothered.

“It was karmic,” is what the trickster replies. “You resent me delivering karmic justice? It’s a divine duty that I happen to take very seriously.”

“No,” Hwanin hisses in an undertone, “I resent that you did it in public —”

“Oh, please, you love attention. Remember those Godly Gossip exclusives you used to do about our tragic, broken relationship?” Seokga’s green eyes dart to Kisa, and something almost like a small, mischievous grin curves his lips.

Kisa doesn’t smile back, eyes flickering to the shattered glass on the floor, the crushed flowers, the mess of black feathers and curly black hair where raven-Seokga had attacked Somi. The server Seokga knocked over—a tired-eyed young woman with long, dark hair—is already on her hands and knees, collecting the shards. Nearby, Korain is futilely attempting to fix the flowers with Soo-min, the cruise director uncharacteristically sacrificing her impeccably ironed skirt to kneel on the mulch next to the haetae.

Heavy-hearted, Kisa joins the girl, crouching down to help collect the glittering shards, fingers becoming damp with spilled champagne.

“Thanks,” the girl whispers over the steady beratements from Hwanin directed toward Seokga, and occasionally joined in by the woman named Dr. Jang.

“Are you all right?” Kisa asks, glancing up at her. “I work in the sick bay. If you need anything for bruises or…”

She shakes her head. “I’m fine. Just upset. The CEO will hear about this.” A soft sigh. “I’m so tired of working down here. But all my points for good behavior will be docked because of tonight. Yeomra will see my name on the list of greenhouse workers.”

Kisa is acutely aware of Seokga’s gaze on her back. “We can submit our own report…” HR in Jeoseung and especially on the SRC Flatliner is laughable at best, but it’s better to try than to not.

“No.” A bitter laugh. “Hwanin and Seokga are gods. We can’t exactly go around blaming them.” With a sad smile, the server shakes her head as they collect the rest of the glass, setting the piles back on the metal tray. “Thanks, anyway. I’m Chaeyeon. Lim Chaeyeon.”

“Yoo Kisa,” she replies, and the two share quick, half-hearted smiles as they drag themselves back to their feet.

“I can’t even look at you,” Hwanin is finishing, glaring at Seokga. “I can’t even—” The emperor pinches the bridge of his nose. “I’m leaving,” he says. “Please do not follow me. If you do, I may resort to physical violence and give you the punch in the face that you so dearly deserve.”

Seokga’s smirk is thin and razor-sharp. “Oh, no. I’m so very threatened, brother.”

Hwanin glowers in disgust for one final moment before turning on his heel, making his way to the exit. Kisa watches as Dr. Jang shakes her head.

“I’m extremely disappointed in you, Seokga,” she whispers. “As we have discussed before, trying to stab people is not part of your recovery plan. I expect to have a discussion with you tomorrow morning.” Kisa watches as, with a final disappointed sigh, the doctor trails after Hwanin, Chaeyeon following close behind, carefully balancing the tray of shattered, glittering glass.

The crowd remains frozen as Seokga stands there, eyes glittering with unrepentant amusement. Kisa shakes her head, staring at him from where she stands amongst the feathers. He turns to her, and the apology that Kisa had crafted on the way here dissipates into ash.

“You think that was funny?” she whispers. Seokga freezes in a way he hadn’t even when his brother threatened to punch him. His expression is suddenly uncertain.

—did—for her—why does—glare—me—

“No.” Kisa shakes her head. “No. You didn’t do this for me. Whatever Nam Somi did to me in a past life, I don’t remember it. I don’t remember her. I don’t remember you.” She tries to ignore how he flinches, and pushes onward. “It wouldn’t have made a difference to me if you had left her alone. You did this for yourself. But you’re not the one who will have to pay.”

The crowd holds their breath as she steps toward him. Going head-to-head with a god is never advised: Kisa cannot count the number of myths, of tales that advise against doing exactly this…But she doesn’t quite care, even though all the stories are true.

“This—this was inconceivably thoughtless.” The red thread quivers as, in a fit of rising anger, Kisa props one hand on her hip and points the other at Seokga’s pointed nose. “All of the crew has been waiting for reincarnation for a very long time. But the CEO will blame tonight’s workers for this fiasco. Do you understand the gravity of that?”

She watches as his throat bobs. Once, twice. His eyes cross slightly to watch her finger with growing concern as she jabs it. Around them, the frozen crowd slowly begins to disperse, murmuring amongst themselves. Somewhere hidden, the live band tremulously begins to play again.

“What would you like from me?” Seokga quietly asks, and the worst part is that he doesn’t even seem to know. His words are hesitant, softened by the informal and that odd, uncertain hint of familiarity she first noticed in the café. Unfortunately, the temptation to draw her hand back, form it into a fist, and then send it crashing into his perfect nose is interfering with Kisa’s capability for rational thought. She understands perfectly how Emperor Hwanin must feel. “Whatever it is, I’ll do it,” the god adds.

She has an itemized list prepared. “One, please do not attack people on this ship! Two—which I’ll put in as a clause in case you do attack somebody: Clean up after yourself, and don’t barrel into workers holding a tray of glasses in the first place. Three, inform the CEO that the workers here tonight had nothing to do with your—your—” She struggles to find the word before finally selecting: “— shenanigans. ”

Seokga’s eyes crinkle at the corners. Kisa steadfastly ignores how that small change transforms his face from hard to surprisingly gentle in just one moment. “Is that all?” the trickster asks, sounding amused.

“Yes—I mean no.” Kisa can’t help herself. Her eyes fasten on the sword that Seokga has reclaimed from the ground, on the strangely luminous silver metal. “Four, tell me…Is it true that godly weapons are crafted by moon-harvested silver and forged in bulgae fire?” The pantheon is notoriously close-lipped about their relics. Entire fields are devoted to dissecting the few artifacts shamans have been able to get their hands on, attempting to discover what ore the blades are composed of.

The god gapes at her.

Kisa frowns impatiently. “Well?” She jabs at his nose again—and accidentally hits the tip.

Somebody in the crowd gasps sharply as if expecting Kisa to be struck down then and there. But nothing happens, save for the odd expression that crosses Seokga’s face. He looks, somehow, both mortally offended and incredibly pleased.

“Dokkaebi fire,” he says a moment later, expression fading into something like…hesitantly fond confusion. “Bulgae fire is too unpredictable. The Okhwang weapon-smiths use dokkaebi fire. As for the rest…” Seokga hesitates before crouching down and beginning to pick up the feathers.

After a moment, Kisa joins him.