“I have a hunch, but I’m hoping I’m way off.” I squirm in my seat, searching for a more comfortable position. With the pain receding, I realize how sticky and gross I am. I sniff myself as inconspicuously as I can, hoping I don’t smell as bad as I look. “I’d kill for a shower right now.”
He arches an eyebrow with a wry twist of his lips. “Quit stalling.”
I flip him off to stall a bit longer. I’m not sure how much to tell him. An explanation of the Shingae will seem too theoretical at this point. But that’s not the only reason I decide to hold that tidbit back. Explaining the Shingae to Ethan will mean that I have to tell him I used to be a part of that world and that Ben died because of me. So it has less to do with the Shingae being “too theoretical” and more to do with me being chickenshit.
“How much do you know about Korean culture and customs?” I ask, drumming my fingers against my thighs.
I can’t bring up the Jaenanpa. And that has nothing to do with me being a coward. There’s no point in telling him that a faction of evil, homicidal villains might be after us when I’m not even 100 percent certain.
So whatcanI tell Ethan that won’t lead to questions that I can’t answer yet? He wants to know who the assassin was. Then I only need to tell him about dark magic in a broad, general sense. I roll my eyes at myself. Sure, dark magic is so simple and straightforward.
“I learned the little I know about Korean culture from hanging out in K-Town,” he says with a shrug. “I doubt Korean pop culture will help me much here, though.”
That’s good. At least he doesn’t have any warped, preconceived notions about the Shingae—like fox spirits being evil creatures who devour the livers of innocent virgin men.Ick.Folklore. Humans sometimes have the grossest imaginations.
“That’s okay. I can give you a crash course on the house.” I pause to parse out my thoughts. “In Korea, there are shamans known asmudangs, who believe that both natural and supernatural forces influence human life.”
I leave out the part that the supernatural forces belong to the Shingae and that the mudangs are the select few humans who can glimpse past the veil that hides the world of gods from the rest. The Jaenanpa was formed by mudangs corrupt with power, who hungered for more than a glimpse of the Shingae.
“The mudangs practice divination and perform elaborate rituals to commune with ancestral spirits and deities on behalf of people who seek their help. You can say Korean shamanism is the oldest religion that originated in the country.” I take a deep breath before telling him the hard-to-swallow part. “But there are some corrupt mudangs who can wield dark magic through forbidden spells.”
Ethan nods for a long time, as though forcing his brain to accept what I said. He finally stops nodding and coughs into his fist. “My guess is we aren’t talking about the kind of magic that involves pulling a bunny out of a top hat.”
“Well, maybe if you ask really nicely.” I don’t mention that the most powerful dark mudangs of the Jaenanpa can also absorb magic into themselves by killing Shingae beings in horrifying ritualistic sacrifices. “But no. Dark magic rarely involves top hats.”
He laughs under his breath, more dumbfounded than amused. I ignore how much I like the deep, rumbly sound. “So that woman was one of those mudang folks?”
“Not even close.” I appreciate him trying to believe me when every ounce of his logic must be rebelling against the notion of magic. “She was merely a puppet. They didn’t dress like that in the old days, but I guess even minion apparel has evolved.”
“In the old days ...” He stops himself before he asks what I meant by that. Neither of us is ready to get into that yet.
“But some things haven’t changed,” I say, hurrying past my slip of the tongue, “like what happened when she died.”
“She dissolved into red dust,” Ethan says dismally. No matter how unbelievable, he saw it with his own eyes.
“She was a corpse raised from the dead by her master, a dark mudang.” I watch him closely for a potential head explosion, but he nods again. “When I destroyed her—with your help—she returned to her intended form. A handful of dust.”
“Why was she after you?” he asks after a moment, his hands tightening around the steering wheel.
Having a near-death experience via weird-ass shit must make humans more open minded toward weird-ass shit. It still unnerves me how well Ethan is taking the magical elements of my explanation. But I also know he’s making a huge effort for my sake. His concerned gaze keeps shifting from my injured shoulder to my face, which I’m guessing is still pale. I try not to succumb to any feelings of the warm and fuzzy sort.
“A powerful dark mudang out there wants something from me.” Realization dawns on me as I answer. If the Jaenanpa wanted me dead, the assassin would have stabbed my heart, not my shoulder.
His eyes dart toward me. “What do they want from you?”
Could it be my magic? But why would they go through all this trouble to find me if all they want is my magic? There are other gumihos around. Besides, gumiho magic isn’t all that coveted—being able to shift into a fox might’ve been useful for its speed, strength, and hunting skills way back when, but it’s not much use in the modern world.
The true strength of the gumiho comes from their cunning and intelligence, but those things have nothing to do with magic. And no one knows about my newfound powers of eternal youth and fast healing. A chill runs down my spine. Many would gladly kill for those powers.
“I have no idea,” I finally say.
“But you think they’ll try again.” He doesn’t phrase it as a question. He probably figured it out during his brooding session. “That’s why we’re running.”
“We’re not running. It’s a strategic retreat until we figure out exactly what we’re up against.” It’ll be hard to keep Ethan alive and avenge Ben’s death if I’m dead. That’s the only reason we’reretreating. “But yes. They’ll send two more—Blue and Yellow.”
“The zombies color coordinate their outfits?” He scoffs as though that’s the most unbelievable part of the story I’m telling him.
“They’re not zombies. They’re more like”—I snap my fingers—“golems.”
