“Gollum? As inmy precious...” His Gollum impersonation is passable.
“Golemsas in the Jewish folklore.” Theyou idiotis plain on my face. “They’re supposed to be made of clay and controlled by their maker.”
“Ahh.” He grins, his eyes crinkling at the corners.
“Dingus.” I can’t help but smile back at him, grateful for the moment of levity. We needed it. “And to answer your question, the mudang’s assassins are created in triplets. Red, blue, and yellow. It’s the colors of the mudang insignia, which looks like three drops of red, blue, and yellow paint swirling together to make a circle. We’ve faced Red, the weakest of the three. Blue and Yellow will come for us next, and they’ll be much harder to defeat.”
“The weakest one almost killed us both.” He clenches his jaw in obvious frustration. “How are we supposed to defeat the other two?”
“I’m trying to figure that out.” I hold back my apology, because it won’t do any good.
Ethan’s expression turns grim again. He tracked me down so I can help him find Ben’s killer, but now we’re on the run from dark powers that he can’t begin to fathom. As far as he’s concerned, we might die without ever finding out who murdered his brother.The Jaenanpa killed Ben because of me.The words rise to the tip of my tongue, but I swallow them back down.
I don’t have enough information yet. Either Blue or Yellow killed Ben, but they’re nothing more than puppets dancing to someone else’s tune. We need to find their master. Does the Jaenanpa as a faction wantsomething from me? Or does someone in their ranks have a personal vendetta against me? I have no idea what we’re up against. When I figure out who exactly is behind Ben’s murder, I’ll tell Ethan everything. Until then, keeping him alive is my priority. I can’t risk him taking off in anger, too disgusted to stay with me.
“We’ll find Ben’s killer,” I say instead. “Once we get out of this shitstorm—and I promise you we will—we’ll find out who murdered your brother, and they’ll pay for what they did.”
“I wantjusticefor Ben.” He catches my eyes. Yes, he’s every bit as kind as I remember him—noble, even. But I’m neither of those things.Iwant vengeance. I don’t know what he sees in my expression, but he turns back to the road and says, “Let’s focus on staying alive for the time being.”
BUJEOK
The mother stood before the man, with the child hidden behind her back, shivering on the edge of the cliff. But the man didn’t see a mother and a child. Neither did he see his wife and their daughter. All he saw was power and the obstacle stopping him from obtaining that power.
Blind hunger thrummed in his veins, consuming him. He had to possess it. There was no cost too great. He drew the bujeok from the depth of his sleeve, hands shaking from the enormity of what he was about to do. The rectangular strip of paper held forbidden incantations and symbols that were shunned even by the most ruthless magic thieves. No one in the worlds would forgive him for using the talisman. But none of that mattered, because he would become the most powerful being in all the realms.
The shaking in his hands ceased as the ghost of his humanity dissipated—burned to cinders by his insatiable need for power. And as his mouth formed the terrible words, the dark magic erased the last of the man he had once been.
The bujeok floated above his outstretched palm, the filmy paper suddenly as stiff as a sheet of metal. He heard the scuff of feet behind him as his disciples stumbled away from him. Their cowardice didn’t surprise him. They were unworthy. Onlyhewas worthy of this power.
The mother shifted form into a white nine-tailed fox as large as a mare—the transformation too fast to mark with the human concept of time. Her eyes flashed with green fire as she bared her teeth at him, fierce and unafraid. She was glorious. The man he had been would have felt a prickle of regret for having to kill her, but the dark mudang felt nothing.
Flames as dark as blood enveloped the bujeok. The bloody fire burned higher and higher on his palm until it entered him as swiftly as a serpent striking. It pierced him like white-hot daggers through his eyes, his nose, and his mouth. He wanted to scream, but the sound that escaped his throat was inhuman—agony given voice.
Then there was silence. A stillness he had never experienced before. The gumiho growled into the silence, and the mudang felt the sound ripple around him. Hetastedher fear. His lips peeled back in a smile that shimmered with violence.
The mudang couldn’t see that his teeth were red with blood—that his eyes had turned into pools of it. He wouldn’t have cared. He felt nothing but sharp, thrilling exuberance as he uttered the word that would kill her.
“Sa.”
CHAPTER FIVE
The direct route from Las Vegas to Monterey is only about eight hours, but we’re taking the back roads as a precaution, so it’ll be at least eleven. The Jaenanpa would expect us to go to Arizona or the Sierra Nevada, where groves of more powerful Seonangshin are rumored to reside. The cypress tree we’re headed for stands alone by the sea and is less than three hundred years old, barely awakening to its omnipotence.
“We need to stop for gas,” Ethan says, checking the rearview mirror before changing lanes.
“Sure. That’s fine.” Thank gods. I have to pee, and I’m starving. Ultrafast healing takes a lot out of me.
The blue-and-red gas station sign juts high into the sky, calling all tired travelers. Ethan pulls up to an open pump—pump four. I push aside my knee-jerk reaction to the number. Koreans don’t like the number four because it’s pronounced “sa”—the same pronunciation as the word for death. But I’m a being of the Shingae. I can differentiate between superstitious bullshit and the real stuff, and the whole unlucky-number-four business is just some silly superstition. So I say nothing as Ethan parks the car and kills the engine at pump four.
“I’m going to run inside to pay with cash.” He pushes open the driver’s side door and steps out in one graceful movement.
“Good idea.” I scoot to the edge of my seat and use the narrow step below the door to get off.
I’m glad Ethan is savvy enough not to leave a paper trail. Well, the manisa PI. I should give him more credit. Anyway, our enemies are probably tech proficient enough to track us if we leave electronic traces—we turned off our phones and took out the batteries before we left Las Vegas. Surely, more than their outfits have evolved.
Once he walks inside to the cashier, I make a run for the restrooms adjacent to the main building. After I relieve myself, I head straight for the minimart and find Ethan in one of the aisles.
“I got plenty for both of us.” His arms are filled with bottles of water, protein bars, and bags of trail mix.Ugh.
