“Do you know what a Yeoiju is?” the mother asked.
“Yeo ... i ... ju?” the child repeated hesitantly, before giggling into her small hands. “Is it something yummy to eat?”
“No.” The mother tickled the child, and peals of luminescent laughter filled the lonely mountain. “Try again. Remember your lessons.”
Her nose scrunched up in concentration, then her eyes lit up. “It’s the magic pearl!”
“The pearl of enlightenment,” the mother corrected.
“Yes ... and if a gumiho ...kissessomeone”—the child stuck her tongue out in disgust—“and gives them the pearl, that person will become ... smart?”
“Not quite.” The mother smoothed a strand of hair that had escaped the child’s braid. “If that person looks into the heavens, they will learn the secrets of the Shingae. If they look toward the Earth, they will understand the ways of the humans.”
“But Mother”—the child opened her mouth wide and pointed inside—“I don’t have a Yeoiju in my mouth. Do you have one?”
“No.” She shook her head slowly. “I don’t.”
“Then it’s not true.” The child pouted. “It’s just a silly story.”
“Don’t underestimate the wisdom of our ancestors.” The mother returned to gathering herbs from beneath a young cypress tree. “Sometimes stories are more than just stories.”
“Oh. I remember now.” The child bounced up and down. “Halmeoni once told me that the Yeoiju is the most powerful magical object in all the worlds.”
“She is not your grandmother.” The mother paled and held firmly onto the child’s wrist. “You must address her as Samshin Halmeom. In fact, you shouldn’t bother her at all.”
“Yes, Mother.” The child cast her eyes to the ground. But when she glanced back up, mischief danced within their depths. “But it seems like the Yeoiju is the mostboringmagical object in the worlds. Who wants toknowabout this, that, and everything? Besides, it’s not even real.”
The mother’s vision blurred with hot tears, but the child did not see them. She was too busy chasing after a butterfly, her laughter trailing her like a golden ribbon.
CHAPTER THREE
Ethan wanted my word that I’d help him find his brother’s killer. I told him I’d take a look at the autopsy report. Knowing it was the best offer he would get from me, he went back to his hotel after arranging a time and place for us to meet later. I couldn’t tell Ethan I didn’t want him around if Ben’s death really has something to do with the Shingae.
Left alone with my thoughts, I zombie walk through the rest of my uncharacteristically busy shift. Apparently, the vacant, out-of-it look draws customers. My tray is almost empty when I turn in the night’s earnings and remaining inventory.
“You had a good night.” My coworker sounds much too surprised, her puffy lips forming an unconvincing O.
“Yes, I’m filled with an overwhelming sense of accomplishment,” I gush with a saccharine smile.
“How ... nice for you.” Her eyebrows draw low in confusion. “Congratulations.”
“Yeah, thanks.”
I should be kind and let her know she doesn’t have what it takes to become an actress, but I turn on my heel and head to the locker room. I’m in no mood for a smackdown with the Mean Girl.
I have four hours to wrap my head around what’s going on, and maybe take a shower, before I meet Ethan. Or I might ditch him and disappear again—I only have a few years left here anyways—but I don’twant to. Las Vegas feels more like home than any other place I’ve lived since Korea.
Besides, the investigation will go nowhere until I see the autopsy report. Visiting the crime scene will be no use. Any traces of magic would be long gone, since Ben was murdered two weeks ago. An image of him lying still and empty flits through my mind—his life cut short because of me. I reflexively turn my head to the side, scrunching my eyes shut, but there is no hiding from the guilt. Even so, I avert my gaze from the mirror on my locker door as I change into my street clothes.
I trudge out of the casino and into the bleary dawn. The few people out and about are dragging their feet, bodies heavy with exhaustion or satisfaction. I feel as though mine is being sucked into the center of the Earth—into the hot, suffocating oblivion.
Everyone who knew Mihwa died over a century ago. I killed ... everyone, including Daeseong. A chill passes through me. The price of his death was too high, but what’s done is done. Even if the dark mudang came back from the dead—which is impossible—he wouldn’t have used poison to kill Ben. It was too quick. Too painless. I shake my head until I see doubles. It’s. Not. Him.
But poison is a favorite weapon of the Jaenanpa—a faction of humans obsessed with the Shingae and its magic. They torture and kill magical beings to steal their powers, justifying the atrocities they commit by arguing it’s unfair for the Shingae to monopolize magic—they’re fighting for equality between the worlds. Too bad they’re actually power-hungry psychopaths intent on world domination.
What did the Jaenanpa want from Ben? He had no magic for them to steal. Then again, he was never their target. He was killed to send me a message—used like the sticky note left on the door. My fists clench at my sides, and violence shudders through me. A feral growl gathers in my chest like an impending storm, but I subdue it with effort. Maybe they were afraid to come for me directly. They might have heard of what I’ve done—what I’m capable of. Or maybe they just couldn’t find me. Itdoesn’t matter. Ben’s murderer will pay the price, even if it means I have to come out of hiding and reveal myself to the Shingae.
The world of gods lies like gossamer over the human world—a shimmer in the corner of their eyes. The humans’ stories of gods and beasts weren’t born of wild imagination but woven together from the sudden goose bumps on their arms and the cold shivers down their spines. Human minds can’t grasp the truth, but they also can’t completely ignore the allure of the supernatural—the magic.
