My mother told me the Shingae isn’t a physical place but a state of existence. It’s about knowing who you are. When my gumiho and I existed in harmony, I felt my connection to the Shingae like the reassuring tug of a warm hand wrapped around my own. My mother said that was because of gi, the life force that runs through all beings born of the Cheon’gwang.
Even though she and I led solitary lives away from other magical beings, I never felt less a part of the world of gods, its magic my constant companion. Now I hide from both worlds and belong to neither. The pull of magic, laced with bone-deep loneliness, hums a siren’s song in my blood. But the memory of how quickly that beauty shifted into a nightmare chills me to my bones.
I breathe in and out through my nose and shake out my arms. One thing at a time. I can’t let my emotions fog my mind. I need to look at Ben’s autopsy report to find outwhatkilled him, then I can narrow downwhokilled him. Maybe the Shingae isn’t involved at all.Ha!
I cut through a narrow alleyway and reach my apartment building in twelve minutes, saving five minutes to add to my tedious eternity. Or at least, what I assume is my version of eternity. It doesn’t look like I’ll die of old age, but I doubt I’m immortal. Only the gods are immortal, and I’m no goddess. Fox spirits were once revered as deities in Korea, but that’s ancient history. Nowadays, most Koreans believe in the myth that gumihos are treacherous demons who turn into beautiful women to manipulate and control men to do their bidding.
I close my front door and lean back against it with a sigh. Home at last. It’s small, dark, and sweltering. The AC shut off again, and my one-bedroom apartment is a thermos filled with yesterday’s heat. I push off the door and strip out of my T-shirt and jeans, leaving them on the floor. I walk through the living room to the tiny galley kitchen, wearing only my black cotton bra and underwear. They’re inexpensive and comfortable. What else matters?
I grab a glass from the sink and sniff it. Clean enough. I rinse it out and fill it with fresh water. After chugging it in one go, I extend my arm to refill it.
One of the windows shatters with enough force to tear down the blinds, saturating my place with muted light. I see a red figure standing in my living room at the same time I spot the daggers flying toward me. I leap onto the edge of the sink and hear the triple thud of knives slicing into the kitchen wall—to the hilt.
I jump off my perch and attack, aiming my kick at the assailant’s throat. She catches my foot in one hand, absorbing the impact without so much as a stumble. She’s strong ... much stronger than I am. I spin out of her grasp before she can snap my ankle. I angle my torso and raise my arms in a loose fighting stance.
I’m pretty confident in my close-combat skills. My mother taught me well, and I never stopped training—anticipating an attack like this, hoping it would never come. But I’m not sure I can win this fight.
“Who are you?” I pant and circle my assailant. If anyone came after me from the Shingae, I thought it would be the Suhoshin, but my visitor is definitely not a guardian.
Her skintight unitard covers every part of her, including her eyes. She looks like a member of the Blue Man Group with their eyes closed, but in red. Maybe she’s part of a new Vegas show. I hold back a cackle.Shit.The adrenaline rush of a fight never fails to get me high.
“Show your true form, beast.” Her voice sounds like an echo inside an empty cave, devoid of life.
Beast.Her words are a punch in the gut. Fire seeps into my irises and spreads through my veins, signaling the beginning of my transformation.No. This ismyfight. I don’tneedyou.I clench my eyes tight and grit my teeth.
“No.”I extinguish the flame, but the effort has me swaying on my feet. It’s hard to suppress my magic in life-and-death situations. “She’s unavailable at the moment, butI’mready to rumble.”
“Let’s see what you say when I hold your life in my hands,” she taunts in an eerie, melodic cadence.
She launches a volley of attacks on me, but I evade every kick and punch. Okay. So I’m faster than her. At least I have that going for me. She whips out another dagger from gods know where—her skintight unitard can’t possibly have pockets—and tries to harvest my kidney with it, but I swirl out of her reach.
I’m huffing and puffing. She’s not even ... breathing. Distracted, I block a kick but don’t move out of reach fast enough when she grabs for me. The moment her hand wraps around my throat, I sense what she is. She reeks of the Shingae but isn’t one of us. She was human but not anymore. There’s something important at the edge of my memory, but I can’t quite grasp it. I’m not too hard on myself about it, though. It’s not easy to think when my feet are dangling over the floor, with a scary-ass woman trying to choke me to death.
I grab her wrist with both hands and swing back for momentum, curling my legs into my chest, then plant both my feet into her solar plexus with a satisfying impact. I crumple to the floor in a sweaty, half-naked heap. The bad guy is curled into a fetal position across from me. She’s strong, but she can be hurt.
“Heh.” My sorry excuse of a laugh and the blood gurgling in my throat tell me the assassin fractured my larynx. I struggle to my feet to finish the ass kicking, but she breakdance leaps to standing and catches me on the jaw with a roundhouse kick, sending me back to the floor.
That’s what I get for gloating. I swipe her legs out from under her, crawl like mad to the sofa, and pat around its underbelly.Hello, lover.I unsheathe my short sword, its weight reassuring in my hands, just as the assassin slashes her blade down on me. I’m definitely not going to ask where she pulled that sword from. I raise my hwando over my head to block her strike and push off the ground. She has longer range, so I have to use my speed to my advantage. I close in and cut her across the chest and stomach, my thin, curved blade dancing through the air. She hisses and retreats several steps.
“Who sent you?” I wheeze through my burning throat.
“You know who my master is.” Her cackle chills the air and raises goose bumps on my arms. “Didn’t you get his message?”
“You killed Ben?” I say in a hoarse whisper, my fury so overwhelming that it ices over me.
“No, my brother had that privilege.” She raises her sword. “But the Post-it note was my idea. On behalf of my master, of course. Precious, no?”
I roar with helpless fury and run toward her, swinging my hwando in a too-wide arc. I know I’m being reckless and stupid even before she buries her blade in my shoulder.
I stumble back from the impact, but the sword protruding from my shoulder blade stops me from slamming into the wall. My mouth opens in a silent scream as agony rips through me in a burst of ice and fire.
“Ready to show yourself, gumiho?” she goads, twisting the blade. “I want to tell my brothers I defeated you in a fair fight. I’ll take one of your tails as my trophy.”
My eyes roll back at the pain, but I fight to stay conscious.
“Stubborn, aren’t you?” The red assassin gives the sword another wrench. “Suit yourself then.”
I bite my lip, but a whimper escapes. I can’t help it. It hurts. It hurts so much. But I hate being told what to do. It makes me monstrously stubborn. Even as my instincts scream for me to change—to survive—I refuse to give her what she wants. Instead, I beam a bright, bloody smile at her, even as the edges of my vision go dark.
