Page 3 of Rites of Passage

“Noah called. Ryu is sick. Mae is covering for her.”

Ryu was currently serving as the director of the Jins’ family-run funeral home until they found a suitable replacement. Noah Tegner, Bryony’s nephew, had been assigned to the protection team the New York coven had allocated to Mae’s family after Ryu and Ye-Seul Hwang were kidnapped by the Dark Council. Though she’d been loath to lose Noah from the coven’s security detail, Bryony could not deny that he was the best man for the job. Judging from the way her nephew talked about the Jins, he was pretty happy to be there too.

Bryony pursed her lips.A little too happy.

“Ask Violet and Miles to pick up Mae. They don’t have class today.”

Abraham gave her a shrewd look. “Admit it. You just don’t want her coming here on the Vespa.”

Bryony sniffed. “That scooter is a menace and we both know it. She took me for a ride on the damn thing last week. It’s a miracle she’s survived this long without getting run over.”

Abraham gaped. “Wait. Is that where you two disappeared off to that night?!”

Bryony waved a dismissive hand at his shocked expression. “We only rode around the neighborhood. I don’t know why she doesn’t just use the SUV we gave her. Any black magic sorcerer could pick her off that damn scooter.”

“I’m sure Brimstone and Hellreaver would have something to say about that,” Abraham muttered. “And you know she doesn’t want to owe us anything. As much as it irritates me, I can see her point. She’s still finding her feet in our world.”

Bryony stared.

Abraham squinted. “What?”

“You’ve grown quite wise,” she drawled.

The aide made a face. His cell phone buzzed with an incoming message. He checked the screen. “Looks like Vi and Miles read your mind. They’re already there.” Faint lines creased his brow. “They say it’s gonna take a while. Apparently, all of Koreatown is at the funeral home.”

CHAPTER3

Loud wailing punctuatedby sobs echoed across the funeral parlor. Mae waited until there was a lull in the clamor before hurriedly launching into the eulogy.

“We are gathered here today to celebrate the life of Wang Ho-Nam, a much beloved grandfather, father, brother, cousin, and uncle.”

She got five more words in before a high-pitched keen drowned out her voice. All eyes turned to the elegant, elderly widow in the traditional, black, silkhanbokadorned with pretty, white chrysanthemums bawling her eyes out in the right front row seat of the Fairhill Funeral Home. Kyo Seung Ho-Nam clutched her handkerchief against her lips and leaned heavily against her eldest son, the thin material barely keeping her sounds of grief at bay, the pair surrounded by the extensive Ho-Nam family.

A loud groan rose above her cries.

The widow twitched. She cut her eyes to the woman seated in the opposite front row of the funeral hall, her mouth pressing into a thin line.

Jang-Mi Ye’un, Wang Ho-Nam’s much younger mistress and the matriarch of his second family, released another whine, her triumphant gaze flitting to Kyo Seung. She gripped her expensive pearl necklace and sobbed loudly into her white silk hanky, her mascara streaking down her cheeks.

The air crackled with tension as the Ho-Nams and the Ye’uns glared at each other across the aisle, each family determined to be the loudest in the ritualistic lamentation that characterized traditional Korean funerals.

Mae swallowed a sigh.Great. It’ll be a miracle if this doesn’t end in bloodshed.

The guests packing the funeral hall seemed to share her opinion. They were staring unabashedly at the unfolding spectacle, their eager gazes swinging from one side of the room to the other. Everyone who was anyone in their close-knit community was here, including Myung Ki Son-Ha, Koreatown’s chief gossip.

This was the funeral of the decade and no one wanted to miss it.

A faint sucking sound distracted Mae.

Ye-Seul was inhaling her orange juice where she sat on a padded chair in the private corridor that led to the back offices, the carton shrinking in her hands even while her rheumy gaze roamed the parlor with morbid interest.

Mae’s mother stood behind Ye-Seul, arms folded across her chest and a disapproving expression clouding her face. Atsk-tskleft Yoo-Mi’s lips from time to time, the sound too low for anyone to catch but Mae. She had reluctantly accompanied Ye-Seul after the old woman insisted on attending the funeral and was now living through one of her worst nightmares. Drama.

Bianca Rhys, the mortician who’d prepared Wang Ho-Nam’s body and who would be assisting Mae with the cremation, was lounging against the wall behind them, her goth make-up and dark outfit a sharp contrast against her short red hair and ivory skin. She blew gum and scrolled through a work tablet, making notes for the week ahead.

Luckily, all three were invisible to the people in the hall.

Mae sneaked a look at Wang Ho-Nam where he lay in the open casket beneath the flower-laden ceremonialaltar holding his portrait. The old guy wore the serene expression of someone who no longer gave a shit about the theatrics being played out around him. She couldn’t help but feel that he was watching the proceedings from Heaven with a big smile on his face and a middle finger shoved up at his loved ones.

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