Page 12 of Wicked Fox

“My mother. She doesn’t like humans.”

“And you do?” Jihoon rose, and the movement made his head spin.

“I don’t hate them,” she conceded. “Though it’s worrisome that you’re here.”

“You said that before. What does it mean?” The forest tilted to the left, then to the right, like the sway of a ship on the sea. He felt like he was being pulled somewhere he didn’t want to go and tried his best to hold on to this place, this dream.

“Why did you pick up my bead?” she asked.

“Your bead? You mean that pearl?”

“Why were you in the forest tonight?”

My dog, he tried to say, but bile rose in his throat instead of words.

“Did you know I’d be in the forest? What did you want with my bead?” The girl’s voice sounded garbled, like it was processed through a synthesizer before reaching his ears.

“What’s happening to me?” Nausea rolled through him, thick and sticky, as the surrounding trees did tight pirouettes.

She watched him curiously. “When the body wants to wake, it doesn’t matter what the mind desires.”

“I’m waking up?” Jihoon asked. “Then why do I feel so funny...”

Before she could reply, the forest floor fell from under Jihoon’s feet.

He dropped into darkness, his screams absorbed by the earth as it swallowed him.

4

MIYOUNG WOKE SLOWLYfrom the dream. It took her a moment to realize she wasn’t in the forest but in her new bedroom. In a wrought-iron bed piled high with pillows. Large windows beside her bed let in the moonlight. She glanced at the clock and the bright numbers glared back at her: 3:33A.M.

The memory of the dream clung to her like a film of grease covering her skin. Forest and mist and that boy. She rarely dreamed, and when she did it was never quite so vivid. It felt as if he’d walked into her mind.It’s worrisome.She’d said it in the dream and she thought it now.

She’d heard tales of gumiho who could walk the dreams of their victims. Driving them slowly mad before ripping out their livers. But she’d never done it herself, never thought it was a skill gumiho still possessed. Perhaps they didn’t. After all, she hadn’t meant to share a dream with that boy. Maybe she was just thinking about that boy and her subconscious had gotten out of hand. It made sense that she’d be stuck on thoughts of him; after all, he’d been there when she’d lost her bead...

Miyoung turned onto her side and pulled open her nightstand drawer until the bead rolled gently into view. It shone so bright, she wondered if it emitted its own light or merely reflected the moon’s.

She stared at the stone—ayeowu guseul—a fox bead. Myth said every gumiho had one, but she’d never given them much thought. Nara sometimes went on about them, comparing them to the human soul.

Maybe Miyoung should have listened more to the shaman’s harebrained theories. They were varied and long-winded, so Miyoung had ignored most of them. She remembered the shaman warning that if a human ever gained control of the yeowu guseul of a gumiho, he could command her to do his every bidding. And there was the story of a gumiho who lost her bead but still fed, slowly becoming more and more of a demon.

Closing her eyes, Miyoung rolled the stone across her palm. It sparked along her skin like static electricity. Or residual energy. It didn’t feel like the gi she’d absorbed from that ajeossi. That had been bitter and stale. This tasted fresh and bright. The boy? But she hadn’t fed from him. Why would his energy be in the bead?

But she could guess the answer. He’d touched it, held it directly. And it had absorbed his energy. She’d felt a boost of energy that had woken her, disoriented on the forest floor. Had the bead transferred a bit of his gi to her even when it wasn’t inside of her?

If he had known what power he held... but he obviously hadn’t. And she had it now; it was safe. Or as safe as it could be like this.

She didn’t know why she’d been driven to save that boy. But his actions afterward confused her more. How he’d stayed. How he’d charged the dokkaebi after knowing full well the danger.

Miyoung squeezed the bead in her hand. The boy was not what she should worry about right now.

She needed to figure out a way to reabsorb the stone. She might not know much about the myths that surrounded a yeowuguseul, but she knew its proper place wasina gumiho. Already she felt an emptiness in her, like a puzzle piece ripped from her middle, leaving a gaping hole.

Climbing out of bed, Miyoung padded her way down the hall toward her mother’s room.

The shower ran in the master bathroom. Steam sat heavy in the air, so thick it almost choked her. It lit a panic that she calmed with deep breaths. Ever since Miyoung could remember, she’d been afraid of water. A phobia so deep she refused to even take a bath. Her mother despised any sign of weakness in her daughter, so Miyoung did her best to keep it buried.

The water was turned off and Yena stepped out of the shower. Through the curtain of steam Miyoung saw the crisscross of white scars on her mother’s bare back.

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