Gilded (The Gilded Series, Book One)

by Christina Farley

  I stare at him, surprised that he would be that worried about me. He could’ve strolled back to class, not giving me even a thought. But he hadn’t.

  Marc burrows his head and rubs his hands over his face. “Then something crazy happened.”

  Chills slide up my arms. And I’m afraid of what he’ll say next. Afraid my fears are reality.

  “A flash of light filled the locker.” Marc stares at his hands. “It was so bright, it burned my eyes. The pain was so bad I couldn’t move.”

  I turn to sit in front of him, grabbing both his hands. “What? Why didn’t you say anything to the nurse? Are you okay?”

  “I must have sat there on the floor for nearly thirty minutes. When the pain left, I thought I was blind. I knew I should call someone, but then my vision started to come back.”

  “You should never have stayed. You should leave right now and get as far away from me as you can.”

  “I’m not that kind of guy.”

  I yearn to reach over and touch his face and wipe away the pain in the etched lines on his forehead. “Does it still hurt?”

  “No.” Marc blinks and then shakes his head slightly. “You?”

  “I’m okay.” My hands are fine, but I can’t tell him the whole truth. That I never believed my fear could reach this level. That I’m always looking over my shoulder for the next monster to terrorize me. I’m supposed to be tough and strong, but instead I am terrified to walk down the street.

  “Watching you get torn to shreds—” His voice breaks, and my throat constricts, remembering.

  “So at my locker,” I swallow hard, “what did you see?”

  “My dad is really more the expert on this kind of thing. But I think your locker somehow became a portal into another world. I was watching you in the hall, and then you climbed right into your locker. It was wild. Then after my vision came back, I realized there was still this golden light coming out of your locker. When I looked back inside, you were standing on this high bluff and this man turned into a red bird and attacked you. Jae, you need to tell me what’s going on.”

  “What you saw was the Spirit World.” I rub my bandages, afraid even to look at him. “Or at least that’s what my aunt and grandfather call it.” He’s going to think I’m insane. Besides, I’m not even sure if telling him will make things better.

  He twists the ring around his finger and is silent for a moment. I wait, holding my breath, expecting him to laugh or say I’ve lost my mind. But then he looks up and nods at my hands. “How’re those injuries of yours doing?”

  It’s ridiculous at how those words send my heart soaring, but they do, and I’m desperate to cling to the feeling that I can trust him. I peek under my bandages. My palms are smooth. The lines from the scratches have vanished like magic. I pull off the bandages and roll them into a ball.

  “After our meeting today I wanted to talk to you about something, but Min showed up.”

  “Forget about Min. What did you want to talk about?”

  I bite my lip, slightly alarmed at how happy his words make me. It’s as if I want Marc all to myself. I say, “Last night I did some research on metamorphosis, transforming from one thing into another, and one of the articles was written by your dad.”

  “My dad?” He sits back, brows pulling together. “I suppose it’s possible. He does a lot of research on stuff like that.”

  “And then just now you mentioned he’s an expert on this kind of stuff. Don’t you think it’s a strange coincidence that my grandfather and your dad are friends?”

  “Coincidence?” His body tenses, and the tendons in his forearms tighten. He opens his mouth as if he’s about to tell me something important but looks away. I wonder for a moment if he’s not telling me the whole truth. But then he says, “Yeah. That is odd. You want me to ask him about it?”

  “No,” I say quickly, and then, “unless there’s a way without telling your dad about me. I’m not sure I’m ready for anyone else to know about this.”

  “I got it.” Marc relaxes, and his smile reaches his eyes as if I’m the most important person in the world. I really am paranoid to think that Marc would be a part of anything to do with Haemosu.

  “Maybe since I can see this place, I can help you. Who was that guy?”

  I lean back against the wall again. Can I trust him? Komo said not to tell a soul. But he knows already. He saw the whole thing. And what if he’s right? What if he can help me?

  Marc reaches over and takes my hand. His fingers skim over where the bandages once were, and my skin tingles at his touch; but he stops at the golden bracelet. It has become a barrier between us.

  “This bracelet has something to do with this, doesn’t it?”

  “That bird you saw is a demigod who morphed into a bird. He put the bracelet on me. His name is Haemosu.”

  “The five dragons.” Marc’s fingers intertwine with mine. “Of course. Haemosu is known to drive a chariot led by five dragons. The legends call his chariot Oryonggeo.”

  So he does know a lot about mythology. “It’s so twisted, though. My mom always told me dragons bring good luck.”

  “Sounds like Haemosu distorted everything. Why is he doing this to you?”

  I pick up Marc’s book and fumble through it until I find the legend of Haemosu. “Do you know this story?” He nods. I continue, “My grandfather thinks the princess actually escaped and that Haemosu is still angry at her for leaving him. She’s supposedly my ancestor. He’s been kidnapping the firstborn girl in my family ever since. Komo believes he’s reliving the moment of courting Princess Yuhwa over and over again, hoping Yuhwa will change her mind and not leave him. Grandfather had a mural of her in his cave. I look just like her.”

  Marc stares at me and then at the book.

  “You don’t believe me,” I say.

  “You’re the oldest?”

  “Yes.” I twirl the bracelet around my wrist, the gold of the dragons’ twisted bodies glinting in the theater lighting.

  There are now two dragons’ eyes gleaming red. My chest feels as if a chain has been wrapped around it and cinched tight. “The bracelet won’t come off. Haemosu says every time we meet, another eye will glow. When all the eyes burn bright, I’ll be his forever. He said he’s been waiting for over a thousand years for me.”

  “This guy’s really into you.”

  “So you don’t think I’ve got a chance.”

  “No. That’s not it.” He lets out a groan. “You can’t give up.”

  “I’m not!” I tuck my knees to my chest. “But you saw me earlier. I’m no match for an immortal.”

  Marc moves his body so he’s facing me. His lips are so close I can’t stop imagining how easily he could pull me into his arms.

  “I saw an amazing girl standing up to a warrior. A girl who transformed into a bird and escaped. Don’t tell me that isn’t something.”

  I want to believe Marc. I reach for him, his skin burning against my palms. Our lips meet, breathless. His lips are soft, tender, and I’ve lost control. Sinking into his kisses. Drinking in his smell and touch. I trail my hands from his face down to his shoulders and follow the line of his biceps. I draw him closer. So close until our bodies are practically one.

  Because I won’t lose this moment. This kiss.

  Haemosu can’t take this from me.

  I won’t let him.

  After school, Michelle races up and bumps me playfully with her hip. I cringe at the sudden movement.

  “Hey, girl,” she says, sliding her bag strap over her shoulder. “You free this afternoon?”

  “I’m heading to the archery center,” I say. I don’t tell her what I’m really doing. Heading off to practice #2 on my list of Ways to Kick Haemosu’s Butt: Shoot an arrow, aim for the heart. “I really need to practice.”

  Because I must have perfect aim so I can watch his ugly grin falter when I slide my arrow through his heart.

  “You’re always training.” She lifts her eyebrows. “It’s not like
you’re prepping for a big tournament or anything. Come on. Have a little fun.”

  “Right. Fun.” What a laugh that is. If only I could tell her the truth. That I’m just trying to survive. That I was torn to shreds only hours ago, and fun was tossed out of my vocabulary the day the creep showed up. Still, she’s right. If these are my last days, I sure as hell don’t want to be living them out as a sourpuss. “You want to come with me? We can hang out, and I can show you how awesome I am.”

  Michelle laughs, and I almost smile. This is good. Exactly what I need.

  “It’s a deal.” She hooks arms with me, and we head out into the freezing cold. “But you’ll owe me a movie date after this. Something fun and not involving weapons.”

  We pick up my dragon bow and arrows at my apartment and head to the archery center. Michelle chatters nonstop, which is a relief. I can’t talk right now because my head whirls with insane images, and there’s no fix for it except to prepare and plan. I can’t let myself stop and think of what might happen if my plan fails. If my arrow doesn’t hit its mark. If I become another of Haemosu’s victims.

  Before heading to the shooting area, I pop into the training center and introduce Michelle to Ahn Seong-Cheol, the head of the archery center.

  “You haven’t restrung your bow in some time,” he says.

  “I like to do it at my apartment.” There’s no way I’m going to tell him this bow hasn’t needed stretching or new strings yet.

  “Sometime I’d like to get a closer look at that bow of yours.”

  “Sure.” I smile. I will never show anyone this bow. There’s something special about it. “Maybe another time.”

  Michelle and I leave the center. I kick at the gravel road that winds up the mountain and listen to the latest school gossip.

  “So you were right today,” Michelle says. “Word is out that Min has made dibs on Marc, and he turned her down.”

  “Long Legs?” I smile as I imagine her disappointing pout. “Since when do we make dibs on people?”

  “Did you just call her Long Legs?” Michelle stops, and at my sheepish grin she laughs, her breath coming out in white, puffy clouds. “Love it. It really fits. I think we’re meant to be friends for life.”

  “I think that’s the best idea I’ve heard in a long time.” I grin, not bothering to tell her that our time might be slightly shorter than she thinks.

  “You didn’t tell me I was going to get my workout today,” she says, panting.

  “It’s not far. Just up over the next rise.”

  “I feel like I’m in the middle of nowhere.”

  She’s right. Forest lines the sides of our path, and there hasn’t been a car that’s passed us yet.

  “Wait until we get to the Pavilion of the Yellow Stork, where the shooting range is,” I say. “Then you’ll see Gwanghwamun.”

  At the clearing, Michelle sags on a bench inside the pagoda while I unpack my bow and take in the view of Gwanghwamun below. Downtown Seoul is an eclectic mix of skyscrapers jutting tall like cranes, with ancient palaces and temples scattered about their feet. The low roar of the city floats up to where I’m standing.

  I slip on my arm guard, gloves, and thumb ring, then notch in an arrow. There’s a slight breeze that kicks up my hair. I wish I’d tied it back, but I’d been so desperate to get away I hadn’t bothered.

  The target I’m aiming for lies a hundred meters away. Most bows couldn’t possibly hit a target that far, but the Korean horn bow is known for its ability to hit unbelievable distances.

  “Please forgive my archery,” I whisper to the wind. This comes so automatically that I hardly even remember I’m saying the words. It’s been ingrained in me ever since I first started taking lessons from my archery master in the States.

  When I raise the bow, I visualize how Chumong, Korea’s most famous archer, must have looked two thousand years ago as he drew back his bow. Then I begin my ritual. First, I focus my heart. Then I check to see if my chest is wide-open and my hands are in line. Finally, I draw back past my shoulder and aim slightly upward. The bow tingles beneath my palms. It speaks to me, whispering magic through my veins.

  Haemosu’s face is the target.

  I allow my heart to guide my arm.

  Release.

  The arrow sinks into the bull’s-eye with a thud.

  Michelle squeals and claps. “Damn. You never told me you were so good. How do you do it?”

  I squint against the late-afternoon sun. “I’ve been practicing since I was six. Plus, this bow is kind of special. It was a gift from my grandfather.”

  I pick out another arrow and repeat. Over and over. My goal is perfection. Anything less than perfect will mean death.

  “Any progress with Hot Stuff?” Michelle asks, tearing me away from my obsession. “What’s your plan for ripping Long Legs’s talons off him?”

  “You mean Marc?” I turn around to gather up the arrows that are being ferried back to me from the basket. My face is burning twenty shades of red, and my heart has catapulted into a full-out sprint.

  “Of course, silly girl!”

  “We kissed.” There. I said it out loud. Just saying those words makes it real. And I already feel that ache itching to break free. I need to see him again.

  “Oh my gosh!” Michelle jumps over to me. “Seriously? When did this happen? Why didn’t you text me right away?”

  “Girl, you really need to try out for the cheer squad.”

  She waves her hand dismissively.

  “It was right before the end of school,” I say. “I was having a bad day, and he was there to help me out.”

  “I bet he was.”

  I roll my eyes at her knowing look. “It was nice.”

  “Nice?”

  My face is definitely on fire. It’s a good thing she can’t read my mind, because all I can think about is how his lips were on mine. The feel of his arms wrapped around me. The way he said my name as if I’m the most beautiful girl in the universe.

  “When are you going to see him next?” She starts pacing. I bet a million bucks she’s planning out my entire love life.

  “I don’t know. Things are kind of complicated right now.”

  “Then uncomplicate them.” She grabs my arm. I’m surprised at how strong her grip is. “Call him. See him tonight.”

  She has no idea how much I want to do just that. “I don’t know. Won’t it seem like I’m desperate or something?”

  “You must have some kind of good excuse to see him.”

  “Actually, I do.” I rub my bow, thinking about his dad and metamorphosis. I groan. “There’s no way I can call him.”

  “I can’t believe this. You’re a black belt in Tae Kwon Do and can shoot an arrow into the bull’s-eye from a hundred meters away, but you can’t call the guy?”

  She has a point.

  Michelle digs through my coat pocket and pulls out my phone. She starts texting. “I can’t believe I’m freezing my bum out here for you.”

  “What are you doing?” I try to grab the phone from her, but she ducks away.

  “Voilà!” She pushes SEND.

  “You didn’t.”

  “It’s done.”

  I start whacking her with my glove. Then the phone chimes. I got a text. Michelle screams and eagerly stares at the message.

  “Hey!” I grab the phone from her, but she’s already read it. “Do you mind?”

  “Not really.” She grins. “You’re welcome, by the way.”

  I read the message.

  I’m free tonight to talk. You want to come over?

  “He just invited me to his house,” I say.

  “And that’s how it’s done.”

  “Hey there.” Marc stands at the door to his house, the wind flapping his faded blue shirt and sending strands of hair over his eyes.

  “You,” I say.

  “Me.” He grins. “I see you found my house all right.”

  He lives in Seongbuk-dong, a nice neighborhood that climbs u
p the mountain behind the president’s Blue House. Marc’s house is tucked inside a walled courtyard, similar to Komo’s place.

  “Come on in.” He swings the door open, and I step inside.

  After I kick off my shoes, he leads me up the stairs. I stop midway, noticing the rows of photographs, medals, and awards.

  “Who are these people?” I ask.

  “My lineage.” His tone is sharp, almost sarcastic, and his eyes darken.

  I start reading off the names:

  JOHN GRAYSON—assisted in deciphering the Rosetta Stone, 1799

  CALVIN SHARSDALE—inventor, 1826

  HOWARD SOCKWELL—archaeologist, 1964

  STEVE BOURGET—headed the archaeological find at Huaca el Pueblo, Peru, 2009

  DAMIAN GRAYSON—assisted in discovery of ancient city near Be’er Sheva, 2012

  “Wow,” I say. “That’s quite the list. Are they really your relatives or people your family admires?”

  “Relatives. Some are distant cousins.”

  “I can’t believe it. You must be proud.”

  “I used to be.” He shrugs.

  “Not anymore?”

  “Big shoes to fill.”

  “No one expects that of you, though, right?”

  “Want to see the rest of the house?” Marc asks, and I know he’s avoiding my question.

  He leads me upstairs into the main room, and I’m blown away by its high, wood-beamed ceilings and a glass wall on the far side that overlooks downtown Seoul.

  But that’s not why my jaw drops. It’s the artifacts that pack the walls and cram the shelves. A massive golden disk hangs from one wall with what looks like Hebrew script on it. Persian carpets cover the wooden floors, pots that look a thousand years old are scattered everywhere, and tall rectangular hanji lanterns pool light into the corners of the room.

  Marc laughs at my expression. “Yeah,” he says. “My parents are professors, but they also do archaeological digs and studies around the world. The Mongolian government loaned my mom the Sabek necklace to study in return for her work to get medical supplies to northern Mongolia.”