He smirks and shakes his head. “I’ll be keeping it until they wrench it away from me.”
Marc’s head whips around, his eyes wide, searching the porch.
I step closer to him. “Something wrong?”
“Did you hear that?” he asks. I don’t like how wild his eyes are right now, as if he’s seen a gwishin himself. “Like chains breaking, dragging—it’s getting louder.”
My heart stutters as he takes off to the stairs. I run after him, calling his name to stop, but he doesn’t. He tumbles down the steps, muttering something about wishing for a sword.
“What’s going on?” Michelle says, following us with Kang-dae at her heels.
I have no idea, which sends my pulse into overdrive.
When Marc hits the main level of the observatory, he squeezes between groups of people until he’s in the center of the courtyard, swiveling in a circle. I’m out of breath when I reach him, but it’s not because I’m tired or winded. It’s because of that look in Marc’s eyes. It means danger is near. It means he senses something he shouldn’t.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
“It appears we’ve got company,” Kang-dae says as he and Michelle catch up to us.
“Yes,” Marc says vaguely. “They’re at every exit.”
“Who is at every exit?” Michelle asks, her voice shaking.
“Dalgyal gwishin, I think,” Marc says. “I just wish I knew why.”
I glance at Kang-dae. His eyes gleam dark, and his jaw is rigid as if he is holding back anger. The dalgyal gwishin are supposed to be the freakiest of all the ghosts. They have no eyes, mouth, nose, or even arms. No physical features. And according to legend, if you see them, you will die.
“What do we do?” I ask. “Can we fight our way out?”
“The real question is, what do they want?” Kang-dae rubs his chin. “And how do they know of our plans here? Did you tell the gwishin anything in the bathroom?” I shake my head. “The fact that it touched you means it must have read your mind. Fear breaks down your barriers and allows them to read your thoughts.”
“Perfect,” Marc says. “Now we have the Underworld to deal with.”
“There must be a back door or an emergency exit around here,” Michelle offers.
Then their forms appear as if floating out of a mist. The bodies are chalky white, long floating gowns flowing in a nonexistent breeze. Their faces are blank and smooth on top of formless bodies. I bite back a scream.
“I can see them,” Michelle whispers, and grabs on to my arm. “That isn’t a good thing, is it?”
“Not especially,” Kang-dae says.
“If you see them, it means you are going to die,” Marc says.
“That’s a comforting thought.” Michelle frowns and crosses her arms. “What if I’m not ready to die?”
I study the few shoppers and shopkeepers going about their own business. We get a couple of odd glances, but no one even notices the gwishin gathering along the perimeter of the courtyard.
“And it appears by everyone else’s reaction that the gwishin are here only for us,” I say.
“Look!” Michelle points to the far back corner. “I see a back exit.”
The four of us travel to where Michelle pointed, trying to be inconspicuous. Marc’s footsteps quicken and his back tenses. As we pass a cleaning cart tucked into a dark corner, Marc snatches the broom.
“Touch pathetic, don’t you think?” Kang-dae laughs as Marc grips the handle. “As if that will stop them.”
“Never underestimate the power of the broom,” Marc says.
He slams open the heavy door, and we rush after him into the long, narrow corridor. I throw a glance over my shoulder. The gwishin remain stoic, not moving from their posts.
“Do you think they’re just going to stand there, and not follow us?” I say.
“No,” both Kang-dae and Marc say.
Marc freezes so abruptly I bump into him. Kang-dae slides up next to Marc, while I peer around to spot an animal about the size of a large dog blocking our path. Its fur is shaggy and caked with mud. Small ears pop from its head, and its beady eyes are as red as fire.
“It’s a blood weasel,” Kang-dae whispers. “Dreadful personalities.”
“We are just passing through,” Marc tells the weasel. “We wish to go our own way.”
“No, no, no.” Michelle whimpers. She scurries to the door and yanks on its handle. Her face reddens from the strain. It doesn’t budge. “We’re locked in.”
“Lovely,” Kang-dae says.
“We know your errand.” Its voice slurs out the words in Korean. “Our great King Daebyeol of the Underworld is most interested in what you wish to acquire. Give us the girl, and no harm will come to you.”
I slide between Marc and Kang-dae. “Your way is not ours. Leave us.”
“Scat,” Kang-dae says.
The weasel chokes, or perhaps it’s laughing, I’m not sure. Saliva drools from its mouth, and it shakes its body, flinging off chunks of dirt. But as the dirt splatters over the walls, I realize it’s actually blood, caked on the creature. The blood on the walls liquefies and begins to ooze down to the floor into puddles. I gape as the puddles bubble and dark forms rise from their depths, twisting and contorting until they create at least twenty weasels flanking the first one. They snarl and growl, their red eyes flashing hungrily.
“So you see,” the first weasel slurs, “we do not jest. Hand her over.”
“That broom of yours may come in handy, after all,” Kang-dae says.
Marc twirls the broomstick in his hands. “No joke.”
“Stand behind me, Michelle.” I crouch in preparation.
“Yeah, right.” Michelle sidles next to me and holds out her fists. “I might not have all the moves, but if I’m going down, it will be kicking and punching.”
With a sneer, the leader hunches down and springs at us. I see nothing except the whites ringing its red eyes and those sharp claws stretching out to me. I whip into a roundhouse, smacking its jaw with a snap.
Beside me, Marc and Kang-dae meet the other weasels as they attack. We are all fighting for our lives. Marc blocks one assault with his broom, knocking the creature away. He spins and thwarts another by twisting the broom and jabbing it down the creature’s throat.
Kang-dae moves faster than I imagined, chopping the side of his hand down on the neck of one, while side-kicking another.
Michelle screams behind me. A weasel has her pants leg in its mouth, ripping it apart, a desperateness in its eyes as if it is hungry for her flesh. She boxes its ears, but the creature appears unfazed. I backflip, my feet kicking the beast as I make my descent. Squealing, it flies through the air, smacking against the far wall and crumpling onto the ground.
There isn’t time to celebrate because two more weasels are sneering and snapping at my feet. One jumps at me. I strike it away and spin into a roundhouse, kicking the other one. Another weasel seems to leap out of thin air and tumbles on top of me. The impact sends me to the ground. I wrap my arms around its snarling jaws. It smells rank, and I gag. The creature wriggles and writhes in my arms. I groan under its pull, but I know if I let go, those teeth will sink into me.
With a snarl, another weasel lashes out a clawed paw, grazing my forehead in an ugly swipe.
“Their bite is poisonous,” Kang-dae shouts from farther down the corridor, fighting off two weasels of his own. “It will kill you!”
The air is full of Michelle’s screaming and the foul stench of hell itself. Sweat drips off my forehead, and my muscles shudder as I wrestle the beast across the floor. I glance up to see another weasel, its massive bulk bounding across the hallway, eyes boring straight into mine. It’s the leader. His jaws widen. I can see every jagged yellow tooth in his mouth.
Panic seizes me. Marc and Kang-dae are both surrounded
. I’m on my own. With a shout to propel me, I leap to my feet, still holding the wild beast, and throw it with every ounce of strength within me at the oncoming weasel leader. With a shriek, the smaller creature crashes into its leader, sending them both sprawling to the ground in a tangle of limbs. I rush toward them, twisting in a flip over their bodies so I make a surprise landing on their other side. My foot kicks the leader with a hard front blow. He drops silently to the ground, vanishing in a cloud of dust.
The moment the leader’s body fades into oblivion, the other weasels cry out in agony. They run in circles as if chasing their tails before flip-flopping across the concrete floor, tortured. Then, like their master, they too disappear, leaving us in a startling silence.
Gasping for air, I swipe the sweat off my forehead. My hand comes away full of blood. It must have been from when the creature ripped its nasty claw across my forehead. Marc, shoulders hunched as he draws in big breaths, looks over at me.
“You okay?” he asks.
I nod. “Where do you learn those moves?”
“Training paid off.” He gives a lopsided grin.
A figure I hadn’t seen before moves out of the shadows at the far end of the corridor, footsteps silent against the concrete. At first, I think it’s another gwishin, but as the figure steps into the weak corridor light, I see it’s a girl about my age. She’s wearing a long hanbok, deathly white and whispering about her like puffy clouds shifting across morning skies. Her black hair is twisted into a long braid that falls over her shoulder and lands at her waist, a contrast to her white dress.
She purses her pale lips and nods once. “He won’t be happy.”
“Who?” I ask, stepping closer to her, but she lifts her hand and a jagged spear appears in her grip. I stop midstride.
“The master of the Underworld,” she says. Her dark eyes assess us with a puzzled look. “He shall also be interested in the company you keep.”
“Who are you?” I ask.
“We are not so different, you and I.” She gives a ghost of a smile. “I am sure we shall meet again.”
She pounds the hilt of her spear against the concrete floor, and white dust shoots into the air, blasting around her. As it falls, her body merges into the dust particles, evaporating.
“That was weird,” I tell Marc.
He sags against the wall. “That was weird? I would have picked the ghosts or the weasels that formed out of blood.”
“Good point,” I say, wanting to collapse from the sheer impossibleness of what just happened, but Michelle is calling my name.
“Who was that girl?”
“Don’t know,” Marc says. “But she works with the god of the Underworld. My guess is it was Princess Bari. The girl from the myth I read to you at my house.”
“Jae!” Michelle says.
“What’s wrong?” I stumble to where Michelle is leaning over Kang-dae, terrified something has happened to them. “Tell me you’re okay.”
“He was bitten,” Michelle says, revealing a jagged open wound.
Skin has been ripped off his arm as if the weasel had sunk its teeth into him and torn away the layers of flesh. Sweat beads on Kang-dae’s forehead. Blood pools out on the tiles and cement, and his wound is oozing yellow pus, stinking like sewage. With shaky fingers, he withdraws his phone and punches a button.
“Ambulance,” he gasps into the phone, then pushes his GPS locator before dragging out a painful moan and closing his eyes.
“Okay, I’m not mad that you kept your phone anymore,” I say, holding Kang-dae’s head in my lap. “You’re going to be okay. Help will come soon.”
Michelle rips a strip off the bottom of her shirt and wraps it around his arm. Then she races to the end of the corridor and throws open the doors, so Marc and I can carry Kang-dae outside to wait for the ambulance. A pair of guards at the entrance to the parking lot eye us.
“Please!” Michelle calls out to them in Korean. “Help us!”
“It’s going to be all right,” I keep telling Kang-dae as he moans on the pavement, but I can’t hide the terror in my voice. Hadn’t Kang-dae said their bite was lethal?
We don’t have to wait long before an ambulance whizzes to us, tires screeching.
“That was fast,” Michelle says.
Two paramedics leap out the back doors, scoop Kang-dae up, and deposit him on a stretcher. I draw Michelle in close, wrapping my arm around her as we watch. Tears trickle down her face, and I can’t stop the dread filling me that this is a bad omen for our mission.
“He’s been bitten,” Marc tells the paramedic in Korean. “We think it’s infected.”
“We’ve got it from here,” one of them tells us in Korean.
The other stops short and inspects my forehead. He unzips his pouch and swipes my forehead with a cool cloth. Ripping open a bandage, he slaps it on my forehead, saying, “Check for infection in two hours.”
Gingerly, I touch the slippery rubber of the bandage, amazed at how efficient these paramedics are. They load Kang-dae into the back of the ambulance, slam the back doors shut, and take off, sirens blaring. The three of us stand in on the service parking lot, gazing after the truck.
One of the guards runs to us and asks if everything is okay.
“One of our friends got hurt,” Marc explains. “But they’re taking him to the hospital.”
The solider calls in the incident over his walkie-talkie, and before returning to his post, tells us to fill out an accident report in the office.
“The paramedics left so quickly.” Michelle stares at the road the ambulance drove down. “I should’ve gone with him.”
“I can’t believe this happened,” I say.
“The bite—it’s poisonous.” Michelle bites her lips. “Will he be okay?”
“Probably not,” Marc says. He tosses the broom aside and rubs his jaw, now blooming a bright red. “We should find your grandfather. He won’t like what we have to say.”
“There’s no way I’m going back in that cursed hallway,” Michelle says.
So we head around the building, catching the eye of a guard and a glare from a gardener. When we head back into the main observation area, Grandfather is standing near the doors, a frown filling his face.
“Where have you been? What happened to your forehead?” Grandfather barks. I open my mouth to tell him, but all my words seem to get stuck in my throat. “Come,” he says, waving his hand as if batting away a fly. “We are set and must not lose a moment.”
The three of us follow him to the building, where we join a special line labeled “Foreigner.”
“Where is Kang-dae?” Grandfather asks, his whole face red with frustration.
“He’s on his way to the hospital,” I say.
“We ran into some trouble,” Marc says.
“Some?” Michelle opens her mouth, horrified. Tears edge the corners of her eyes. “That is the understatement of the century.”
“What?” Grandfather says. “Why did no one come find me? How did this happen?”
“We tried to escape through a back corridor,” I say. “But we were trapped.”
“Tricked, more like it,” Marc says.
After we explain all the details of the fight, he runs his hands over his face, muttering. Finally, he waves us to the booth. “We cannot wait. We will have to go without him. I will call the hospital before we leave and get details. Once we cross the border, we will have no contact with South Korea. You can tell me about what happened on the bus.”
Hearing that we’ll actually be leaving without Kang-dae worries me. I felt so much more in control with both him and Marc at my side fighting off those weasels. I couldn’t have survived on my own. Not in this world.
When I reach the booth, the attendant studies my permit and temporary passport. He stamps it with a South Korean exit stamp. Once we’ve all
gone through unscathed, we head out of the building into a wide parking lot.
I glance uneasily at the guards ringing the area. Standing so close to the barbed wire and towers slows down my steps, but somehow I shuffle my way to board another bus. Michelle can’t stop crying, and I pull her in tight after settling into a seat.
“You think he’ll live?” she asks.
“Absolutely,” I say. “Kang-dae is tough. And there’s still time to back out from this trip. You don’t have to come.”
“No.” She pulls out a notepad and taps her pencil on the blank paper. “I’m in this with you. I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t take this chance to help deliver the medicine. I’ll always feel like I didn’t follow through on something big. I think I’ve been given this opportunity for a reason.”
Grandfather boards the bus and lightly touches my hand, reassuring me in a soft voice that Kang-dae is in good hands. “I have made arrangements for him should he recover and wish to join us.”
After riding for fifteen or so minutes, we arrive at the North Korean checkpoint. The bus door opens, and a North Korean guard enters. He struts down the aisle wearing an olive uniform, crisp and tight. His square-billed hat shadows his face, but I can still see the firmness in his jaw. Silver buttons trail down the center of his jacket, and his collar bears two yellow bars. I can’t help but feel intimidated.
“Hand over your bag,” the guard tells Michelle in Korean. His accent is thicker, sharper perhaps. I almost don’t understand him.
Michelle’s hand shakes as she passes him her handbag. He rummages through it, grunts, and shoves it back at her before giving each seat one more look and leaving. I glance over at her notebook, the once-white pages filled with notes. It’s probably a good thing the guard didn’t ask for that.
My muscles loosen when the bus’s ignition starts, and we begin rumbling down a winding road that follows the coast.
“We will deliver the supplies first,” Grandfather explains. “Then tonight they will have a ceremony to thank us.”
“I think I’ll skip the ceremony,” I say, thinking how much I hate being in the spotlight.
Silvern (The Gilded Series) Page 13