Vicious Spirits

by Kat Cho

  Junu almost lifted his hands to drown out the voice, but he knew it was coming from his own memory. And try as he might, there was no escaping it.

  Let’s see how you deal with the pain you’ve caused them, Sinhye had said. And she was right. This was a good punishment. No good came to those who associated with Junu; this was proof of that.

  “There’s nothing any of us can do,” Junu said finally. “This man will die.”

  “Fine.” Miyoung moved to kneel beside Mr. Ahn, whose rasping breaths were echoing through the kitchen. There was a death rattle in his chest, one that Junu was far too familiar with.

  “What are you doing?” Junu asked.

  “I’ll kill him. This death will be on me. Do you hear me?” Miyoung said to Jihoon. “I killed him. Not you.”

  Then she raised her hand to give the killing blow. Junu stopped her before she could swing it down.

  “No,” he said. “You can’t do this.”

  “Let go!” she shouted. Tears flowed down her cheeks as she tried to break free. “I have to do this.”

  “No,” Junu said, kneeling down so he was eye to eye with her. “This is not your responsibility. It’s mine.”

  He gave her a gentle push, and as anticipated, she fell back easily. Junu looked at the door leading to Somin. She would never look at him the same after he did this.

  Jihoon watched him with unblinking eyes. And Junu saw it, the glint of something more beneath his irises. “Sinhye, if you’re watching, then I hope you’re satisfied with what you’ve done to us both. What you’ve made us both.”

  Then Junu wrapped his hands around Mr. Ahn’s throat. His rattling breaths became haggard, choking gasps. His body shook. His hands clenched. His feet kicked. He obviously wanted to fight for a life that he wasn’t yet aware had already been taken from him. And Junu squeezed his eyes shut against the burn of tears. He wouldn’t let them fall. He didn’t deserve them.

  He held on until he felt Mr. Ahn still. He held on until the only sounds in the room were Miyoung’s sobs. He held on because if he let go, he was sure he’d fall himself.

  43

  JUNU SAT ALONE on the cold floor.

  He was in an abandoned warehouse. A place he’d sometimes come to do shady dealings with undesirables he didn’t want in his home. It was also a place where the city’s homeless would sometimes come to escape inclement weather.

  Today, it was empty except a few stained cardboard boxes and smattering of threadbare blankets. Well, empty of anyone living. Ghosts wandered the space. They didn’t seem interested in Junu as they floated through the warehouse. Spirits were often drawn to spaces that held sadness and pain. And death. Junu was sure many had died in this place. That’s why it was as good a place for an unidentified body to be found. A better place than a building that Jihoon and Somin had been seen entering.

  He didn’t look at the body beside him, but he didn’t leave either. Junu didn’t feel right leaving him until . . .

  The air shifted. It chilled. Like a supernatural thermostat had been turned down. Junu could see puffs of his breath as the temperature dropped. And he closed his eyes as goose bumps pimpled on his flesh.

  “I knew it would be you,” Junu said without looking up.

  “Just like old times, huh?” Hyuk asked.

  “No,” Junu said, finally glancing up at the jeoseung saja. “Not like old times.”

  “This isn’t the first time you’ve taken a life.”

  “I know.”

  “But this is the first time I’ve seen it affect you like this.”

  Junu closed his eyes again, afraid he felt those damn tears again. He couldn’t break now. Not in front of Hyuk.

  “I’m not the same person you used to know.”

  “I know,” Hyuk said.

  As he rose, pinpricks ran along Junu’s legs from kneeling so long. Perhaps he’d been sitting his own form of a vigil over the life he’d taken.

  “You can go,” Hyuk said, laying a gentle hand on Junu’s shoulder. “I’ll take care of him now.”

  “Will he go to a good place?” Junu asked. He’d never before asked Hyuk where he took his souls. He just knew the reaper took them somewhere beyond here. “What if the tear between the worlds allows him to come back? Can you do something to make sure his soul doesn’t . . . stay?”

  “Afraid of being haunted?” Hyuk asked with a quirked eyebrow.

  Junu shook his head and gave a forced grin. “You know me well enough to know the dead don’t bother me.”

  Hyuk didn’t return the smile. “I know you well enough to know that’s what you say.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Junu asked. He thought he could at least depend on Hyuk to keep things light and meaningless. That was their thing now, wasn’t it?

  “You’re the one who said you’re a different person. Maybe I’m hoping you’re different enough to finally accept some things you never could before.” Hyuk shrugged. “It’s all I ever really wanted for you. Old friend.”

  Then he turned to the body, reached his arms down as if scooping something out of the earth, but instead of dirt, he came away with the gauzy shape of a person. The spirit of Jihoon’s father.

  Junu remembered once asking Hyuk what that was like, pulling a soul free from its body. The reaper had explained that it required superhuman strength. That’s why all jeoseung saja were so strong. A soul is a heavy thing.

  But Hyuk had been doing this a long time and he made it seem effortless, like lifting a sleeping child. Eventually he placed the soul on its feet. Laid a hand on its shoulder as if waking someone who was sleepwalking.

  “Go back to your friends, Junu. You should be with them.”

  “I don’t have friends.” And Junu felt the truth of that deep in his bones. He was alone. He was always alone.

  “Go back to them,” Hyuk said again before turning and fading into the shadows with the spirit, leaving Junu behind. He was always being left behind. Turning, he walked out of the warehouse, dialing 119 as he went.

  “I need to report a disturbance.”

  44

  SOMIN ACHED EVERYWHERE. Her world was awash in white and pain.

  “Somin-ah,” someone called to her.

  “Hello?” she shouted, her voice echoing into a great abyss. “Who’s there? Where are we?”

  “Somin-ah. Be careful.”

  “Where are you? I can’t see you. I can’t see anything.”

  “I’m sorry I cannot protect you. That I left you.”

  No, it couldn’t be. It was impossible. How could he be here?

  A sob left Somin’s chest as she whispered, “Appa?”

  “My daughter. I’m sorry that you feel pain. I’m sorry that you must feel more.”

  Somin woke slowly. She felt the tears streaming down her cheeks as the echoes of the dream lingered.

  As she regained her senses, she realized there was a throbbing ache in her back, and she turned onto her side to find a more comfortable position. But the motion made her dozen bruises throb, and she jerked upright.

  Memories of the day came flooding back to her, the horror and the pain of it.

  Somin blinked against the dark room. There was a single lamp on in the corner, and she realized she was lying on Junu’s couch. She stood, walking to the bedrooms. All of the doors were closed, but the doorway of Miyoung’s room had half a dozen bujeoks plastered to it. Odd. Why would Miyoung put those there?

  She turned to look for her friends. The entire apartment was mostly dark, with only the guiding light of the kitchen to tell her where to go.

  Where was everyone? What happened at the restaurant? What happened to Mr. Ahn?

  She reached for a cabinet, when she heard steps behind her. She whirled around, holding out a mug as a shield or a weapon or both. But she let her hand drop when she saw Miyoung,
a pharmacy bag in her hand.

  “You’re awake,” she said, rushing forward and dropping the bag on the table. “How are you feeling?”

  “Thirsty,” Somin croaked out, and blinked at the strange frog-like voice that had come out.

  “I’ll get you water. Sit down.” Miyoung took the mug. Usually Somin hated people taking care of her—that was her job—but she was already shaky on her legs, so she sat at the kitchen table.

  “I have to call my mother,” she said. “She’ll wonder where I am.”

  “I already called her last night. I told her you’re staying here. She said that was good. She doesn’t want you spending the night worrying about her alone.”

  “Last night?” Somin asked.

  “It’s morning. You slept through the night.”

  Somin let out a shaky breath. “Where’s Junu?”

  Miyoung paused in the act of pouring water. “He hasn’t come back yet.”

  There was something in her tone, something that spoke of burdensome things.

  “What happened?” Somin asked. “How did we get back here?”

  “We brought you back after . . .” Miyoung shook her head, unable to continue as she held out the mug.

  Instead of taking the water, Somin latched on to Miyoung’s wrist and tugged at her bloodstained sleeves. “Are you okay? Where are you hurt?” Somin pushed up the fabric to find the wound. Miyoung yelped in surprise and yanked her arm back, but Somin had already moved on, noticing blood splattered over Miyoung’s shirt.

  “What is this?” she asked frantically. “Please tell me what happened. Tell me who’s hurt. Or . . .” Somin couldn’t bring herself to say the words or who’s dead.

  “I can’t.”

  “Is it Jihoon?” Somin finally brought herself to ask, dreading the answer.

  “No. He’s alive.”

  “Where is he? How do we get that fox spirit out of him? Can I see him?”

  Miyoung seemed to fold in on herself at the barrage of questions. Her eyes couldn’t meet Somin’s, and her hands shook before she fisted them together.

  “What is it?” Somin asked, feeling the tension coming off her friend in waves.

  “I just . . . I don’t know what to do for him. I don’t know how to get him back, and what if this is all my fault?” Miyoung’s legs shook, and she lowered herself into a crouch in front of Somin, sobbing. It tore at Somin. She’d never heard her friend sound so desperate before. So she pulled Miyoung close.

  “No, you can’t think like that. You’re both victims here; this is nobody’s fault.” She stroked Miyoung’s hair, holding her gently as the girl emptied herself of all her fear and frustration.

  After Miyoung had cried herself out, she was limp with exhaustion, and Somin insisted that she rest.

  “Did you even sleep last night?”

  “I rested . . . a bit. For a few minutes,” Miyoung admitted.

  “You’re sleeping. No arguing.” Somin led Miyoung to the couch.

  “But I’m supposed to be taking care of you.” Miyoung’s words were slurred with exhaustion.

  “You are,” Somin said. “I’m already feeling much better.”

  “Liar,” Miyoung mumbled as her eyes drooped closed. Soon her breathing evened out in sleep, and Somin draped a blanket over her.

  Somin surveyed the quiet apartment. Had she ever noticed before how cold it seemed? The design made it too sleek, too artificial. Like the facade that Junu put forward. Like the overly polished, pompous jerk Somin had first thought him to be. Somin’s eyes traveled to the library involuntarily, the one space that held any personality. The one that felt like the Junu Somin was starting to know. Those glimpses that made Somin’s heart yearn. And thinking of him, worry washed through her.

  She glanced back at Miyoung’s bloodstained sleeves. She should have made her friend change. But at least she’d assured herself it wasn’t Miyoung’s blood. And it wasn’t Jihoon’s.

  Dokkaebi don’t bleed, Somin reminded herself. It’s not Junu’s blood, it can’t be.

  “So you do care about him.”

  She spun around at the voice and stared at the beautiful boy who stood behind her. Dark, close-cropped hair. Dark, almost-black eyes in a pale face. Dressed all in black. The reaper from the street.

  “How did you get in here?” Her eyes moved to the bujeoks plastered around Junu’s doorway.

  “Those don’t work against me,” he replied, his eyes following her gaze. “I’m not a ghost or a demon.”

  “I know what you are. What I’d like to know is why you keep hanging around here,” Somin said.

  “You have spirit.” He nodded. “Good. He’ll need that.”

  “What are you talking about?” Somin huffed in frustration.

  “But you’re not patient.” He sighed. “Which could be a problem for him.”

  “I don’t have time—”

  “I could stop it for a bit. Let us have our chat without it.”

  Without time? Somin thought. Just exactly what could this reaper do? And how could she be sure he wasn’t here to hurt her and her friends?

  “I need you to be careful with him,” the boy said. “He’s more delicate than he seems.”

  “Who?” Somin asked.

  “I wouldn’t have imagined a human like you would be it, but I can see that you’re what he needs now.”

  She knew now that he spoke of Junu. “I don’t want to be what someone needs. I want to be what someone wants. What someone chooses. And he’s made it clear he doesn’t choose me.”

  “Even he doesn’t know what his heart wants,” the reaper said. “After everything that happened with his family, Junu wasn’t able to handle the life fate gave him. He closed himself off. He lost himself for centuries in anything that would numb the pain. If he’d been human, it would have killed him. But instead, he was left to live his eternal life seeking out more and more ways to rip out the pain that wouldn’t let go of him. That’s how I found him. One who would do any job that could get him quick cash so he could buy another bottle. Every time I came to reap a soul of another he’d killed, I saw him. And came to know him. And came to care for him.”

  “What happened with his family?” Somin asked. “What happened to make him hurt for so long?”

  “Unfortunately, even I don’t know that whole story. He’s never told anyone as far as I know.”

  Somin fisted her hands over her chest, like she sought to protect her own soul. “Why are you telling me all of this? Does Junu know you’re telling me?”

  “Of course he doesn’t. He’d never want you to know this vulnerable side of him. But I think you need to know. He’ll need you more than ever now. His soul is in danger of breaking.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “Souls are my business.”

  That made goose bumps rise on Somin’s skin. “What do you think I can do for him?”

  “Hold on to him,” the boy said.

  “What?” Somin started to say, but he was gone. One second he stood before her, solid as anyone else. Next thing she knew, he’d blinked out of existence.

  She turned as the front door opened and Junu entered. Blood staining his pants, his shirt, his hands.

  “Are you okay?” Somin reached for him, but he pulled back.

  “Don’t” was all he said before he tried to brush past her, but Somin planted herself in his way.

  So Junu just turned into the library, slamming the door closed behind him.

  Somin debated taking the hint. He was obviously in a horrible mood, but her worry for him overpowered any restraint she had. And she slowly opened the door, peeking her head inside.

  The room was empty.

  Confused, Somin opened the door wider and stepped inside. She turned in a circle, just in case she’d missed something, but there was n
o one there.

  Then Somin remembered, and she stepped to the far bookcase. It took her three tries before she found the right book again, but the hidden door swung open without a sound.

  She hesitated. Was she really the right thing for Junu right now? How could she be sure? This thing between them seemed so volatile. Then she pushed those doubts away. Because Junu needed someone right now, and that someone might as well be her.

  Light spilled into the library as Somin walked into the hidden studio. Junu stood among his canvases, his shirtsleeves rolled up so she could see corded muscles as he ripped a painting in half.

  More paintings lay at his feet, shredded. Ruined.

  With a cry of alarm, Somin tried to still his hands.

  “Junu, what are you doing?”

  “Get out,” Junu said. Picking up a ceramic bowl covered in delicate blue leaves and lines, he let it shatter at his feet.

  “I can’t—”

  “I said, get out!” Junu shouted. And if rage was the only thing she saw in his face, she would have. But there was such pain. It tore at her heart.

  “What happened?” she asked.

  “Nothing,” Junu said, turning back to the pile of ruined art. Somin wondered if he would burn the whole place down if he could. No, he hated fire. So maybe he’d just batter it with his hands until it was all dust.

  “I shouldn’t be surprised you found this place,” Junu said, picking up a canvas painted to look like a sunset from a high mountain. He tore it into thin shreds so strands of orange and red rained around him. “You’ve always been nosy.”

  The words stung, but she also knew that when people hurt, they lashed out. And Junu was an expert at words. He knew how to aim them like weapons. But Somin wouldn’t let him deter her.

  She wrapped her hands around his wrists. He still held the fragments of canvas in his balled fists. “Junu, stop this now, okay?”

  He shook his head but didn’t pull away. “I don’t know how to stop. I don’t know how to be better.” Smoke started to plume from his hands, small flames erupting from nowhere to lick at the remnants of the painting.